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.
A quick announcement for members and fans of our webcam shows: I moved Wednesday night's shows to Friday night. Why? Because I realized they were scheduled at the same time as the American Idol finale and with us on the west coast there could be people in our chatrooms who'd already watched it and I CANNOT ABIDE HEARING SPOILERS.
This is especially true with tv the past two or three months which has been exceptionally good to my fat American mind. Dollhouse, Gossip Girl, Top Model, Idol, Hell's Kitchen . . . I've been eating the cheese and acting like a sucker tearing up on command. The competition shows are so much better when you like all of the finalists. We might not be having a lot of sex, but who wants to watch us fucking on our spycams when you can watch me crying and squealing like a sissy-girl over CHUCK AND BLAIR and ADAM AND KRIS and ALLISON AND TEYONA!?! It's a more degrading scene than if I invited a gang of carnies over and gave their greasy unwashed asses enthusiastic rim jobs on cam with a needle half-full of junk sticking out of my arm. Now THAT'S entertainment! Oh Chuck those pink flowers and your green coat Blair and that dress and I worship and adore you and your stockings too yumyumyum I love it when you cry you're so beautiful when you weep and I love you TOOOOOO!
As if that wasn't enough, as a bonus for our voyeurs tonight I also cried watching Dolly Parton sing "Backroads Barbie" AND I cried earlier this afternoon when I finished reading The Westing Game (how did I miss that as a youngster? IT ROCKS!).
Being on a higher-estrogen birth control pill is so sweeeeeeeeeeeet. Sweet and salty with my tears, like a big bag of kettle korn.
Other than that I'm working on a simple (but time-consuming) revamp of the free area of TastyTrixie.com. So I can maybe hope to, you know, make some sales. So far this year has been full of optimism because I finally figured out how fucked up my endocrine system has been and how sick I was. It's frustrating, though, that even though I feel way better, my life didn't instantly become perfect once I started feeling better physically. It's like I have years worth of old work to do to get caught up let alone move forward. That's been pretty depressing on top of the economy (I know many of you are feeling my pain or worse in that department). I'm constantly making steps to improve, though, and feel massively blessed to have the awesomest girlfriend in the world and also feel the support of people who know me online, especially our members.
I still have a long way to go, but I am becoming a more patient person. More patient with myself and the world and everyone in it. You still wouldn't call me "patient", but I know I am MORE patient than I was a year ago. That's enough for me to be proud of today.
And even with all of that reading and tv watching and a good stretch this morning, I still worked eight concentrated hours and twenty-seven minutes. How do I know that? BECAUSE I AM KEEPING TRACK.
The other day I treated myself to a trip to the spa as a reward for being 33% of the way to my June 1st weight loss goal. I decided to get a body wrap for health reasons (it helps you detox) and out of curiosity since I'd never done it.
I knew going into it that I *might* really hate being wrapped up like a mummy and mostly-immobilized for forty minutes, but I also knew I *might* really enjoy it and, at the very least, could endure it without feeling as though I'd been placed in a straitjacket.
By the time my appointment rolled around at 4 pm I'd been soaking, sweating, reading, and steaming at the spa since 10 am (I should've made my body wrap & massage appointment beforehand but was afraid to in case I couldn't figure out how to pay for it or wanted to do something else instead so 4 pm was the earliest they could get me in) and was GIDDY with anticipation.
The girl explained what was in the mud (mugwort, seaweed and a bunch of other stuff I can't recall), instructed me to disrobe and sit on the massage table (on top of a sheet of plastic on top of a metallic emergency blanket on top of MORE blankets) with my back to her. She warned me to expect the mud to be fairly "warm" because it cools off so quickly, then she started slathering hot goop on my shoulders, back, and arms. She had me lie down after that so she could apply it to the rest of my body. Right before she smeared it on my boobs, she prepared me to anticipate the touch in a nursey-kindergarten voice: I'll just apply some to your breasts now . . . (circle, circle).
After she got it all over me except RIGHT between my legs, the soles of my feet and my face, she closed the plastic around me, then the reflective blanket, then the other blankets and towels until I was thoroughly cocooned with only my head sticking out. She asked if I wanted a pillow or for her to bring water or tea when she came back to check on me in ten minutes. Then she turned out the lights (as I requested) and left me alone in the dark, unable to move. AND TRAPPED WITH A TERRIBLE CD OF ROMANTIC/NEW-AGEY GUITAR MUSIC CRAP.
The first ten minutes were pleasant (except for the hideous music). I didn't even attempt to move, afraid I would make myself itchy and be unable to scratch myself. I could see how easily I could become panicked if the slightest carnival-ride twist had been added to it (it WAS April Fool's Day, after all). Like if she'd laughed maniacally before she left and I could hear the door being locked from the outside. Or if weird scrubby things began to descend from the ceiling towards me. Or if the walls just started shrinking inwards. I kept my eyes closed JUST IN CASE so I wouldn't have to see anything like that happening. Or if a man with a bunch of surgical tools were to simply walk in, bend over my face and start whispering at me you can't move you can't move you can't get away from me or my tools! and just put his hands heavily on my chest.
So yeah . . . this might help explain to you PART of why I'm not interested in being bound. Because it would be way too fucking easy for someone to scare me psycho. I can happily lie motionless for hours, but FORCE me to -- restrict my mobility -- and I might freak the fuck out. Part of me can appreciate the appeal, imagine experimenting with it under very specific conditions, and be tempted by the psychological challenge of it and another part of me just thinks the (psychological) risk is not at all worth the scariness. I feel the same way about LSD. It sounds really interesting but I think I might be a little too vulnerable to bad side effects. The body wrap at the women-only spa is about as far as I can go.
One time I did let someone bind my hands behind my back with his leather belt (a natural outgrowth to him of my spanking and man's-leather-belt fetish, but to me it was just not the direction I was interested in going once I was face down on his bed -- it was crazily exciting, but the fear of having my arms locked behind me that way and of him possibly being able to put his weight on me and smother me was just too fucking freaky for me and I begged for mercy so it didn't last long. I was far more interested in being whipped with the belt (but not to the point of bruising or bleeding), but he wasn't so much into that so that little experiment didn't last very long. I know that some of you are thinking I just didn't do it with the RIGHT person, someone I TRUST. But the point is a) my imagination doesn't trust ANYBODY, and b) testing my boundaries on this is NOT as important to me as preserving them. For a whole lot of reasons. Thinking about it is provocative, but I am (and always have been) more interested in having force applied to me in a psychological way (and even more so applying it to others) in ridiculous role plays. I like being bound by RULES and structure. I like things that happen inside my HEAD way more than things that happen to my body. Or maybe I'm just lazy. I don't know. Woops. Now that I've written this I can recall a few different instances where I've been bound in different ways and liked it. Hmmmm . . . still, not exactly my "thing".
Back to the spa.
The first time the girl came in to check on me she brought me tea with a straw that she lowered to my mouth. I wasn't prepared for it and giggled because THAT is totally hot to me, being treated like an invalid. I wasn't prepared and dribbled tea down the side of my face, then I got her to change the CD to a variety of new agey music I enjoy -- Shamanic Dreams or something like that. She asked if the level of heat was okay (yes - warm and cozy) and again if I wanted a pillow (this time? yes).
When she left I decided to try to sleep since I'd only gotten three hours the night before. And sleep I did, for a few minutes. Let me tell you, it was NOT pleasant waking up mummified, sweating like a pig in a strange dark room with weird pagan drum music going on. I decided not to go to sleep again and couldn't wait for her to come back. When she did I asked for the heat to be turned down. She did, and blotted the sweat from my forehead and cheeks with a cool cloth (yummmmm . . . more pampered-invalid feelings). I wanted to ask her if anybody had ever lost control of their bowels while getting a wrap but decided against it, fearing she'd think I was planning something disgusting. Still, the thought was entertaining. I know SOMEONE, somewhere has done that on accident or on purpose, and I'd really love to hear about it.
Note: I'm far more likely to experiment with and enjoy shitting in a warm, plastic-wrapped bed than with being tied up. Just an FYI. I don't PLAN on doing either, but a warm bed of crap seriously sounds more fun to me than letting someone tie me up. Maybe I'm just a loner with a short attention span, though, and wallowing in my own poop is an experience I could live fully in five to ten minutes by myself whereas the whole bondage scene requires time and at least one other person. I guess there are some things I could do to myself, but again, I'm too lazy and disinterested for that. Plus, scat is just a whole lot edgier than bondage and I like the idea of being able to make people think by gleefully confessing I've shat myself for the pure, HAMRLESS fun of it. It's stupid, but poop is so much more taboo (and illegal/obscene) than bondage these days. Again, I HAVE NO PLANS TO DO THAT. I'm just comparing/contrasting. For fun.
Anyway, I survived the last twenty minutes without losing my mind, going back and forth between feeling blissed-out and on-the-verge of screaming, "GET ME THE FUCK OUT OF HERE!!!" I kept reminding myself of what good "exercise" it was for me and how much healthier I'd be afterwards. I worried that I'd be so sick of lying there that I wouldn't enjoy my massage afterwards (but it actually worked the other way, made the massage seem longer and way better). Basically I endured the procedure a little bit more than I enjoyed it. If I get a body wrap again I will definitely bring my own cd with guided meditations or something so my mind won't wander to torture scenes.
Finally she came in to unwrap me and I went down the hall naked to the shower with the glass-door making my clean-up efforts visible to anyone who walked by. I decided to pee in the shower instead of wasting my massage time putting on a robe and traipsing down to the restroom, but I worried about it, wondering how many other people do/don't pee in the post-wrap shower, worrying that there'd be some way they'd know I did and would talk about that disgusting customer with the long toenails who peed in the shower. Silly fears, but still. I have them. Which goes to show you just how very VERY far away I am from ever pooping in a plastic-wrap cocoon.
After the anxiety of the day BEFORE the spa and the super-extended stay I had there, I was in recovery mode all day yesterday, totally drained and exhausted and verging on a big fat headache. If you've never gotten body work, steamed, soaked, detoxed, etc. then you probably thing I sound like a fucking crybaby asshole, complaining about how TIRED I am after spending a day doing something that sounds like pure luxury to most Americans but that shit is MEDICINE. My throat and eyes burn after all the gunk inside me is dislodged and stirred up and swirled around and sucked out. It feels like preparation to go into hibernation, like the final step in this cleansing/healing process is to go into an induced coma for two days.
The spa experience is totally my cup of tea, though. The front desk lady seemed to think I was crazy for wanting to stay there for more than eight hours, but since I go so rarely it hardly seems excessive. It takes me awhile to really turn my brain off and melt into it, so that cuts down on the time I'm really benefiting from it, but it's exactly my idea of the perfect mini-vacation. Alone, not talking to anybody, with scads of naked ladies walking around, walking from one hot room to another, from one pool to another, being ministered to by talented, paid hands, smelling good things, and trying to become invisible to myself.
I want to pay more attention to seasonal holidays, the weather, rituals and nature so for the past six months or so a lot of our shoots have reflected my focus on integrating those things into our lives. Tomorrow is Fat Tuesday, a day I would never have had any awareness of if it weren't for having a magnificent pen pal from Baton Rouge when I was a teenager (if he sees this link and then these pictures I'm sure his eyes will melt in their sockets and dribble down his face in tears of horror -- I don't want to do this to you, really I don't -- I only want your Daily Preciousness to get the attention it deserves!) so here are some of my Mardi Gra-tesque pictures from a set I posted for my members today:
It's hard to procure a lot of beads when you're already totally naked:
The photo set might not win any prizes for creativity or eroticism, but for me it was a major achievement -- couldn't have been better. We shot them last night and I edited and uploaded them within two hours and actually HAD FUN doing it. My mind is still blown by how awesome life is when you don't feel like crap from fucked-up hormone imbalances. I'm not sure how apparent it is in pictures or on cam, but I feel 500% better than I did a couple months ago when getting ready for a shoot was TORTURE, to say nothing of actually doing the shooting itself. My face and neck were all bizarrely fat (even more than is normal for me -- seriously, ONE double chin is cute . . . six rolls are not), my lips were thin, there were terrifying dark puffy circles under my eyes . . . it was sheer fucking painful hell. All I can say is THREE CHEERS FOR ESTROGEN!
When I have a few more shoots I like posted, I will post a putrid gallery I've been sitting on that epitomizes how wretched and disgusting I felt. Sort of a before and after kind of thing.
Last night after we did all of that, Delia was "in the mood". After I spent about ten minutes rambling about my curiosity regarding hemorrhoids and whether or not I have one, she politely asked if I would like to engage in sexual intercourse (probably as a counter to my repeated invitations to her to inspect my anus). I clapped my hands together and cried, "get the lube!"
After that it was actually sexy. You might not be able to imagine how, but you don't have to. That's our private joy . . . just between the two of us. And our voyeur cams, of course.
I'm noticing physical changes this time around in my cunt. Aside from the usual increased lubrication extra estrogen gives you, it *looks* really puffy and fat and smooth and pink. I hesitate to say this, but it looks younger.
The really awesome part is I think it's making my g-spot and perineum spongier, more sensitive and erotically charged. During my shows today and yesterday my orgasms were really thick, rocking cunt-focused things instead of little pointy tip-of-the-clit climaxes. I love all kinds of orgasms, but it's always thrilling to experience a variety of them or notice a recognizable shift in sensation.
One of the downsides is the visible part of my clit is shrinking. I was really disappointed to look down last week and notice how much smaller it is than a month ago in spite of having so much less hair. I really like it when it sticks out more and am intrigued, shall we say, by women who have large knuckle-like clits.
Delia's therapist isn't a fan of hormonal birth control and the way it can flatline some women's sex drives, but the benefits of having more chick hormones is such a huge relief to me on so many levels I can only look at the bright sides and wonder how many of them there are. Like, has anyone done any research into the hormone balances of women who squirt versus those of us who don't or rarely do? I wouldn't be surprised to find out that squirters are more estrogen dominant.
Just a quick entry to say we're busy getting ready to be gone for a few days trying to shoot something specific. Outside. And it's WINTER. But that's when it needs to be shot. Mostly we're just trying to get ready (much more complicated than you might imagine unless you've done our kind of work and the same way we do it) and it's been snowing (again).
I anticipate having cold fingers, legs, buttocks, etc. a lot on Thursday and Friday. And then we're going to celebrate a late Christmas/early Valentine's day/Friday the 13th dinner with my mom. I'm looking forward to it, but also dreading certain things and am practicing stress management techniques while I'm not actively working.
Yesterday we went shopping for additional costuming for aforementioned shoot and after hours of sifting through second-hand clothing my nasal passages, throat and head already felt invaded by that weird, unsettling thrift-store smell that makes you feel like you're coming down with some old-lady sickness. Then we went to the drugstore where a lady was coughing. AND COUGHING. And hacking.
I'm not the type who's EASILY grossed out by random germs, sneezing or coughing people in public, but my mucous membranes were already feeling vulnerable after searching through three thrift stores and this woman was really projecting her spittle. She made half-assed attempts to cover her mouth with her hand by holding it up six inches from her face and coughing TOWARDS it, not into it, and then she walked around briskly touching every single thing in the store with that hand. On top of that there's something unsettling about this woman; I've seen her around town before and she's like a fascinating fifty-seven year old dolly with long, youthful dark-blonde hair in waves worn in a loose asymmetrical ponytail. Her face is powdered porcelain with spots of rouge on her cheeks. Her lips and eyes are lined and her features are girlish except for the wrinkles around her mouth. Nothing about her says middle-aged, which is probably what she is; instead she's a duality of eleven-year old girl and seventy-nine year old woman. I'd totally follow her around the store to stare if she didn't give off such an aura of contagion.
When we got to the checkstand she got in line behind us and it suddenly started pouring down snow outside. The cashier kept interrupting our transaction to answer the phone and I felt totally hemmed in by winter, like she wasn't going to give up until she infected us with post-nasal slush.
Because I DO NOT want to get sick right when we've got time and money invested in shooting, I came home and started swilling down emergen-c until I was totally high (see this tweet followed by this). I rarely get colds (I think I've averaged maybe one cold or flu every other year, if that, in the past fifteen years) but I'm still paranoid enough to often feel like I'm coming down with one.
So. The goal today is to get a million things done, not get sick, stay calm, and leave as early as possible tomorrow so we can arrive at our destination safely while there's still daylight so we can plot our shooting locations for Thursday and Friday.
I won't be checking email while we're gone, we have webcam shows and chat scheduled when we get back (on Sunday and Monday), and I've only responded to maybe 3% of my email over the past year, so . . . yeah -- if you want to talk to me any time soon you'll probably need to be a member who shows up to one of those live cam events next week. Wish us a productive trip!
Speaking of my limits, two seconds before I hit "publish" on this post, I got a comment on my last blog entry from a guy who has a problem. Here's the comment:
I hope someday that you will reply to my comments. Forever seeking your feedback, Furry Freak Bro, aka4JerryGarcia, Merry Pranksters, etc.
He might be a nice guy (if memory serves he acts normal during camshows), but he is one persistently demanding motherfucker who cannot take a hint. Facebook, twitter, email, blog comments -- they all say basically the same thing: Hi there - respond to me PLEASE; I await your response. Please write back to me. If you commented back it would make my day. Your fan, xoxo blah blah blah WHAT. THE. FUCK!?!?!
First of all, you've said nothing to me that warrants a response. Second, if you're a fan of mine you'll see that I don't engage in a lot of idle chit-chat, particularly the hi/good morning/waving/hugging/emoticons variety and if you have any reading comprehension you can see that I'm KIND OF overwhelmed, constantly talk about not having the time or energy for email, trying to keep my hours at the computer limited to a healthy number and use that time productively, etc. How long would it take if I said "hi" or "good morning" or "YES! I fucking SEE you!!" to every single person I encountered online? I would have no fucking life and no time to respond to people who actually put a lot of thought and effort into writing to me.
So I blocked him on Twitter so I wouldn't be bombarded by his pleas for attention, but now he has the balls to make that comment on a blog entry that essentially says I've been feeling like shit and have barely had the energy to drag myself out of bed and now that I'm feeling better it will take awhile to catch up on everything. But listen; even if I were all caught up and had ample time on my hands, the last thing I would feel like doing is encouraging these incessant, self-absorbed, petulant guilt-trips seeking acknowledgment.
I really try to not be mean and to consider that even wonderful people have blind spots, bad habits, etc. Before I ream someone's ass I sometimes try to imagine the person might be borderline retarded or otherwise lack the skills or comprehension to function at a higher level; maybe all they know is that the internet is a friendly place where you can look at pretty girls and get them to say 'hi' to you. And seriously? There are a lot of pretty girls online who make that their sole job/function in life; collecting myspace friends, saying 'hi' and 'hugs' to everyone, making a name for themselves that way. BUT I AM NOT ONE OF THOSE GIRLS. Get it?
Honestly I try to just ignore this person and others like him (ex. No one's responded to my messages -- I guess no one loves me) because I don't have the time or mental capacity myself to discover a nice way to tell them to STOP ACTING LIKE CREEPY STALKERS (when they're not really even BEING particularly creepy or stalkerish, just obnoxious) and understand that from my perspective I just feel bombarded by people who want think they deserve to have me interrupt my life to instant message them. I don't care if it's only two letters. H. I. Obviously it won't stop there. Next it will be "what's up? Do you like me? How's the weather?"
You wanted my feedback? You've got it, fucker. Try to see things from other people's perspectives. I don't *expect* people to waste their personal time empathizing with me or reading my long-ass blog posts, but if you send me hundreds of messages asking ME to waste my time on YOU, especially by begging for warm fucking fuzzies in the comments on a post where I admitted I felt like I was losing my fucking mind, you've got another thing coming.
An appropriate comment from him would have been, "wow -- I'm so sorry I've been sending you guilt-riddled whiny-posts on virtually every social networking site where you appear asking you to respond to NOTHING when you obviously have a lot of other things going on. What was I thinking?" Or, "man, I know what mental illness is like because I am compelled to pester women online; now we finally have something in common we can talk about if you ever have time; 'til then I totally understand if you don't want respond to me. I mean, sheesh -- if you did that to everyone your whole twitter feed would be, @wanker hi!, @dipshit hi! @asshat I see you there, bugging me! Boy, that would be silly! I'm so sorry for thinking only of myself."
If you're a true fan of mine it should be obvious that my JOB is not to sit around sending individuals empty messages of bullshit for free to verify to you that you exist. Find another way to add meaning and affirmation to your life because your current method is insulting and dehumanizing; I'm not a fucking robot or video game where you press buttons on your keyboards and I do a little puppet dance or a doll with a string on her back that you pull to get her to say one of eight pre-determined messages. I like you! Thanks for being my fan! You're number one! Good morning, sunshine!
Baaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaarf!! Seriously, I do not want to insult everyone who sends me thoughtful messages, shares themselves with me, wants me to know they appreciate what I do, etc. What I'm complaining about is a very particular brand of bullshit that fuels the empty "interaction" passing for "socialization" online. It's gross. A total waste of time. Say hi once or twice to me this way if you want, but don't incessantly needle me to respond. I was going to say, "don't needle me to reciprocate" but if reciprocity is what you want, THIS IS IT. Complete and utter selfishness. My little wants and desires trumping yours. I would send virtually the same message every day: Send me ten dollars, please? Hi it's me, Trixie -- still awaiting your dollars. I found you again! When WILL you join my site? It's Friday. Write back with the dollars. Even five would be nice. Say good morning to a good girl with seven dollars? Hello. Do you get these? If so respond with fifteen dollars. Your friend online, needing your dollars. Actually, that would make a billion times better sense than what he's doing, but it would still be way too boring and time-consuming for me to enjoy. I don't want to do data entry, I want to do MY. WORK.
And tweet about picking my nose and pooping. These witticisms don't grow on trees, so don't interrupt me! I'm trying to fucking THINK.
After the gloomy pictures and tone of this post I'm overdue posting something cheerful that reflects how I'm feeling A BILLION TIMES BETTER, so here are some happy pictures from a recent members-only gallery and an update on what's going on in my body and head.
It's hard for me to describe how profoundly different/healed I felt within a week of starting to treat my hormone problems. I can only compare it to what born again Christians feel like. Seriously. Only I feel like I just established a close personal relationship with NORMALCY rather than with Jesus. And now I am wondering how the fuck I was even getting out of bed at all, because I was really REALLY sick.
A lot of stuff that I was experiencing I couldn't even verbalize without sounding totally crazy and was effecting me on every level you can possibly think of: mentally, spiritually, physically, socially, sexually, etc. My muscles, joints, head, eyes, guts, boobs, feet, jaw, ears HURT and weren't working right. Pretty much everything was causing me pain and fatigue, from the sound of people's voices to the loud conversations being held in my head to the TORTURE of dropping something and having to go through the agonizing, soul-sucking motion of bending over to pick it up. I thought I was being a hypochondriac to worry that I had lupus or something horrifying going on. All I wanted to do was work and be happy and do the millions of things I want to do, so I tried to exercise more, to cut back on things that were especially tiring (which got to the point of being EVERYTHING except the bare minimum -- I haven't been seeing my family, friends, or doing anything except trying to survive). The slightest annoyances were sending me into paroxysms of mean-spirited anguish. If you think I was complaining a lot about headaches and stuff, you don't know the tenth of it. I actually didn't even want to recognize how incredibly bad it was.
But then last week I started to feel INCREDIBLY GOOD. Like I looked in the mirror and didn't see death warmed over staring back at me -- oh yeah, THAT'S what I look like without a sickly pallor and giant, deep, dark circles rimming my eyes! Like, getting out of bed in the morning IS EASY and something to celebrate instead of something that caused me physical pain. I'm not exaggerating, I had been feeling PAIN reverberating through every fiber of my being. I thought it was just me being not-a-morning-person, "sensitive", etc. but as it turns out? FUCK NO. The first three days of feeling awesome last week are my new standard for how I should feel 99% of the time and I'm not going to accept anything less ever again.
Here are the supplements I started taking:
*Evening Primrose Oil *iodine *birth control (chick hormones) *omega oils *potassium (in grapefruit juice, etc.) *awesome Vitamin B complex *digestive enzymes
and changes I made:
*maintaining a stable blood sugar level (not letting myself get hungry, eating way less simple carbs/sugars) *continuing to use tools & learn more for anger management, concentration, calm, etc. *exercising consistently *continuing to make 8-9 hours of sleep per night my goal
A lot of these are things I've done before that yielded positive results, but I never did them consistently or all at the same time or appreciated the importance of spending the money to stay stocked up on all of the vitamins or understood the big picture of how they were helping me. I still don't have a thorough grasp of that, but getting as totally fucked up as I was forced me to do a lot of research and over the years a lot of people and circumstances have handed me clues. Like not being able to get pregnant and slowly finding out a whole bunch of possible reasons why not. Like having people tell me over and over and over again to have my thyroid tested. Like having almost no stressors in my life and often doing everything right and trying my fucking hardest and still feeling WORSE instead of better. Like having some really great health care providers in my life and then having to deal with one who was really bad. Like THE INTERNET being an imperfect but still fucking fabulous resources. Like having a trans partner and thinking more about hormones, identity, and the nuances of gender. Like having people tell me I have too much testosterone. Like having my hair stylist tell me I had an unnatural amount of HAIR FALLING OUT OF MY HEAD (ahhh, so it WASN'T my imagination that was noticing my part widening in pictures and on the webcam I have staring down at the top of my head).
I really am sorry for how impatient I've been, how easily agitated I've been, and for how little time I've had for people and issues and projects I care about. Mostly I'm sad that Delia had to live with someone so unpredictable and "touchy". But I'm really happy for us now that we are both getting ourselves sorted out.
I think this year (or at least the next six months) are going to be a time of simply catching up on time I/we've lost personally and financially/professionally. I know I've made a lot of posts in the past couple of years about ways I was reorganizing and reprioritizing things, and while many of them were necessary, very few of them were productive or successful because of what I now realize was a significant health problem. I am going to be patient with myself and try to enjoy simply feel good. REALLY good.
I'm not saying my life has been nonstop misery because that's not true at all -- hormones are shifty fuckers so there've been lots of highs and lows and near-normalcy, but I've likely been suffering from this for most of my post-adolescent life to one degree or another judging from how rarely I ovulated on time or at all; most people would say "judging from how rarely my period was on time", but I now refuse to refer to on-time periods as the sensible indicator of health when it totally ignores that timely menstruation is reliant on timely ovulation. It's not that I think ovulation is some holy fucking grail or that every woman should strive for FERTILITY, I just think there's so much MISSING from (and deceptive about) our language for talking about how our bodies function and how to identify problems and heal them. And you know how women who understand their clits and their g-spots and the rest of their bodies and how they work and where those parts live CAN MAKE THEM OPERATE BETTER and experience more pleasure? I don't think the rest of our anatomy and functionality is any different. If I understand that high blood sugar and cortisol and stress and testosterone and estrogen suppression and ovulation and concentration and happiness are all linked up and I can visualize those things and better know how to achieve stability there, then I am going to be a happier, better-functioning person.
Personally I'm excited about the discoveries I'm making about myself and feel so fired up about so many things I'm back to my "normal" scatterbrained whirlwind of divided attention (and haven't been taking Ritalin since I started my little regimen above). I'm also really angry and thinking a lot about how most health care providers are totally incompetent and uncaring when it comes to endocrinology (unless it has to do with diabetes) and SUPER COMMON hormone problems. I believe to my core that misogyny is the root of the ignorance and lack of care; people believe and want women to age a certain way, to become dried-up shrews. They believe we'll complain about anything and are still mostly just hysterical, crazy bitches and that our problems are all psychological. Everyone thinks it's so "advanced" to treat depression and anxiety as real stand-alone illnesses now that we can throw fucked-up, addictive drugs at when so much depression and anxiety and other mental illness are probably caused by hormonal problems that don't always originate with (or aren't limited to) poor brain chemistry or treated best just by addressing them. I'm certainly not suggesting we all go Tom-Cruise-Vitamin-Crazy, I'm just saying that health care professionals aren't even bothering to test for or treat underlying hormone imbalances, and most people like it that way. It makes a lot of women sicker, not healthier. Just to give you an example, this doctor I went to was ready to put me on anti-depressants, didn't believe me when I told her I knew the birth control itself would help a lot, and refused to test my thyroid (the most common "thyroid" test done is for TSH -- thyroid stimulating hormone -- and it doesn't really test your thyroid gland, it tests your pituitary gland AND the results are months old by the time it reaches your blood). You have to wonder how this woman thinks that anti-depressants are going to cure me of hair loss, weight gain, constipation, lethargy, etc. when you know it will make most of those symptoms WORSE. To her I was just a crazy, miserable bitch demanding a "complicated" explanation for what seemed obvious to her: THAT I'M SIMPLY A CRAZY MISERABLE BITCH.
If we removed the stigma and value judgment from the statement "she's got hormone problems" we'd lose one of our most precious and reliable punch lines. So many women would feel so much better the world would be turned upside-fucking down. It probably wouldn't be very good for the sex industry, I imagine, if more middle-aged women felt like a million bucks. Or maybe it would . . . . My sister, a nurse, said she thinks endocrinology is too nuanced for traditional western medicine to deal with and that it's not a "sexy" field like surgery. I think it's the opposite. It's the sexiest field of all. It IS the source of what we think of as sex and gender and for us to really understand it and the role it plays in our lives and how it is the foundation for so much of our identities would pose such a threat to the status quo and to the people we rely upon to make the rest of us feel normal by comparison that it's just a giant taboo. In generations to come I think it's transgender and people who defy gender stereotypes and limitations who will force the medical community and other people to understand endocrinology a whole lot better and how hormones can be manipulated to help us lead our best, most authentic and healthiest lives.
Anyway, long post short, I was feeling pretty bad. And now I feel really great. And that makes me really happy. I'm fueling up now for good things to come.
Yesterday we were obligated by desire and blue skies to take a walk in the middle of what would be normal-people's work day.
Right now I feel like taking a month long vacation. Not a real, TOTAL "vacation", but a chance to actually catch up on work with some breathing room to get healthy. There's nothing horrible going on in my life; everything is pretty awesome . . . except that I sometimes feel like I'm losing my mind. I'm feeling optimistic about it though now that I'm starting to understand why and commit to fixing the problem(s). I *really really appreciate* those of you who've taken the time and shared of yourself to suggest I look into getting my thyroid checked.
I could blog about this and all things related to it for hours, but now's not the best time to do it justice and make it sound relevant to people who probably have no idea how relevant it really IS to at least 10% of the population plus all the people who love them and wonder why they're cold, tired, fat, and crazy bitches with thinning hair and dry pussies. And the clueless, careless doctors who think it's all in our heads and just prescribe anti-depressants without even bothering to test us.
I am mad, hopeful, tired and I have a good, holistic plan (which includes taking as many walks in the middle of the day as possible) to get myself into top form and be less crazy. Again, I say I'd love to have a month-long "vacation", meaning a break from commitments but not a break from work. I'm not actually begging for that to fall out of the sky, I'm just semi-wishfully thinking while being partially thankful I can't have one. Because I don't really WANT one. I WANT to work. I'm just really fucking tired, but at least now I know WHY.
Okay. Maybe I *do* want to take a real vacation whenever I walk past someone who lives on shiny wheels:
Second photo of mountain from the top = Mt. Baker Mountain in last two photos = Mt. Rainier aka The Mountain (all shot yesterday)
Yeah, well I *loved* her. Because I could relate to her so much. Her seriousness and convictions and reaching for the right words (but getting them all wrong) and insisting upon precision with her responses to questions and bewilderment over the rules of the interview at the end. I loved her voice and she was the kind of smarT I recognize as my own.
I hate myself for watching that show, but almost feel like it's my duty to know how we're being taught about our own and other people's value. If you have bad teeth, if you're mentally ill, if you're overweight, if you're an aspie (see above), if you're overweight AND wear tight or revealing clothing, if you're borderline retarded, you're fair game for the Idol freak show. All of America joins together not just to laugh at you, but to FEEL GOOD about laughing at you without compunction. It's a family show! Everybody's watching! It's okay to laugh in someone's face, punctuate every gaffe with sound effects, play songs like "Weird Science" when you walk into your audition if you're a nerd (two scores I'd personally be pleased with -- that song is googlyicious GOODNESS and that one nerd with bad teeth could have played Patrick Bateman's long lost hillbilly cousin!). You can laugh right in someone's face and still be considered kind as long as you chuckle "good lookin' out!" and say, "awwww, you should never sing again but I can tell you're a real sweetie!" as they exit.
They pretend American Idol is a competition only one person wins at the end, but the real reason it's popular is because we ALL get to be winners at home each and every time they show us another fucking loser. The same people who've been targets of cruelty and ostracism for centuries -- sissy boys with lisps, fat girls whose pants split, ugly people who dare to smile wide, and village idiots whose ears stick out and eyes are too close-set -- willingly subject themselves to torment. Compared to them, the rest of us come out so far ahead! We are smarter, prettier, stronger and more likely to fit in than THOSE Americans. We wouldn't make their stupid mistakes!
We just watched an episode (Yokel Chords) of The Simpsons that made fun of this phenomenon with Homer demonstrating exactly the behavior I'm talking about, pointing at the inbred hicks on tv, calling them stupid and feeling so good about himself in the process. I totally understand the appeal; in the internet porn industry I'm surrounded by people I subconsciously think of as easy targets (mostly my male "colleagues"); I feel like it's my duty to be mean and ream them out, but maybe I actually waste time around them on webmaster boards because I'm a small person who wants to pretend she's an advanced and sophisticated thinker. How petty and embarrassing is that?
It's taking me a long time to put it into practice, but I really want to stop doing that. Awhile back we heard a comedian on the radio asking why it's not okay to make fun of retarded people but people who are just plain STUPID are totally fair game. It kind of blew my mind because I like to think I'm one of those defenders of political correctness and sensitivity, but I totally have that double standard that I should be empathetic towards people who are developmentally delayed or have other identifiable REASONS for not being great intellectual thinkers, but it's not only acceptable to mock and hate on stupid people -- it's like I sometimes feel it's my fucking DUTY to be mean, angry and impatient with stupid and/or ignorant people. Like they have no excuse for being so dumb or lacking information. Granted, most of the time when I feel that way it's because they're acting like judgmental know-it-alls themselves or because they're idiots writing to me with offensive demands, but it doesn't really accomplish anything or make me a better person to behave the same way. I feel especially gross about it considering that under other circumstances -- if I were in a different role doing a different kind of job (teaching, for example) -- I would never allow myself to act that way and would be horrified by other people doing it. There are a bunch of ways I defend my behavior and even as I write this think it's the RIGHT thing to do in certain circumstances. What I want is to understand what *I* get emotionally out of being an asshole to stupid people and decide whether or not it can accomplish anything positive next time I feel like calling someone a moron. It's gotten so reflexive that nary a day goes by that I'm not screaming at someone for being a dumb-ass. Dumb fuck, dumb ass, crazy bitch, stupid shit, crazy SON-of-a-bitch, cocksucking moron . . . apparently they're everywhere I look and it doesn't really make me feel good to label people that way everywhere I look, even if I only do it in my head or muttering under my breath at the grocery store, "MOVE, you stupid shit-for-brains, MOVE!!"
I wonder why I've gotten worse about this as I've gotten older. Is it because I'm more socially isolated and feel less connected to other people? Is it because I'm more and more aware of my own limitations and am just projecting my own feelings of inferiority? Is it because I have some hormonal stuff going on that's making me more of an asshole than I really am? Is it because I know that I'm actually one of those stupid hillbilly nerds they make fun of on television? Whatever it is, I'm going to try to be less of a shithead and recognize that the only person I am in competition with is myself.
Bloggers and webwhores around the world are making "year in review" posts right now. I'm not very good at instantly recalling and ranking The Most Important Things That Happened Last Year (seriously, I'm not even capable of ordering food in a drive-through -- something every other moron in America is MORE than competent at). I do feel really excited about 2009, though. It's like the past four months have been a slow, gradual process of skill-building, cleaning-up, clarifying and prioritizing to prepare for a great new year/rest-of-my-life.
Before I sum up my too-personal stuff, here's a picture of me from way back in February of 2002, before my members-only area opened, right around the time I met "my houseboy" before she became Delia:
And photos from a couple of my favorite shoots this year:
Probably the most important thing that happened in 2008 was we both started going to twelve step meetings. If I just said, "the most important thing that happened in 2008 was Delia stopped drinking" it might make more sense to people, but that really isn't the most important thing that happened. The most important thing for me (and equally important for our relationship) is that when she stopped drinking this time AND started going to meetings, I had to start getting my OWN shit together instead of thinking things were just hard because of her alcoholism. I sort of thought everything was perfect before EXCEPT for her drinking, but the month after she stopped? It totally wasn't perfect, because I had a complete meltdown. Obviously I know *I* am not perfect and I know a lot of the ways I'm an asshole (and will continue to be no matter how hard I sometimes try to stop being), but I really didn't have a plan or consistently work towards or ask for any help being a better, happier, healthier, nicer person. Working and worrying about other people (what they're THINKING, what they're DOING, what they EXPECT from me, how I think they're so fucking WRONG/fucked up, etc.) were my top priorities. I didn't really accept that me being a crazy asshole was/is my absolute biggest problem.
They seem like a simple concepts to apply to life -- just worry about your OWN shit, don't try to control anyone/thing except yourself -- but no matter how much I know those things on a rational level, applying them on a daily basis is a struggle and going to meetings helps me with that in a way nothing else ever has before.
Getting back on Ritalin has helped a lot, too. Another thing that's helping is making exercising a priority -- on December 5th I moved "exercising" to the top of my to-do list. I've exercised 21 days out of the past 29 (walking, dancing, stretching, DDRing, pilates, etc.). I need to keep reminding myself that my health is a bigger priority than work -- that taking care of myself IS my job and the foundation of doing everything else better. And being less of a crazy asshole.
This year when I filed our 2007 taxes (late, in October) I also had to face that we didn't meet our money goals in 2008; like, our sales were almost exactly the same as in 2007 when my goal was to double it (not as insane as it sounds, especially given our growth rate in years past). It's not that I'm not thankful -- I know that lots of people made LESS money in 2008 than 2007 -- but there's really no excuse for us not to be making more money. Yes, it's hard. But it's at the point now where we really NEED to, and that challenge/brink-of-disaster is good for me because it focuses me. I've been pushing everything to the sidelines that is not an efficient way of meeting our sales goals and promising myself not to pick those things up again until our goals are met and I can *justify* doing all those extra things and have the *resources* to do them well.
We also tried harder in 2008 to take days off. We didn't succeed in doing that consistently/regularly, so I should make that a resolution for this year. In general 2008 taught me that I can do more work better by not trying to do so MUCH of it and by working on improving myself.
In between meetings, exercise, Ritalin, fewer goals in my field of vision/better priorities, I felt really good about taking down the 2008 calendar and hanging up 2009. Everything feels like it's falling into place and I feel more patient about the time that's taking than I ever have before, and massively excited about the way Delia's and my relationship with each other is evolving and deepening -- our need to spend non-work time with each other and making/hearing music, fucking, laughing, kissing, talking, cleaning house, playing games, etc. is another huge motivator to push other stuff off the table so we can just ENJOY each other.
I am still going to be an asshole in 2009, but I will be a healthier asshole with a more flexible pucker. I know I won't STOP blowing hot, rank air but I will concentrate on cooling it down and remind myself to focus on cleaning myself up from the inside out to reduce my stench. I will be a more kissable asshole in 2009, and if all goes well perhaps I will be wiping myself with money by the time 2010 rolls around.
Last night we stayed up way too late, but it was worth it to catch up a little on something we haven't had enough of lately: SEX. Watching/listening to Daniel Lanois (see below) put me into a magic place, and reaching over to feel Delia's semi-hard cock made fucking her totally irresistible. I alternated between stroking her cock and feeling her swollen, growing boobs before I got on her and came two times to her one. The whole thing was super-intense, partly because it's been a couple of weeks but mostly just because it IS.
It's super windy here today with a projected snow storm rolling in; I think we lost power last night so most of our cams went (and stayed) down until we got up. Don't be surprised if it happens some more over the next week. I *hope* it won't interfere with the shows and chat we have scheduled this weekend, but if it does? You'll know weather is the reason.
Enjoy the full moon tonight, if you can. It will probably be clouded over here.
I'm going to make myself keep exercising because it's paying off after a week of being consistent; I feel a lot better already. I did fall off the wagon yesterday and tried to tell myself getting a massage was AS GOOD as getting exercise, but sex and backrubs really aren't all that aerobic so if I want to keep feeling good, I need to do some physical work tonight.
I have galleries to post for members, but honestly I don't like them enough to post them right now so I'll put something else up and we'll shoot something better.
You don't need me to tell you that times are financially tough right now for a lot of people. You might be curious, though, whether or not recessions and looming depressions have an effect on our porn site sales. The answer? Yes, sales have been a little harder for us to make but overall I feel much more secure than I would in almost any other industry. The main sign we've seen that people's wallets are thin is that we get more denied credit cards.
My main financial concerns right now are not about falling sales, they're just about having finally reached our limit, unfortunately right at the time when banks and everyone else have reached theirs. I try not to feel a sense of shame or failure about my debt load regardless of how our country tells us that we little people are to blame for overextending ourselves or for being given loans and lines of credit we somehow didn't deserve. Our only mistake was being born poor while extremely unscrupulous banking bigwigs are bailed out for fucking people anally with insanely high interest rates. Example: it cracks me up that Citibank not only gets away with raising my interest rate and leveling late charges against me for sending a payment in on time that I accidentally wrote for fifty-seven cents less than the minimum payment that month (YES I have written them letters to no avail), but taxpayers get to foot the bill to save their fucking asses.
I'm getting off track.
Point is, after filing our taxes in October (yes, totally late) and maxing ourselves out like crazy we simply need to make more sales. Really, there is no excuse for us not to be making much more money at this point except that we tend to focus more on keeping our members happy than on actually, you know, FINDING MORE MEMBERS. It would be nice if we could do it all, but at this point we need to cut back on some things and rearrange others, at least until we meet some financial goals. So here are a couple of changes we/I are making:
*REALISTIC NUMBER OF WEBCAM SHOWS EVERY OTHER WEEK. Delia and I have been doing an insane number of shows for too many years: around twenty a month between the two of us. Most girls or couples with sites like ours who actually do live webcam shows do one or two a week, so maybe three to eight shows a month. Frankly it was sucking way too much sexual energy out of our relationship, leaving us very little free time to be spontaneous or go on shooting sprees or, you know, take a day or two off here and there.
We're now scheduling a couple days of webcam shows a couple times a month/every other week. It still averages out to at least two shows a week this way, but that's still less than what we have been doing and will give us more breathing room in-between to shoot videos and have recreational sex with each other.
Doing fewer camshows will also open up time to promote our sites in other ways; the truth is that the cam networks stopped being good places to get new members a long time ago. Even the girls who put on great shows and bend over backwards to be great orgasmic little entertainers do not make great sales because of those webcam shows. I will save explaining why for a different blog entry, but suffice to say right now there are more efficient ways of bringing in new sales; at a time like now we simply need to be more efficient.
*FEWER HOURS IN CHAT I really really love getting to know our members and think an active chatroom with a readily-available hostess is a really awesome feature to have on a porn/spycam site. I've had many awesome conversations in chat and gotten to know people I consider friends. Unfortunately, I probably spent way too much time in spycam chat over the years when I should have been focusing more on marketing my site. Now it's at the point where I really don't have a choice and need to spend those hours promoting our sites (especially Delia's because it outsells mine three to one).
I hate to say it, but I just don't have enough members to justify scheduling so many hours in chat. I've tried to find ways to make it work, and I feel like the same small handful of people are coming in just so I don't feel bad sitting in there alone. Combined with being burned out from all the camshows and being under pressure in other ways, I'm also just not as energetic an entertainer as I once was, anyway, so it's probably not a very enticing feature anymore. I am, however, continuing to pay for our members-only chatroom (the plugin is only $12.50 a month, but still) and am popping in there every so often and scheduling chats here and there. I've also added a separate twitter feed on the spycam, chat and shows pages to notify people of upcoming chats and shows and spycam stuff.
I've made a goal for myself that once Delia has 750 members and I have 500 members, I will add 15+ hours of chat per month back into the schedule as long as we can maintain those numbers and people seem to enjoy the chats. I know that 1250 members sounds like a lot, but in the grand scheme of things it's inexcusable that we don't have that many and more members right now. When I see the way other porn sites have tons of members and offer so much less than we do, it really makes me mad at myself because there's no reason we cannot be comfortable, debt-free and have the resources we need to make our sites better.
I just can't justify doing as much as we've been doing and staying so deeply in debt. I'm getting too old for it and it's taking too much of a toll on me. I need to buckle down and sell the fuck out of our sites, especially Delia's because she has much less competition.
*LOOSEY-GOOSEY UPDATES For about five years I was very rigid about my update schedule for members, posting something new every week, and for many years on the exact same DAY each week. I still feel like that's the ideal way to do things (scheduled updates one or more times a week, depending on whether or not the site has anything else going for it).
Once we made our sites all-access (join one you get them all) I tried to relax a little on that and am finally feeling less anal about it. Now I am focused on our network of sites added ten or more new things each month, which isn't two hard considering that we have DeliaCD, TastyTrixie, AmberLily, SpyOnUs and TrixiesHouseboy (which is paralyzed right now, but I digress). Still, I have been asking too much of myself and not really giving myself the opportunities to excel at what I do best and WANT to do most at any given time. When I see other sites that I think are great (and so do their members) and they don't get all crazy freaking out on themselves for not updating like clockwork, I have to think I'm just sabotaging myself with self-criticism and essentially also disrespecting the work my colleagues do; if it's good enough for them, why isn't it good enough for me?
This was especially apparent to me when AmberLily joined our network; it was a sudden thing, so we didn't plan on it by having a bunch of our own content queued up ready to go while we did the things we needed to do to help get her site up on our server and attached to us. It wasn't that anything I did was particularly HARD, but it did take a lot of hours making phone calls, designing a tour, negotiating stuff, etc. Lots of little things that made me happy to do, but meant I didn't have time to do other things. I *should* have said, "hey members! This month I won't be posting new updates but AmberLily's joining us and you will have her entire site to explore to make up for it!" But I didn't do that.
From now on, I NEED to do that; realize I can't do it all, and be proud of what I *do* do, and satisfied that it is enough instead of thinking all will be lost unless I run myself into the ground. The opposite is proving to be true (duh): all will be lost if I continue to run myself ragged. I'm totally out of gas, which is sad especially when there are a number of women who would like to join our network of sites and I simply don't have time and energy to invest in working with them right now.
There are tons of things I've neglected to do that I need to get taken care of, like redesigning the free areas and blogs for pretty much all of our paysites. How many years have I had the same confusing design on this blog and my site that is now totally outdated with pages of broken things, old pictures, etc.? It's just unacceptable. And no, I am not listening to anybody who gives me shit about all my other little "projects" and how if I didn't waste time with them I could finish all these neglected necessaries. Bullshit. If I didn't allow myself to go off on tangents, then half of the reward of working for myself would be totally fucking DELETED. Whatever makes me want to do those things is the same thing that makes me good at the things people PAY for.
Oh, and speaking of what people pay for, I still really miss doing phone sex, private shows and the potential to do other one-on-one stuff; another set of things I'd like to mix back into my life soon or when we meet some of those money goals.
Basically I am *considering* posting fewer updates to the TastyTrixie members area for a few months or until I feel/look healthier. Lately I've been doubling up on them/posting "late", mostly because I haven't been happy with a lot of my content and sit on updates until I have something "better" to go with them. In fact, that's what I've been doing with a set of pictures that I edited this week and really kind of hate.
Mostly I guess I need to stop making promises and just focus on making content. And even more than that, SALES. Note: it's not that our content isn't good enough to make sales or that we don't have enough of it or that our members-only areas are lacking; that isn't the problem at all. It's simply that the webmasters promoting most porn sites don't know how to promote us, or have never heard of us because we have no advertising budget, or it's just not worth it to them to promote us because we can't pay them as much as these big sites do (yet another subject for another blog entry) or we don't give them enough free content in the format they like with a lot of bells and whistles and things to make it super-easy (I totally understand why this puts us at a disadvantage).
I know this is a really long post and maybe a total bore to most people, but I feel like I needed to communicate this stuff in writing and by posting it, make a commitment to it myself. Long story short, we need to focus on meeting some attainable, yet very immediately necessary sales goals. I have to close two of my credit card accounts before they raise the interest rates to some even-more god-awful amount; this shit is getting down to the wire and we simply have to stop living on the edge.
One of my favorite books about "unschooling" tells readers that when you allow a young person to escape the lock-step of traditional schools, the person usually needs three months or more to get it out of their system and have their natural curiosity well up enough to be motivated to take advantage of other learning opportunities. Note: there are many things I love about traditional schools AND alternative approaches to education; I'm not knocking schools, just using this as an example. As I've alluded to in recent posts, making great life-changing decisions doesn't always yield immediate relief and results and instant accomplishments; I've been pretty exhausted and overwhelmed on a bunch of different levels so I really don't expect everything to magically be PERFECT and I hope my members are patient and understand that too, though I totally understand if people feel like canceling and perhaps coming back later when I have more to offer.
I'm really looking forward to getting back to making our spycams more entertaining, focusing on Delia's and my relationship to each other, and feeling better about my body. Today's the seventh day in a row I've exercised and I know by the time the new year rolls around I'm going to feel a million percent better (if the holidays don't kill me ;).
Let me toss some tgirl-on-tgirl porn at you before I get all personal and diary-ish(click for free pics & sample vid):
This is my favorite photo in the samples and in general that whole shoot was really hot to watch, plus I love that the resulting porn is both explicit and very sensual. I need to work on my skills as a photographer shooting people other than Delia, though. With Mandy and AmberLily I didn't do a good job of stopping them and asking them to hold "poses", so as a result there were lots of blurry and awkward shots -- good ones, too, but could've been better. We're still getting used to our new camera which is FAST, but since we don't shoot with a flash or a lot of light we still have to MODEL semi-slowly even though it's tempting when you hear the shutter flying along to dance fluidly along.
Life is good -- there are lots of things going on with me which are mostly connected with making a concerted effort to have LESS things going on and focus on a few high priority things. Right now my personal priorities are:
-exercising consistently (today will be five days in a row) -eating less sugar and starches -going to twelve step meetings & getting healthier emotionally and spiritually -cutting back on a few things to make room for a) making money more efficiently and b) doing more things that I love
The past couple of years my body has become more and more of a challenge for me to feel good about, mostly because I never got into the habit of taking care of it except for getting enough sleep. With the added pressure (and wake-up-calls) of trying to get pregnant but not being able to, it's gotten to the point where I feel really shitty with a litany of symptoms and complaints and hypochondriac fantasies. Long story short, I need to put myself and my health first before everything (and everybody) else.
A lot of times I sacrifice my own needs and desires to work which really is stupid because I can't *do* this kind of work very well when my body feels like shit and I don't provide myself with pleasure on all levels. I can barely stand to look at myself which is, ummm, pretty counterproductive for shooting porn (and editing/posting/selling it myself where I have to look at myself and love myself to do a good job). It's not that everything looks shitty, but seriously -- it's not only difficult for me to bend over to tie my shoes these days, it's PHYSICALLY PAINFUL. My guts fucking hurt.
Before people rush to simple judgments like, "duh! That's what happens when you sit on your ass all day", etc. let me offer a little perspective and extend some leniency to myself; there are definitely some hormonal problems contributing to my issues (all of the thyroid / infertility / depression / migraine / too-much-testosterone stuff and more all connected in a which-came-first/chicken-egg circle of insanity) plus the stuff we've been going through with alcoholism that no one has really been aware of or how it's been effecting us; *I* haven't even been aware of how much of my energy was going into trying to cope with it.
One of the unexpected bonuses of Delia getting sober is that I got to enter recovery too. Only I totally didn't anticipate how hard it would be or that I would totally fucking freak out (which I did, surprisingly, really fall-the-fuck apart the first month and couldn't really understand why when I thought I would just feel relieved and everything would be bliss and perfection). Now that Delia is sober and I'm not constantly thinking about her and trying to control her drinking, I'm left with the way bigger, scarier challenge and problem of mySELF and my own fucked-upedness. Patterns of behavior and sickness that I had before Delia and I ever even met.
I feel really optimistic, excited and fortunate right now, but I also feel like I need a lot of space and time and patience to get healthy in more ways than one. It takes more than a week or a month or three months or a year to feel relief, to figure out what to change (and what IS changing whether you want it to or not), to adapt, and to grow into new ways of doing things. I'm kind of tired and have a lot of stuff to process and let go of so just mending my body, our relationship and going to meetings right now is enough to keep me very occupied. I'd say that I'm sorry I don't have more left over to spread around and to keep doing all the things I was trying to do, but I'm not sorry. I'm happy to be focused on what's important.
Note: I'm leaving comments open for people who want to remark on the Delia & Mandy shoot or those who have their own personal sharing/relating on the subjects I talked about, but I usually do not feel helped by comments containing unsolicited advice, analysis of me/us/our lives and/or criticism even when I know they're well-intentioned.
I went to the store for a colon cleanse kit (details to come in another entry) and some other goodies while Delia was at her meeting. The worker bees were doing their nightly cleanup routine where they're totally in your way except for when you want to check out, and then they ignore you (and you know your irritation with them is totally reciprocated because you're in THEIR way, too). I walked out happy with my purchases, but making my foul "I hate people!" frowny-face.
In the empty parking lot as I loaded my bag into our van I happened to glance out into the dark street just in time to see a car swishing by. It looked familiar . . . was it? YES! It was my girlfriend on her way home and she SAW me! You have no idea how big my grin was by the time Delia turned on her blinker and pulled in, rolling down her window just to give me a kiss.
I know it's totally dorky and makes no sense that it would make me so happy to see her like that when we're together 97% of the time. I can't explain it, but it felt so good. Less than five minutes later we were both home together again, kissing in the driveway and talking about our colons.
I can't even describe how much joy a couple pots of pansies have given me. We rarely spend money on yard-stuff since we rent, but damn . . . just having a reason to go outside and water a couple bowls of flowers and inspect their tiny, perfect faces makes me so fucking happy. It did suck when we were gone last week and came home to find the deer had eaten half of them in our absence, but since pansies are so cheap it didn't feel like a major loss:
We took most of the day off on Wednesday, AND IT WAS GOOD. We took the dog for a walk on the beach when we got up, then we came home for breakfast: eggs scrambled up with onions and softened apples (that Delia picked from the tree in our yard). It's pretty rare that I cook any of the food we eat together (Delia takes care of all the housewifey things here), so it made me feel good to contribute in that way for once.
We also spent time outside pruning the Camellia, meaning Delia pruned while I stood there and watched, enjoying the rain that started to fall while I picked up the branches. Or maybe that was yesterday, I don't know. I also got a headache on our day off, but since we didn't have anything planned it felt SO GOOD to not worry about what I wasn't going to get done and just nap instead. I'm redoubling my efforts to avoid migraine triggers, for real! I just had a minor lapse Tuesday night when I had some processed meat. Bad, Trixie!
I'm betting people are curious how my psychiatrist appointment went, so here's a post that's JUST about that:
It was a relief to see him; I was amazed how much he remembered after more than five years, and that was without even having the benefit of reviewing my old records since he moves them from his office to his garage if inactive and older than five years.
Hmmm . . . now that I'm trying to write this I'm not sure how much of it I feel like sharing, not because any of it was bad or even that personal, it's just the kind of thing that requires a lot of context and background information to be accurate and I know people have a tendency to be judgmental about prescription drugs, people who are diagnosed with new labels, etc. On the other hand, I know that for every person who reads this stuff and thinks, "what a crock of shit/loony bird/lazy, oversensitive drug-seeker" there's another person who can relate.
Long story short, I'm really glad I went. It's always so cool to have positive, meaningful experiences with health care professionals where you are helped in a way that also makes you feel respected, empowered and cared for by people who are extremely knowledgeable and gifted. I wish everybody could afford to get the care they need from people who deliver it at such a high and loving level.
Aside from the intangible benefits of going, I came away with my generic 10 mg Ritalin prescription and an assortment of other samples and scripts to try since I live too far away to come often (four hour round trip), my insurance isn't paying for it so it's too expensive for me to come often, and I said I can't afford to try anything new after my bad experiences with Adderall (it made me feel really depressed and hopeless) I'm reluctant to stray from what I know works for me.
I've only filled the prescription for the Ritalin, but also have Focalin, Concerta and Vyvanse sample scripts. For a couple of weeks I'm just going to enjoy my old standby, though. I took some last night before I went to sleep (yes, I know that's contraindicated but it often *helps* me get more relaxed, satisfying sleep) and it was just a huge fucking relief.
Another big relief is that he gave me a sample kit for Lamictal (a mood stabilizer). I don't feel like getting into a discussion at the moment about whether or not I'm bipolar, but either way it sounds like a safe drug (even if you're trying to get pregnant or are pregnant) that's worth trying. I'm not sure whether or not I *will* try it, but I can't describe what a huge relief it is to have it here and to know that if things get any worse I have something that will probably make it better. I'm going to wait and see if I continue to have dramatically fucked-up mood swings (example: getting one of my "brilliant ideas" and getting so worked-up/hyper-enthusiastic/crazily-driven that I'm pacing uncontrollably for a few hours then plummet into a state of horrifying self-loathing and hopeless depression lasting twice as long as the crazy-high; apparently "they" are expanding how they diagnose bipolar disorder so it's not just limited to people who cycle slowly from one extreme to the other). I'm still going to see an endocrinologist to find out if there's a hormonal problem fucking with my head, and I know lack of exercise and stress are other big factors that can make people crazy but sometimes meds can work miracles, even if you just try them to learn how it feels to be different or are reminded that things can be better.
I just have to say HUGE RELIEF again. That's what it is. To know you have options and boosts. To know that if things get worse there is help to be had (and that things don't HAVE to get worse before you seek it out).
This will be a very boring entry to read if you aren't interested in health issues:
Today I *had* to cancel my shows because I woke up with a headache that developed into a full-fledged, obvious migraine. I've done shows before in spite of them and just kept the lights down low and abstained from masturbating to keep all that blood flow in and out of my head consistent, but that wasn't an option today as I had diarrhea and was almost puking my brains out.
Of course, I thought I'd been very good lately about avoiding triggers like bananas, peanut butter, caffeine, etc. but then we realized that yesterday? I ate smoked salmon, bacon and avocados -- all yummy things on the food trigger list. And for some reason I just thought turkey bacon would be exempt from what makes bacon be on that list, but I was SO wrong. On top of that the entire past week I've been very light sensitive with sun spots, etc. and have had a metal taste in my mouth often and other weird flavors on the roof of my mouth; I think I've been teetering on the brink. Today before I got nauseated I was standing in the bathroom and suddenly smelled an overpowering scent of bread mold for a few seconds and then it was gone; it was an olfactory hallucination which I do not think I've ever had before, but apparently is a less-common type of aura preceding migraines.
I was diagnosed with classic migraines as a kid but they were much worse back then with guaranteed puke-fests and a very distinct tunnel-vision and other weird feelings warning me they were coming. As an adult I've been sort of dismissive of them because they're different and less severe than they were as a kid and teenager when they were absolutely incapacitating. The thing is, they were a lot more RARE when I was younger, too. They might not be as bad now and I might be able to avoid barfing my brains out, but they're more frequent and last a lot longer (maybe because I'm not puking?) so I don't know why I just keep trying to pretend they're not a big giant deal.
Low and behold, I discovered today when frantically googling that migraines can also be caused by thyroid problems. It will be such a relief if that's the reason for a bunch of symptoms on my mounting list of health complaints. I feel like I'm wasting so much time in my life trying to figure out what the fuck is wrong with me. I used to think I was the picture of health, not in an athletic way, but in an indestructible-nerd way. Quirks like attention deficit disorder weren't things I saw as vulnerabilities or symptoms of poor construction, they were what made me SPECIAL and amazing! Now I feel like a whining puddle of annoying health problems from my lactose intolerance to my allergies to animals to my inability to conceive to my insane levels of PMS to my anxiety to my sensitivities to every little morsel of stimulation to my inability to hold conversations on cell phones. Yes, I still find it very hard to believe other people are able to separate the noises on the phone and the road from the voice and then actually piece the sounds together into words that are strung into sentences intended to convey meaning. If I were a character on a video game with a full life counter who had to talk (and listen) for three minutes on a cell phone, you would see my juice depleted to almost nothing in that amount of time.
Anyhoo, we're getting up early tomorrow to trek to Tacoma for an appointment with my brilliant and wonderful psychiatrist. I haven't seen him in at least five years and am looking forward to being re-assessed by him and getting a Ritalin scrip. I will definitely talk to him about my other brain stuff like the migraines, potential thyroid issues, etc. That is the benefit of going to a really good psychiatrist rather than just a psychologist; they are DOCTORS who know lots of interesting shit.
After that we're meeting up with Delia's ex-girlfriend and her partner for dinner, then spending the night with our friend Ron; all of these people are creative-thinkers so it's fun to brainstorm with them, not boring "regular" socializing. On Tuesday we have to do some shopping (our threadbare flannel sheets bit the dust and are ripping on my side of the bed and my good hot water bottle is so thin it's about to burst) and meet up with my mom to give her a birthday present (which I also have not picked out yet).
FYI: if you've gotten an email from me in the past three months, you are one of about a dozen people who can say that. I'm just mentioning it so everyone else will know that it's not just YOU who hasn't heard from me personally, I'm just having a hard time getting it all done. My computer time is prioritized to be eaten up doing stuff that's meant to be consumed by more than one person at a time. It sucks, but there's not a whole lot I can do about it unless I want to stop sleeping and give myself more migraines.
Just a quick post to say that we have family visiting today and tomorrow so some of our cams and audio will be down. It's been too long since we've seen our nephew and we haven't even given my sister her present for her birthday which was a month ago. It's a hot pair of peeptoe sandals so in the back of my mind I'm hoping I can get a set of foot-focused pics out of her while she's wearing them, too. Is that so wrong? PROBABLY!
Some snaps of me from the last time we had company over:
My psychiatrist's office finally called back so I made an appointment to get back on Ritalin. I got a huge headache yesterday because I've been trying to use caffeine instead of prescription stimulants and caffeine? It's pure fucking evil. I don't have to consume much over the course of three or four days to suffer nasty consequences.
Even though I was almost totally out of commission yesterday with the headache, I did manage to write and post for members a sicko masturbation fantasy I had. I'm not sure if other people will jack off to it, but it's an interesting peek into the mind of a woman and how the threat of violence from men is a constantly disturbing companion that can't be safely separated from sex in our subconscious minds. Our brains are diseased with scary men.
We have a wedding to attend today, so we had to cancel our usual Sunday shows. As a consolation prize, last night I posted a new gallery and a couple of archived webcam shows from a year ago in my members-only area, including one where I played in one of my favorite things, GLOVES, specifically short red leather gloves:
I covet gloves that are small enough to fit me and tight enough to STRETCH across my knuckles. These ones are old and stained from a vintage clothing store, but I fucking adore them. I would love to have fresh, duplicate pairs in white, red, pink, brown, green, and black. That would make me squeal with leathery happiness! I want to slap others and myself with them and appreciate my freckled arms stemming from their sassy short lengths.
In the other show I posted I wore black nylon stockings and stuck my feet in the camera/viewers' virtual faces a lot:
Next month when my insurance waiting period for pre-existing conditions ends I am going to go see an endocrinologist as suggested by oogoddess awhile back; even if they don't find any explanation for my infertility, weight gain, etc. it will be good to rule out a thyroid problem and other things. My period finally started SIX WEEKS after my last one and I'm pretty much at my wits end dealing with wacky hormones and seeing very little results from exercising and eating more moderately (which is really really fucking hard when having wacky hormones makes me want comfort food for medication). I know I'm getting older and my metabolism is slowing down -- I can accept that -- but I still want to rule out the thyroid thing completely. Thyroid problems seem to be pretty common and frequently undiagnosed for years; there's no reason to suffer needlessly if that's my problem.
We finally got a new camera! It just arrived on Tuesday so today we shot our first nudey set with it. Here's one of my favorite, happy NON-nudey shots from that:
I'm extremely happy with it and hope to write a whole blog entry singing its praises and showing it off. Here's one I took last night:
I should say that I can't BELIEVE it's been over a week since I made a blog entry here, but I actually CAN believe it. I feel it in my marrow, this neglect. I could whine and cry about how disgusting I've felt and how tired I've been but that kind of melodramatic pathos won't do anybody any good. Instead I'll just say that I've revamped my routine goals and schedules in such a way that I will be more productive and efficient.
Basically instead of cycling through a long weekly routine to-do list, I've shortened my daily and weekly tasks and lengthened the monthly to-do list so I can group repetitive tasks in a lump to get weeks of them done ahead of time rather than trying to switch gears and never getting ahead by focusing on weekly cycles which barely give me a chance to half-assedly finish all my "chores" before the next week starts and I'm back on exactly the same treadmill; I've been depressed and overwhelmed feeling like I'm spinning my wheels so I really want to set work up so that I can get on a roll and STAY there for two to six days on one type of work at a time. Part of this switch began with me scheduling one hyperchat week per month and now I'm following through on that by making ALL of my work into lumpier monthly events.
Speaking of lumpy monthly events, I did get my period/am not pregnant. I just finished up with that and my second Clomid prescription so in a week or so I should ovulate again. This time we are 90% sure we're going to the doctor for an intrauterine insemination instead of the homebrew fucking. Maybe bypassing my cervix will get this party started, but it will probably leave our spycam voyeurs high and dry since Delia will be storing up her spooge for the fertility doctors who will spin it and wash it and prep it for my uterus (a process that causes some sperm to be lost). Sounds pretty counterproductive, doesn't it? Perhaps, but many sperm are lost in the vag, too, never even getting past the cervix especially if one has "hostile cervical mucous" which really sounds like a very Trixie-esque condition. I haven't had my cervical mucous tested or anything, but it would not surprise me one bit if all of this disappointment could be blamed on my bitterly acidic cunt juices. Oh, we've tried tricks designed to improve the quality of my mucous and used products intended to bathe sperm in slippery stuff they can easily swim through, but to no avail so far. We really want to get this motherfucking show on the road. FOR REALS.
Tonight I'm going to try to get these new photos posted for members and maybe get some more exercise, too. My body is like a weird stranger to me these days, all thick and dimpled in both good and bad ways. I did some exercise along with the tv the other day called "slow-robics" and couldn't even make it the entire hour even with commercial breaks. After the midway mark I had to take a big ass break then come back to it for another ten minutes. There were tons of speed-skater-imitating squatting exercises that turned my thighs and buttocks into what felt like big soft balloons of swollen jello. I have only just regained the ability to lower my ass onto the toilet without screeching in agony and clutching at the wall for support on the way down.
I guess this is what they call "thirty-five". On an intellectual level I know precisely how I've gotten to this point and exactly what I need to do to control at least some of the damage, but on another level I just can't believe this is my body. More to the point, I can't believe how different I am from when I was young. Again, on a rational level it all makes total sense and OF COURSE I'm different from my younger self, but it's not just my body that's different; I have changed in many ways and am maybe needing some time to adjust to my new identity and get to know who I am.
All this dim-witted introspection might sound silly, like it should all be easy and come naturally and make total sense, but you make a lot of plans in life and develop a lot of habits based on your perception of your identity. When your values, needs, and abilities shift then you need to change your habits and plans. Being here in my mid-thirties is almost like losing a limb and needing to learn how to do everything with three of them instead of four. My balance is off and I feel justified in simplifying things. It's not that I feel handicapped by my age (except slightly in the body/porn department); on the contrary, I know I'm more skilled and capable. On the other hand, I'm less deluded and more aware of (and complacent about) my weaknesses. I'm more sure of what I want and what I do NOT want which is great, but it does make one's options seem more limited.
I feel like I blew my ambition wad in my twenties, working really long and hard hours for other people. Proving myself to other people, making other people money, doing what other people wanted and tiring my damned self out. Now? I feel like I don't have much of that drive left, in part because I'm happy and content, but also because I'm just motherfucking tired of it. I don't like having to be resourceful to do my job; I want to have all of the tools I need to do my job well and it just exhausts me, mentally, physically and emotionally, having to pull everything together on a shoestring budget to attain mediocrity. It feels like a big waste of my time and I really REALLY want to spend more time with my family and I REALLY want to make better porn. A lot more time with my family AND a lot more porn. I think these are very normal, typical thirty-something feelings and part of me enjoys being in this stage of life. It's also embarrassing, though, because I feel like I should be able to muster up the energy to rectify this lack of resources. Sometimes it's empowering to know you control your own destiny and can CHANGE your situation just by hard work. Other times? It's just really depressing and tiring when you feel like you've DONE your hard work and you're way past due for the payoff. Everything feels like it hinges on how well I can mind-fuck myself into believing that I can, at the very least, double our income which is basically what we need to do and FAST to make continuing what we do justifiable. Of course, getting normal jobs is even less justifiable than continuing what we do full time simply because the only hope we have of paying off our debts is to win the lottery or work hard on our sites (since there's no limit to what we can make on them, unlike real jobs that have, ummm, limitations on wages and salaries and such, and are totally degrading and exhausting and enslaving compared to working for yourself on the internet). We don't play the lottery and I have no desire to quit what I do, so this is what we're going to keep on doing. Of course, my mind is always spinning with ways I can augment the porn site stuff and switch up our plans and find other revenue streams (aka pile even more jobs on myself) but the basic place I'm at is feeling like I've run a really long race and have no idea how far I am from the finish line. My body is falling apart and I'm beyond ready to slow my pace WAY down to falling flat on my face, preferably straight into a bowl of mashed potatoes and gravy. But I just keep telling myself to keep trudging along even though I suspect when I round the bend there's just going to be another long-ass stretch of empty road.
It's almost 9 pm now so I'm not going to be able to get both exercise AND an update done. I'm feeling floppy after writing this and want to go to bed, but I'll try to get back in here to edit the photos because I know it will be fun and make me feel better. Then again, so would eating donuts and watching television.
The other day I solicited feedback from any members who *want* to see me gain weight or enjoy the weight I've gained. This is, of course, a dangerous thing to do since some people fetishize weight gain to an unhealthy degree and the last thing I need, I suppose, is encouragement to gain more weight. I suppose. Anyway, I did get this one fun-to-read comment (which I've abbreviated here):
. . . . the reason I joined first was because I thought/sensed you had the 'frame' to gain weight...or more accurately, the width of your hips gave you the kind of body type I love to see fill out. With that body type, the ass and thighs really expand. And so it is w/ you. . . . Big thick ass, full thighs, fuller belly, etc...when a woman can own this and really rock it, it's just so sexy. I would LOVE to see you facesitting, that's a natural for any woman who is gaining weight and accepts the sexual eroticism of her either large or growing ass. I would love to see you riding reverse cowgirl, so again we can see your full thick ass from behind as you ride - either a face or cock, whatever. Seeing you squat, totally sxe. I could go on and on and have wanted to voice this to you for some time....so since you offered an open invitation to us on this issue today, I'm jumping at the chance. And, yes, seeing you gain weight turns me on...knowing you have this love/hate w/ it turns me on....knowing you're reading this and thinking how it might even have the smallest impact on your thoughts or feelings, turns me on.
Ahhhh, delightful. I only wish I *did* gain more weight in my rear; unfortunately a disproportionate amount of it goes to my belly and chins/neck. In fact, I calculated my waist-to-hip ratio here and it's definitely over the .8 threshold. Still, my butt and thighs are definitely bigger than they used to be so that is, in many ways, a dream come true. It would be good if I did more exercise to build bigger butt muscles; I saw a marked improvement when I was going to the gym and using the elliptical on certain settings. For those of you who don't believe I've gained a potentially unhealthy amount of weight or think I'm exaggerating my belly size, check this out. The balance ball picture is newest, but they all show where the bulk of my fat is stored. Note: I'm not done building that little niche site, but it will have my chubbiest pictures, some of which I've not posted on my main site. It's a learning experience and therapeutic little project of mine.
Anyway, thanks for the feedback, anonymous commenter, and I hope you enjoy the latest gallery of me sitting on a big balance ball; the video will be even plumper and juicier!
Speaking of social events with a purpose, we're not going to be able to make it to this fundraiser tomorrow, but PLEASE READ about it and consider donating. Keep it on your "worthy causes" bookmarks! It provides perspective a lot of us lack (or have the luxury to not consider often) and is a necessary reminder of the thousands of ways responsible family planning is undermined and right choices are punished or made unavailable to women who are saddled with more than their fair share of costs and scary-ass consequences for getting (and not getting) abortions.
To provide some extra incentive, I will comp you a six week membership to our sites (if you want) if you donate. If you make it like a "gift" in my behalf I'll get an ecard like this (click for a suggestion on how to fill it out so I'll know you want to take me up on this):
Upon receiving the email/e-card it may take me up to 48 hours (or more if we're gone) to manually set you up, but it's a major bargain since normally six weeks of membership would cost over $30 but with this I can't tell how much you donated so you could get it for the minimum donation amount. If you would like to donate more than $30 (please do!) and be personally rewarded for it with more membership time, forward me your receipt and I will set you up with a correspondingly longer amount of time. And if you don't want a membership but you just want to brag, I'll enjoy seeing how much you donated just for fun if you feel like sharing that info.
NOTE: you are not *buying* a membership from me, you are donating money and I am personally rewarding you for it; if you are not happy with a membership to our sites understand that you don't have an opportunity for a refund and I will personally hunt you down and beat you senseless if you do a chargeback. Not that I will have the information to do that, but just pretend. Obviously if you want to buy a membership but NOT donate, you should join our sites the regular way.
There are a lot of reasons why I'd love to help this particular clinic to help women in this way, but one of the semi-senseless reasons is that it's in Tacoma which is like the hometown of my heart; I feel very connected to that place so for selfish reasons it just makes me feel more emotionally invested than if it were Portland or Tulsa or wherever. And I really like the idea of someone I know and love being made happier by helping distribute the money to help women she sees face-to-face at work.
Note: yes, I know that the title of this post could be perceived as tasteless and may not be something people want to be associated with; I am not speaking on behalf of anybody but myself here, so understand that I am in no way affiliated with the clinic, Heather is not in cahoots with me and am only drumming up donations and offering some motivation as a private entity. This message is not endorsed by the people who will benefit from your donations, mkay? If tacky title leads to page views leads to donations, I'm personally all for it, but recognize others might not like it. Also, if you are someone who assumes the porn in my site is all politically-correct and emotionally safe just because I'm pro-choice and identify as a feminist, I want to warn you that you might find some of my porn disturbing and/or offensive, particularly if you do not "consume" a lot of porn already.
I found this video while researching fat belly fetish movies to get ideas for a small plumper site I want to make with my chubby pictures:
Like the last video I posted, I know it's just supposed to be "funny" but I actually adore it (and think the sprinkler and body slam shots were *hot*); you can always count on me to love videos of people dancing and grooving without trying to look cool. I mean, I also love watching people dance better, but even more I love seeing regular people expressing themselves and making their whole bodies giggle and shriek.
I always intended to make a chubby Trixie site, but I have lots of ideas that I don't have time for so I've never done anything with it (even though I have a couple of domains that are perfect for it: JellyRollJane.com and RubenX.com. Right now my belly is probably bigger than it's ever been, though, so I have a few more photos than usual I've been reluctant to post on my regular site AND I'm constantly trying to hide how big it is during shoots; that's SILLY since it would be so easy for us to take about 25 more pictures each shoot that EMPHASIZE my belly fat and would be marketable to a unique audience.
I do feel guilty and self-conscious about even admitting I want to segregate my roly-poly belly pictures from my other photos (the ones where I don't make a point of showing how big my pot belly is); I know that a lot of people like the belly fat and I know that I'm always talking the big talk about sharing myself in all of my natural glory (hence the almost-in-your-face menstruation stuff, etc.) BUT I'm definitely reluctant to highlight rolls of belly fat, cellulite and double chins in the members-only area of TastyTrixie.com. It's still all *there*; I'm not actually hiding it from members (and I do have some fairly in-your-face chub pics and galleries), I'm just not sure about taking it to the next level of really fetishizing those parts of myself and the truth is that I kind of want to.
I remember the first time we shot photos meant to augment the sight of my belly fat; it was SO AWESOME, the feeling of letting go and letting it all hang out instead of sucking it in and drawing attention to anything BUT my belly. Because I am quite chubby looking right now, I could really stand to have some fun with it instead of worrying about people who join my site not anticipating they're getting a chubby chick. And people? Don't even try to reassure me about this one; I'm just being realistic; YES I know there are lots of people who will adore me no matter what. Unfortunately I am neither in-shape NOR fat enough to turn-on chubby chasers to the extent of making a real living off of it. I am average; the best I can hope for with my site when it comes to my body is to attract members who are aroused by an average body type; I'm pretty sure most of those guys can tolerate and/or are aroused by a little extra padding but a REALLY bulging belly with an obvious overhang and many rolls of fat? I think that would alienate and turn-off a lot of my audience; Lord only knows I already do enough to alienate and turn-off my fans so adding the really big taboo of fat on top of that is probably not a wise business decision. Again, it's not that I don't show off fatness on my site (you know I love showing off the backphat, especially) but I'm concerned that if I take it much farther (belly-jiggling videos, videos of me overeating/talking about how much I love to eat/describing how I'm getting bigger, hiding toys & dildos in my folds, pooching out my belly as far as it will go, etc.) that people will be . . . confused.
I started compiling more fat-focused photo galleries today and it felt SO GOOD to look FOR really chubby pics instead of hoping not to come across them. Looking at pictures of my belly hanging over my waistband suddenly became a joy instead of a nuisance simply because I started looking at them from the perspective of people who specifically SEEK OUT that look for masturbation fodder.
While I do have some reservations about catering to fat fetishists, if I just make a small collection available OFF my main site then it won't require a lot of time or long-term commitment (and I won't have to pay for the fall-out of alienating the average-body fans). Part of me just really wants to give expression to the growing magnificence of this part of my body along with some of my food fantasies. I have a lot of specialty interests (gloves, bubblegum, stockings, feet, taboo roleplays, and numerous underground fetishes) but my chub is something I feel especially suited to explore right at this moment in time.
It will be a good experiment, anyway, and for those of you who *do* want to see it and are already members? I will figure out how to share it with by request and/or some of it will show up on TastyTrixie anyway in spite of my reservations and/or could be combined with FertileTrixie; the pregnancy fetish is complex enough that it also encompasses people who like seeing women growing/inflating and might crossover enough with the fat belly stuff I'm doing that it will all meld together in a delicious vat of plump 'n pregnant stew.
Shit -- I hope I'm not talking this up too much and getting people's hopes up; I'm not talking about investing a whole lot of time in making special content like this so DON'T GET TOO EXCITED all ye fans of fat! I'm just looking forward to shooting some stuff that doesn't require me to try to be attractive from head to toe and allows me to express another part of my personality. Fetish stuff can be such a relief to shoot because people don't spend as much time looking at "the whole package"; you are beautiful to them just for having the right color of nail polish or a strong prescription for glasses . . . or an abundance of skin folds and wobbly flesh around your midsection.
On top of all of that, I have always wanted to see more porn featuring women who are truly average/just a little bit overweight and in porn? That's kind of hard to find since the industry focuses on extremes.
I know there are some twisted thoughts in this post and some unclear/contradictory thinking so yeah; I know my feelings, values and thoughts are muddled and maybe fucked up. If anyone wants to leave comments, I'm most interested in looking at this from a business point of view and hearing from people who consider themselves BBWs AND from fans on whether or not belly fat turns YOU on -- I don't want to hear polite reassurances (though I thank you for your kindness), only the truth if it turns you OFF or if it's really something you dig.
Here's the deal; I'm super tired, but feel like I can't let the week end without posting an entry here. Tons of blog entries in draft form that I can't seem to finish for one reason or another, so checking-in will have to do for now.
The week of my birthday (March 17th) I was working on aging and getting into a huge confrontation with my mom. The emotional fallout from that continues to plague me. It's nothing tragic or life-threatening, just cause for introspection and worry over how to apologize (if I even should) and if so, for which part. It's more complicated than that (while also being very pedestrian), but I'll leave it at that.
End of March, as you know, we discovered yet again that we're not pregnant . . . another non-life-threatening emotional drain.
April: have been working on many geeky projects to boost our income; site redesigns, etc. The only part of that we've actually finished is the members-only redesign of Delia's site, but it did suck up a lot of time and energy.
In general I've been leaning at a noticeable slant towards the asshole-end of my personality spectrum so this week I've done a few things to help me straighten up and fly right; we took almost a whole day off, yesterday I got a massage, and we've had a couple of outings involving strolling through town, walking the dog at dusk, and breathing fresh air.
I believe my main problem is hormonal; the longer I am off the pill, the more monstrous I feel and act. Of course, it could be the circumstances that are getting to me, but I honestly don't think that's the biggest part of the problem; I think my problem is chemical. Fortunately there are a lot of things I can do to help myself feel better: exercise, eat better, listen to music, stretch, get massage, go outside, decide how I want to feel and act and make that my real work every day, etc. Unfortunately? I'm not very disciplined with the food and exercise and really just want to be able to WORK-work without worrying about taking care of myself. It's ridiculous because I have so much freedom and flexibility, yet I can't seem to keep things in balance. I'm good at allowing myself plenty of time to daydream and as much sleep as I need, but I want to be better at regularly giving myself therapeutic physical pleasure: dancing, massage, breathing, stretching, crying, etc. Yeah, sex is in there too, but the other stuff is what I'm needing most, am most apt to neglect, and is most likely to lead to fucking when I get them in adequate quantities with regularity.
So. Long story short is that I've been having a bit of a hard time, and that I'd like to hold that craziness at arm's length because it really does seem alien to me, not because it's unfamiliar but because, from a rational perspective (and having been in this territory many times in my life), I just don't think these are my organic struggles -- I feel like they're thrust on me by the exaggerating effects of hormone fluctuations. It's like I can't even BELIEVE what I'm feeling except when I'm in the tightest grip of feeling shitty. I really believe I'm a happy person, and it frustrates me that something sometimes seems to be getting in the way of me FEELING and ACTING happy.
I'm not saying that deep inside me there's a bubbly cheerleader sort of happy person just waiting to get out, but I *am* a grateful, overjoyed-by-small-things and delighted-by-life happy person. I'm just depressed sometimes, too.
So. I'm not posting this to solicit pity or concern, just letting people know part of what's been going on with me. In the grand scheme of things it's not a big deal, not even to me, but I know a lot of people go through the same kinds of things and can relate. I'm working on it, I'm hopeful, and I don't want anyone to have the impression all has been a storm cloud of ugliness lately in my life when that's totally untrue. Today was like magic, in fact, and there have been buttloads of bright spots over the past month. It's just that a lot of life has been annoyingly peppered with little flecks of shit, know what I mean? It's like having the perfect mocha with what seems to be shavings of gorgeous chocolate, but after you take a sip you discover that those are actually grated remains of the petrified brains of Mad Cow Disease victims.
We're back home from our Portland trip and 500 photos richer. Well, 498. And of course we'll delete many of those, too. Not very productive in terms of shooting, but what we DID shoot was great. Besides, we were really there for Delia's doctor appointment and also spent a nice evening visiting with our friends, Torn and Toni of KatVixen.com. I realize you all read me telling you how much I like to avoid people and socializing and all of that jazz, so you probably never conceive of how much I actually *do* like people and talking with them, and how hard it is for me to call it a night once conversation is rolling. I think I deprive myself so much of social stimulation that I become parched for it, which creates a vicious circle because I pretty much know I'll want to overdo it when we meet up with people and then need a week of hermit mode to recover my wits There is often a part of me that *almost* whines to friends, "I wish you/we didn't have to go" at the overdue end of a visit. A lot of my issues with socializing/needing a lot of alone time are less to do with preference and more to do with the way my brain is wired and that I just wind up blowing fuses trying to process the extra stimuli.
So. A small (or literally a large) reason why we didn't shoot more photos is that I didn't recognize in time how overweight I am and that an outfit I packed, THE outfit, the one I was all sexed up to wear and use in a teacher role play, could barely be buttoned/couldn't be zipped. I love it way too much to wear it incorrectly so it put me in a bit of a foul temper. It was slightly more depressing than our Halloween shoot debacle where I actually SPLIT THE SEAMS of the pirate dress I ordered. That was sort of funny and I wish we'd have gotten the splitting on tape. Oh well.
My conflicting feelings/thoughts regarding my level of physical fitness: *I think I look and feel fine -- nay, almost exactly how I've always WANTED to look -- for a normal thirty-four year old *but not a thirty-four year old who sells images of her body and needs to be versatile. *I don't fucking WANT to eat less or exercise more. I just don't WANT to! Okay, I do want to but there are about 567 things on my list of things I WANT TO DO ****WAY MORE**** than exercise. I'd rather be fucking blogging, right? I'd rather be masturbating I'd rather be eating donuts while Delia gets ready for me to take pictures of HER. I would just rather be sitting on my goddamned ass using my motherfucking BRAIN, okay? *but okay, I *do* want to look good in that outfit, darlings. I *do*. It's just too perfect. There are SO MANY perfect little outfits. I pretend not to care, but oh, I *do* care, because I want to look so cute and fit in polka dot blouses and dresses with darts.
None of this matters in any real way and it sickens me to even think about it for a moment, let alone go ON and ON about it, torturing myself and others with this fucking weight loss drivel. What a senseless waste of time. But. I think some of my dramatic feelings right now about my body are connected to bigger things than my bigger body. Like admiring some of the work my more cerebral cohorts do and feeling resentful that I don't have time to do more of what they're doing. That I'm bogged down by my visually body-oriented work that begs me to tend to it in such time-consuming ways. That my body right now is my most valuable natural resource and I'm trashing it (I would say that Delia's body is my most valuable resource, but that would open up a whole other can of worms about possession and pimping and shit). That I want my work to focus more on *other* people's bodies and less on my own. That I want it to fucking WORK PROPERLY but suspect I'm rounding the bend where I can't take it for granted at all and it wants me to know that. I'm full of suspicious lumps, I can't seem to get pregnant, and I'm having a hard time disguising my comical bulges.
I don't like to complain about it or sound pessimistic. It's important to me to say that I don't FEEL as bad as I sound. But I *do* need to process these feelings. And remind myself that the reason I do the work I do is because a) I like it/feel driven to, and b) it is part of a plan that *does* allow me to do *all* of the kinds of work I want to do. Some of it right now/all of the time, and more of it eventually. And all of it really whenever I want if at any time I want to drop any of it that I'm sick of. And that's the big reminder, that I can do whatever I want. I don't WANT to stop doing anything I do right now OR I WOULD. I just really crave to do MORE of the millions of things I want to do. Making choices pains me because sometimes choosing to do one thing means choosing NOT to do other things I really really DO want to do (refer to above: socializing).
Sorry if that is all incoherent and vague. It makes sense to me, though. FYI: comments reassuring me about my weight or arguing about it will not be published; it's not the real issue here: the real issue is what I want to concentrate on more than my body. Love to chat about it more, but again, this is more of a reflective post for myself than an informative or conversational post for others; once I post this I want to be dumped of it and move on.
I don't know if I can describe how satisfying it is to look at these photos we've shot, the ones that are beautiful. Since it's difficult to describe without being redundant or obnoxious, you wind up reading more angst about dumb things like body image than daily thanksgiving about important things like how splendid I feel about what we make. I feel wrong even taking that much credit for just being lucky enough to have a camera, a moderately good eye and an appreciation for the beauty of certain things that never get old no matter how many times you duplicate them: black nylons against a blonde wood floor. Red patent leather. My girlfriend's ass. Her willingness to get on the floor for me. The way the pictures I capture can keep getting better regardless of how fat I eventually may get or whether or not I can bear children or whether or not I ever lose a breast to cancer. I will still always know and deeply appreciate a billion and one things that are beautiful and exquisite and erotic and are not too hard for me to point out and celebrate. That I WANT to point out and celebrate.
Man, this is EXACTLY one of the big reasons I hate that I finally bought health insurance: it doesn't cover MY doctor, the one I love. The one who just sent a newsletter entitled, "Love Your Colon: Honor Your Anus".
Not too great, but I have good excuses: I still have a cold and yesterday had to get cavities filled; it sucks to have to keep your mouth open while you're congested and someone fills your mouth with sharp metal implements, cotton, juices, and powdered teeth. None of these things can be bonafide as horrible, but they're just bad enough that I feel pathetic and in need of comfort from warm, sloppy attire and TV. Since it's also *possible* (but unconfirmable at this point) that I'm pregnant, I don't want to take more than some Tylenol and plain one-ingredient Robitussin.
Anyway, we HAD to watch the tube last night to enjoy coverage of the Iowa caucuses. We both cried watching and listening to Obama. I hope (nay, I PRAY) he'll win. At the very least he'd be a President we can see and hear without mass quantities of people wanting to rip their ears off and gouge out their eyes just to stop THE PAIN from entering their brains.
I know my simplistic perspective on this will sicken some of my readers, but I seriously believe what matters most is that our next president is someone who leads our spirits and inspires us. I'm tired of being depressed. We need someone to restore our faith on a whole bunch of levels and he totally does it for me.
Barack is THE ONE. I look forward to him winning more than I ever looked forward to losing my virginity.
One of the best gifts I could ever get for Christmas is a job well done: work I am happy to look at and share with other people. For this shoot I got to dress up in snowy ice queen garb, all while enjoying our fabulous pink tree. I got to incorporate three things I've had tucked away in hiding far too long: the silvery Diab'less leopard-print coat I paid "too much" for (and now must insist that I wear instead of leaving it hanging unloved in the closet for months on end), long PVC gloves and those whorey bosslady heels. And I am in LOVE with how pale my skin is to the point of looking bluish:
I'm especially thankful for Delia who not only takes my pictures and all that jazz, but puts up with my bullshit. She was really tired yesterday but got everything set up for the shoot AND endured me freaking out because I couldn't find my black waist cincher and insisted she go look for it amongst her own garb. Of course, it was in one of MY drawers, exactly where I first looked for it; I just didn't dig quite deep enough. My hissy fit could have cast a pall over the entire operation, but instead I wound up having a grand time and we captured a great set of photos to share with our members for Christmas. Yay!
I made a lot of appointments this week to take care of things we've been neglecting. We both got our hair done (roots be gone!) AND went to the dentist. Neither of us has been in over five years; we've given our dog better dental attention than ourselves. I shouldn't be surprised, but I have a whole bunch of cavities that need to be filled. Once upon a time I was obsessive about brushing my teeth (I think I only had one tiny cavity/filling until I was out of high school) but not so much anymore; our estimate for work needed is over three thousand dollars between the two of us.
I also used some of my personal webwhore earnings to get not one, but TWO massages. I found the most promising (yet least expensive) advertised therapists and gave them a whirl that was WELL worth the $100 I spent for 2.5 hours of blissful therapeutic touch. More on that later, though. I'm going to take a bath, then put the finishing touches on this gallery for members.
My apologies for not finishing any of my five hundred blog drafts. And apologies for this particular post not being anything you will want to read, seriously.
I'm a little tense, feeling like I'm falling down on my job(s). Not getting everything done or really much of anything lately. I'm feeling a little emotionally drained from the family emergencies and some of the "feelings" it dredges up with me -- my role, who I am in the family; I'm always the one who lives far away and works too much. My mom lives alone so having her break her arm to the point of requiring surgery and an overnight hospital stay is a pretty big thing, especially when it then falls on my sister's shoulders to drive her around and take care of her after she JUST had her appendix taken out in emergency surgery herself, and has a barfing baby and husband to take care of, too. it's a real triple whammy. I tell myself I shouldn't waste my free ticket by getting stressed out over things I can't help, but it's happening anyway. There's been some other stressful stuff going on too, but it's a little too personal to go into right now.
Needless to say, the Thanksgiving I was so looking forward to has to be postponed.
At least I'm doing a good job with my exercise goal this week, having gone three days in a row and will go on Thanksgiving too to meet my goal. I am in such poor shape that my body is pretty tired, though; I need a few more consistent gym days to get to that point where I have MORE energy instead of LESS after exercising.
When I went out to "take care of" my sister over the weekend, I saw she'd purchased the Lord of the Rings dvd set. She said it was her five pound(s lost) reward to herself. I said "huh" to myself, and realize that I do a very totally fucking shitty job of rewarding myself when I finish things. I'm great at making lists, halfway great at checking them off, but I totally drop the ball on the reward/pat-self-on-back step. I imagine that I do congratulate myself and give myself internal warm fuzzies, but they only last half a second and then I'm already choking up on fifty other listed tasks/goals/whatevers I want to get on to. Taking time and energy for proper praise and reward seem so inefficient to me!
It's not that I deprive myself of happy treats and moments of luxury, I just don't take the little bit of extra effort to TIE treating myself to finishing something or meeting goals. I'm going to try to do that more often. Today I decided that whenever I manage to talk to my mom on the phone, I'm going to reward myself with 15-30 minutes on the Playstation (I hate talking to my mom on the phone). I also decided I'm going to give myself a fucking break and allow myself to focus on this exercise task this week and be proud of myself for meeting my gym goal REGARDLESS OF WHAT OTHER THINGS I DON'T GET DONE. My health is pretty fucking important, and seeing what my mom and sister are going through with their own hospital visits really should bring that home to me, especially considering they have insurance and I don't. What could be more important than me taking care of my body?
We also met our goal of not watching tv today. My natural reaction to that statement is that meeting the goal should be its own reward, but then I think I'm slacking again by not really patting myself on the back harder over it.
I'm going to go stretch and hit the mattress. Hard.
Well, we *were* going to go to a wild sex party. And not at one of those poorly-decorated swinger pads, (aka Why I am not a Swinger) either. This event is at a hip hotel (in a city requiring about eight hours each way of travel time for us) with an informed-Goth theme and many creatively nerdy/sexy rules and themed play areas. FYI: Delia and I have never gone to a wild sex party together. Yes, we're pornographers and all, but we're almost completely hermitlike and monogamous. We aren't deeply committed to being so solitary, we're just homebodies and it happens to work out that way; too lazy to fuck other people, it seems.
We were actually looking forward to this party, though, which is why we decided to go against our better judgment. It wasn't the whips, potential sex with strangers, or squirting bodily fluids worrying us . . . it was Who's going to take care of the dog while we're out of state? Is our house going to be okay while we're gone with our dumb-ass neighbor's thieving, abusive boyfriend right next door casing the joint? Can we really afford to take a trip, even a small one, right now? How are we going to make up for taking time off when we also have Delia's sperm deposit appointment in Seattle next week? Are we going to be able to enjoy Delia's birthday/Halloween with all of this time and money spent away? Is my period going to start while we're there? If not, am I going to be suffering so horribly from PMS that I'm an absolute horror to be around? How are four people going to get ready for a costume party in one bathroom?
So we changed our minds and decided to stay home. I feel really badly about it because our friends Torn and Toni invited us and upgraded their room to make a place for us to stay. I like to think I'm a person who guiltlessly says "no", but I think I'm deceiving myself about that because I often do feel anxious about turning down opportunities. I can't let myself feel TOO badly about it, though, because I know I'm making the right decision. Still, I'm always afraid people are going to stop asking us to do things because a) I rarely say yes, and b) I act like THIS regardless.
A big obstacle for me right now in making social time happen is that spending time with my family is a higher priority, and I haven't seen my nephew this entire month; I hate that I'm missing seeing him grow and change. I also haven't seen my mom who is leaving Friday on a trip to Austin and going to be gone for a couple of weeks. And I haven't finished building my brother-in-law's website. As you may have gathered from this post, I really REALLY want to spend more time with my family, so while it's still a challenge to spend lots of time with them, I have a hard time justifying taking trips and time off to not spend time with them.
I also have come to accept something about myself; while I do love people and spending time with them, it's hardly ever "time off" for me. In fact, it tires me out. If I'm going to spend a day with people, I usually need to spend the day after by myself/just with Delia, vegging out to recuperate. Time off, for me, means limiting stimuli. Reading, spacing out, and umm, even doing work is usually more like time off for me than socializing. If I don't recuperate from socializing, I'm pretty fucking useless and next week? We just won't have time to laze around mending my hyperextended social muscles.
I'm also getting really frustrated with our baby-making "project"; my energy feels really preoccupied with that and focused on limiting distractions. I seriously don't know how much longer I can handle being off the pill (or not pumped up on femme pregnancy hormones), because my PMS is sinking me to low points I'd rather not scrape.
So, our plans have changed for this weekend. We *will* still be gone Friday night and perhaps much of Saturday to visit my sister/nephew/brother-in-law since we won't just be using it as a launching pad for party travel. I'm going to keep my shows canceled and use that time to plan Halloween and Delia's birthday or, an alternate plan is that we'll rent a room Sunday night to do some shooting. We'll see what happens. Maybe I'll just lie on the couch in a PMS funk.
Today we have to do some shooting. I feel anxious and depressed and it sucks, but not so bad that I don't realize it will pass.
Last week we revived our backyard spycam for members. We don't have it on the highest-quality spycam site so it's not as pretty as before, but you can still see the time of day and weather we're experiencing in our world and even the moon (a circle of white in a field of darkness accompanied by a reflection of the light from the webcam in the window; note: photo above is NOT from our spycam).
Last night we spent some time in bed together holding hands with the lights off and the curtains open, just staring up at the clouds and fog passing between us and the moon and listening to a soundtrack of spacey new age music (I'll give a link to my iMix when I get it), breathing deeply and eventually falling asleep. We have a pretty fucking awesome view from our bed, I must say.
I've been off the pill for about four months now; am I imagining that my body hair is thicker and more expansive than before? Seriously, my pits, pubes and facial hair seem a whole lot thicker and spread farther afield than while I was on birth control. Does anybody know if that is a normal thing to have happen when you stop taking the pill?
Hormones and gender are on my mind a lot these days because of Delia being in the process of transition and about to go on female hormones herself. It's made me think more about my own gender identity and question things I might otherwise take for granted, like the simple process of my own hair growth. I'm not a very hairy person, but I am quite a bit hairier than my mom and sister. My facial hair isn't dark or noticeable, but I have a lot of blonde fuzz on my face, to the point where it shocks people when the light hits it just right and they see how much of it there is. It makes me wonder how much of my differences from my mom and sister is a different mix of genetic traits and how much of it is a different blend of hormones.
Speaking of hormones, I'm in the midst of my third whirl with PMS since going off the pill (so no, we're not yet pregnant). I *really* miss my steady diet of hormones and am having a relatively difficult time without them. I don't just suffer for a week -- no, my mood swings, depression, and murderous impulses dog me for (what feels like) weeks in an exhaustingly unpredictable manner. I can reassure you that it's not every moment of every day (hence the unpredictability) and life is sweet and peachy in so many ways, but overall I'm having a pretty hard time. It could be worse, I know, but I'd like it to be better. An example of my out-of-whack emotions: my eyes filled with tears last night when the clouds thickened enough to completely blot out our view of the moonlight. I would have started sobbing uncontrollably if not for worrying that Delia and our voyeurs would think I was crazy.
Tomorrow (Tuesday) morning I'm going to be in the chatroom if you feel like keeping each other company. Here's our schedule if you want more details.
One of my favorite things about being a little chubby: backfat, shot today:
I went to the doctor to get weighed and have my body composition analyzed; there's not a huge change from the last time I checked back in November. I weigh 117 pounds and about 28.6% (33.5 lbs) of that is fat. Sexy!
Since I got my period again / am not pregnant, I want to hurry and go back to the spa for all of the hot tubs and steamy/salty/muddy rooms that I won't be able to enjoy when I'm pregnant. I made an appointment to go there tomorrow with my sister and get a massage. This is good news for me, but perhaps bad news for viewers; I've moved my chats and shows around so if you're a member who likes to attend those things, check the show page for the latest (I have a couple of episodes of News Flash scheduled to make up for some of the other losses, and moved my Friday show to Saturday).
After this weekend we'll be doubling our procreational efforts, which might mean we cancel a lot of shows and focus all of our sexual energy on each other; good for spycams, but less good for "shows".
And now? I'm going to try to finish editing the photos we shot today, and shoot a gallery and video of Delia.
I went to a new exercise class yesterday and now I'm sore in my sides from my hips to the base of my skull. SORE, I tell you, I'm sore!
And it feels SO good!
In the middle of the night last night I woke up to feel Delia stroking my body up and down, running her fingers over and around my tits and nipples which were feeling exquisitely sensitive. Needless to say, we fucked.
Unfortunately I had a difficult time falling back to sleep after that, and what with feeling so sore and all had to make up for it with some napping which I took a wee bit too far and wound up having nightmares which is not so much fun.
Normally I feel like just BEING there is more than enough luxury and perfection for me, but Cedar decided she wanted to try a body scrub so I figured I should experience it too. As soon as I payed for it I regretted it, wishing I'd bought something I *knew* I'd like (a foot massage, for example) rather than something that sounds so abrasive and potentially painful to hypersensitive little me.
I started getting nervous as our appointment time rolled around, particularly when my sister passed on information from a friend who regularly gets the body scrub and told Cedar that "they really get up in there". Any of you who know me well are aware that I am extremely vigilant about yeast-infection prevention, so I have no desire for anyone to scrub my twat with any foreign cleansers I've not personally pH tested. Cedar scoffed at my concern, shouting in a voice that reverberated in the tile pool room, "YOU'RE NOT GOING TO GET A *YEAST* INFECTION, TRIXIE." She assured me that the "there" they get so "into" is your ass.
You know how a dog flattens her ears when you scold her or come at her with a thermometer she knows you're going to stick up her butt? That's probably what I looked like. Then the Korean scrubbing ladies started coming out shouting our numbers and chastizing us for not being in the hottest pool or steam room to soften us up for the vigorous cleansing they would be giving us. Frankly, I was getting a little scared and thinking about how the $60 I'd earmarked to be tortured could have been put to much more relaxing use at one of the local massage therapists' with their soothing white voices, aromatherapy, phony Native American flute music playing in the background and diligence in covering and avoiding "private places". The scrub room at the Olympus seemed far from private with tables one right next to another arranged in an L-shape around the border of the pool room. There were walls separating the spaces, but two wide entrances shielded by flimsy bamboo curtains.
I know you're probably surprised to hear that I, a webwhore, feel uncomfortable at the prospect of having my body exposed to and probed by strangers, but I am definitely self-conscious sometimes, especially in new situations. I'm mostly-comfortable with the nudity at the spa, but the prospect of taking it to a whole other almost-medical level made me somewhat anxious. I know this seems bizarre to those of you who have heard how much I want to experience a colonic, but I haven't actually *done* that. I've only talked about it the way someone talks about wanting to ride the really scary roller coaster and never ever does it. Plus, I didn't go to the spa on Tuesday expecting anyone to "really get up in there", I just went to relax.
My scrubbing girl introduced herself in rehearsed English and told me to let her know if she applied too much pressure. She directed me to lie down on my stomach and within a minute I was TRANSPORTED TO HEAVEN and remained there for forty minutes. I kept my eyes closed nearly the entire time, but I could still see the milk-white tiles of the pool room and scrub room. I could hear the waterfall shooshing into the cold pool and indistinguishable voices echoing pleasantly. And I could FEEL nothing but the proficient scrubby-mitted paws of the scrubbing girl SCRUBBING ME ALL OVER.
With my eyes closed I honestly couldn't tell you exactly what she was doing or how, only that it probably felt otherworldly; I'm sure my feelings don't match up to whatever a casual observer would have seen watching me undergo this cleansing procedure. For example, after a long time of scrubbing every single accessible part of me in four different positions she then coated me with something thick that felt like an aura or inch-thick membrane of half-hardened gelatin. I felt like the fruit in a half-soft jello mold being JIGGLED and STROKED by a boisterous therapeutic jello-testing machine. It felt like she applied this with a delightful electric octopus with very fat tentacles and a four foot diameter, but I know it was just a small plastic shower pouf. At one point during the scrubbing I imagined I would open my eyes to find myself lying in a shallow pool of watery blood as though I'd been brutally sandpapered, but the part I can't convey to you is that this fantasy image was the result of an extremely pleasant warmth all over my body. I can't describe how I associated such a painful-sounding image with such an overall feeling of bliss, but I did (of course there was no blood whatsoever, fyi).
Every so often during the scrub she would efficiently slide her scrubbing hand up and down my asscrack, like her hand was a debit card in an atm machine (my ass) or an envelope (her hand) in a mail-opener (my ass). But her hand would come to life during the swipe and pause to swirl in a quick cleansing motion my ass-machine's special apparatus. It was briefly titillating, yet entirely professional. I know it's disgusting of me, but I enjoyed the fact that my scrubby girl was the youngest and prettiest of the bunch. Make no mistake, though, who submitted to whom and who was in charge: that girl owned me. At one point she put a steamy wet towel on my face, carefully allowing for room for me to breathe, only I wasn't so sure it was enough room and began to panic inside just a little bit, thinking to myself how easy it would be for her to smother me as she pushed on my toweled-over face. I expected at any second she would pinch my nostrils shut just for shits and giggles, but of course she didn't - my anxious imagination was just working overtime and in spite of my paranoia, I WAS STILL IN HEAVEN. Hot, steamy, towel-y heaven. When I told my sister this fleeting fantasy of how easy I thought it would be for my girl to smother me, Cedar firmly reminded me, "IT WOULD NOT BE SO EASY, TRIXIE, BECAUSE THE FIRST THING YOU WOULD DO IS *STRUGGLE* AND FALL OFF THE TABLE." My sister is such a party pooper when it comes to my wild imaginings.
I'm not doing this experience justice, so I'll stop trying now and just say that my entire body is now extremely soft and smooth. God, and I didn't even tell you what she did to my boobs; they were lifted, folded, flopped, rotated, and SCRUBBED at high speed. My body was POLISHED. It was SO FUCKING GOOD! It was interesting, too, the dual feeling of being both regal and totally subordinated while I lay naked, white, flabby and vulnerable on the table. I felt exactly like I imagine a biblical king would have felt, serviced by a well-trained slave who knew she could ruin me but only wanted to do her job.
I'm aware as I say these things that there might be some kind of racial component to what made this experience what it was for me. I'm not sure if I should apologize for that or pretend it wasn't like that and remove all reference to those things, but I guess I really can't. I feel like I've said something insensitive but am too dumb to figure out exactly how to fix it. I'm also kind of curious what it would be like to get a body scrub from a, ummmm . . . you know, white-person spa place. I have a feeling they wouldn't do that ass-scrub thing, but I'll probably never find out because why would I waste my money on that when I could have the real thing at the Olympus?
Aside from the spa experience, I had a great visit with my sister and got to spend time with my squishy nephew, too. The next day they walked me to the ferry and we made a blissful summer stroll out if it, stopping in Pioneer Square for a lunch of croissants, coffee and a delicious garlic, sausage and potato soup. I can't believe Mr. Squishypants is starting to talk. He says, for example, tickle. Over and over again. He is also like heaven, but a different part of it than the women's health spa.
I'm uploading a new gallery for members right now. Here are some samples:
Notice the white border on the crotch of my panties (it's where the gallery name comes from and is why I'm only showing SOME of the photos on TastyTrixie.com while the rest are headed for BloodyTrixie):
I think it's a super-cute gallery while also being very natural (I start out wearing sweats and dirty shoes). It makes me miss my dark hair.
I'm feeling pretty proud of meeting my goal I set for myself this week of going to the gym four times. For me, that's a lot and I feel GRAND.
We're still trying to figure out how to make our sites easier for members to navigate now that they have access to all of them. I have only made a very few necessary changes while neglecting more important ones (like changing the price points on all of the join pages, adding links on all the members-only pages, etc.). All of our sites need a major facelift and professional programming help; I feel overwhelmed by the need to do things up properly, but am trying to accept that our sites are still cool even without the "proper" fixes. Websites are cool because they're so dynamic and always in flux. Websites are also a huge headache to operate for exactly the same reasons. Websites about PEOPLE who are always changing? Even MORE cool and MORE of a headache. If our sites never needed changing that would be a scary sign that we as people were stagnating. Fortunately, we're anything but stagnant.
I stepped outside tonight, just after eight nine, to a perfect July fog. The air was warm and damp, like it had healing powers better than anything in an asthmatic's nebulizer.
It's been steamy, even with rain the past two nights. For the past week or two we've slept with the window cracked and a fan sucking in cool air from outside, and, speaking of asthma, all sorts of allergens. I've been sneezing a lot more than usual.
The dog and I bring in sharp little weed seeds that cling to my pants and her fur. She rubs against the side of our bed and deposits them on the flannel sheets. I think I should spend tomorrow's twilight on the deck, slowly pulling seeds off of my pant legs. One by one. Extracting their barbs from my fuzzy socks, being nebulized.
It's funny to me, taking pictures. These don't look like tonight. They certainly don't SMELL like tonight. They're one good thing, and being there was another; I'm not sure if I look at these ten years from now if I'll remember the truth of the air's density and the way the skin on my face and hands was breathing for me.
You know how much I love being inside, in bed or in front of a glowing monitor. Maybe because I do spend so much time indoors it's easy for me to be lured away by damp layers of fog and dense natural light. I feel like I could be happier with less trying, wading in waves of dying July weeds.
Then again, I love coming back inside and savoring the memory of it, trying to preserve it because I always need help remembering how to breathe, not trying so hard.
Tomorrow we're going to be gone during the day - therapy, you know. I think I'll post my update tomorrow instead of tonight. For one thing, I had my heart set on shooting a "muffin top" gallery. I'd never heard of the term until we saw that commercial for I don't know what, and I thought it was so cute (and have always thought these "muffin tops" are cute regardless of what other people seem to think about the flesh spillage) that I wanted to take pictures of my own.
It turns out I don't have a fluffy muffin top.
Except in the front -- I'm very bakery in the front but on the sides and in the back? There's no good overflow, which is where I wanted it to be. SO sad. Using the elliptical machine with the arm-thingies seems to have pared down my sides and backphat so most of what I'm left with is concentrated exactly in my paunchy gut. I might have realized sooner I'm not a muffin top girl, but I hardly ever wear my jeans because they're uncomfortable BECAUSE my gut is so disproportionately distended. Whatever. Better luck with the next idea.
The researchers discovered the suicide rate is 73 percent higher in participants with breast implants relative to the control group.
That's some pretty fucked up shit that can't easily be disregarded considering it was a fifteen year study that "collected information on 24,600 women who had received breast implants for cosmetic purposes". I wonder, though, how many of those women got the old silicone implants and/or just bad hack-job surgery in general that could put a dent in anyone's positive outlook. Still . . .
After my post about molesting Delia in her sleep, it's a bit of odd synchronicity that I clicked on GtD from my sidebar and found such a relevant post considering I rarely visit there otherwise it would, by now, be moved to Old Mutes & Rare Updates. Regardless, it's a fantastic entry touching upon the type of sex play the mainstream porn world pretty much ignores: guys who like to get their entire faces sopping wet in pussy juice.
It's a little muddled, but this chunk has inspiring potential:
The exploration of fantasy can take you out of the limitations of the typical roles that you are required to fill, whether you are gay, straight, bisexual, male, female or transgender. The rise of “tranny” porn, female domination porn and female ejaculation in porn are all examples of women taking on the traditionally gender-specific roles of men, and using penises, either real or simulated, to ejaculate in ways that most people previously believed that only men could. UCSB grad student J.D. Scott, author of a soon-to-be-published paper on the “transgressive images of female bodies,” describes how straight men are the largest consumers of these sorts of female-domination porn films.
The one and only discussion I saw of this on a porn industry board only focused on her being underage and really disregarded the theft and HORRIFYINGLY stupid, unprofessional and demeaning response from the porn studio. Porn webmasters seem to be saying, "how DUMB to subject your business to legal scrutiny for using a minor's image!" rather than, "how low and unethical to steal and try to profit from a copyrighted piece of art made by a teenage woman and then have the balls to hurl moronic insults at her and tell her that she doesn't deserve one red cent." I hope she gets a lawyer and rapes TVX's wallet dry.
Oh sweet JESUS: I found another thread about this on another adult webmaster board and most of the responses are (predictably) even more offensive than the ones I read elsewhere, though are balanced out by a few sensible thoughts.
Sensible reaction from an adult webmaster:
Their response to her is sickening. People like this need to be blackballed from the industry.
Stupid response from adult webmaster:
Sorry I must have missed something. Please show me the proof where
A) the girl posting is actually the girl in the pic
B) she is actually underage in that pic
C) she did not give them permission to use the pic.
if she's full of shit SHE is the one in big time trouble.
Another stupid response (from an adult webmaster I have always found to be REALLY FUCKING RETARDED):
The picture was taken in 2004 when she was 14. Now it is 2007, so she is 17. Yet she is surfing and entering pornsites even though she is underage, and she apparently possesses porn as well (otherwise how would she have a copy of the DVD?). I smell major, huge, stinky bullshit.
problem is this is all probably fake shit on her part to get money. I can not beleive all the idots on that site that actualy believe. She should be sued for giving us all a bad name. Ironically she probally sucks more cocks than the average porn queen
Does this give you an idea of why "networking" with my supposed colleagues can be really fucking unappealing and truly appalling? It's particularly hilarious to hear a porn peddler accuse someone of doing fake shit to make money and another to act as though it's inconceivable that a seventeen year old would have access to porn (or that somehow her porn surfing negates any claim she has to her art and image).
I'm still feeling sick from my cold, but the weather is BEAUTIFUL and I'm loving having longer daylight hours exchanged at night for with some kick-ass moonlight. Yesterday one of the few things I managed to accomplish in my sickly haze was fixing my archive links over in the sidebar so the past few months show up again.
I have a couple of shows scheduled today so maybe I'll see you in the chatroom; my group show yesterday was filled with pleasant conversation and nice people who asked me nonsexual questions on purpose to aggravate the impatient wankers. Have you read any John Irving? Do you believe in wormholes? Are you transgendered like your girlfriend? I would definitely be open to discussions regarding the implant/suicide connection, the theft of Lara's image, or (of course) whether I should be blonde or brunette. I've gotten a few emails since my post the other day, but I'm still curious about how this crucial matter impacts each person who encounters me.
We left our downed-connection at home and drove over forty miles (over 80 round) to the nearest Best Buy so we could get a MiniDV camcorder head cleaner; our videos have been coming out with some bizarre chirps and bleeps and wacky messy visual disturbances and it took me a few months to realize it's probably because the heads are dirty. I'm not so smart about those things. Too bad I just spent hours downloading six videos the other day and will have to redo at least some of them to reap the benefits of the newly cleaned heads.
Speaking of head cleaner, my return to Ritalin has been treating me well. I do feel like I need to post a status report for voyeurs so they'll know when I'm medicated and when I'm not (because my behavior IS noticeably different) since I don't have enough of a stash right now to take it consistently and have no idea when I'll get an appointment with a doctor (I left a voicemail with my psychiatrist yesterday but then I pushed the wrong button and have no idea if I actually saved/sent the message) PLUS I have no intention of taking all three doses every single day. For one thing, a girl has got to eat; most of the time food is not very appealing when you're on stimulants. Just as an example, since yesterday was a special day (May Day, five year anniversary of my site, etc.) I wanted to fully enjoy good food and not have any of my natural tendencies repressed or subdued so I didn't take any pills.
The ability to take medication vacations is one of the things that I like about stimulants; they don't stay in your system very long (four hours for what I take), they don't take weeks or months to start working, you can take them as needed or not, and you're not going to have a total meltdown if you decide to go without them (though of course you will have all your ADD or ADHD symptoms come back, sometimes rebounding in an exaggerated way like a kid with a mild case of Tourettes who has managed to control most of her tics all day at school and then comes home and unloads a volley of pent-up energy; it's not the same thing, but is the only thing I can imagine that might feel similar except without the holding-it-in part since the meds take care of that without any conscious, painful effort).
My apologies to those of you making it through this entire entry but aren't really interested in this stuff. I would try to keep some of this to myself but it seems like there's a significant number of readers and members who find ADD and stimulant talk useful/interesting, and it definitely helps me to blog about it.
Bubblegum lovers: since dry mouth is a side effect of stimulant use I am counteracting that by chewing and blowing more than normal on my spycams.
The thing that mystifies me, though, is this bizarre train of thought asking "who could have let this happen??" instead of even acknowledging for one fucking MOMENT *why* the guy wanted to blow his fucking brains out. He's DEPRESSED BECAUSE HE IS/WAS IN A FUCKING WAR ZONE AND SEEING BLOWN UP CHILDREN. Where's the mystery? What is there to be confused about?
I don't understand how you can responsibly cover that story without providing even one morsel of a statistic on, you know, depression among soldiers. Before you go blaming the people who supposedly failed out of carelessness or some deference to (what everyone likes to consider) those PESKY privacy laws, try blaming the people who keep these guys over there. The people who THREW the country into civil war. TRY THAT.
It boggles my mind how willfully we refuse to look at REAL issues. Fell through system's cracks to his death. Yeah, because if the "system" would have caught him his whole life after this traumatic ordeal would have been so perfect! A regular bed of fucking roses.
I'm sure the pro-war folks PREFER for these folks to wait at least a few months or years before they off themselves. And notice how you'll never see a mainstream newspaper run a story entitled, "GI fell through system's cracks into homelessness and mental illness". Bwahahaha!!! It goes without saying, right? Errrr, no . . . that's not the SYSTEM'S fault. I forgot. That's just something much easier to ignore, when someone kills himself with a bottle or freezes to death or is lit on fire by some punk teenagers while he's trying to sleep on a park bench. I'm not making this up -- you might be surprised how many homeless people are beaten and/or SET AFIRE and it's never reported in the papers, but you know FLAG BURNING -- there's an issue that deserves some attention, right?
The "news" most people read/hear/watch is just a bunch of diversions. I'm not trying to insult the intelligence of those of you who already know this. I just never stop being mortified by it.
I thought it important I post some eye candy to mitigate the bitch damage done in my recent entries. I'm making a concerted effort not to be an asshole today, and so far nothing has tested my patience so it's been pleasant. I spent my morning doing a little work, chatting with members and vacuuming (a meditative salve for the stressed-out spirit), then my afternoon was spent lunching (sushi roll and seaweed salad!) exercising (Dance Dance Revolution!), and showering. Tucker made a lovely steak dinner then we went to the store for snacks where we picked up a small bouncy ball for our own amusement and the dog's (more relaxing tonic for the nerves: watching Tucker and Nico playing outside with a ball). And now, Jesus H. Christ, it's night time.
Other accomplishments: shopped for and bought a new blonde wig for Delia, did some costume planning for our next shoot, pooped (twice!), went to the bank, replied to some emails, and concocted some promotional materials. I also drafted twenty-seven blog entries and fifteen podcasts . . . in my head.
It's only the second time we've paid for porn via DirecTV; the first time I tried being frugal and ordered one of the cheapest movies I could find; of course, it sucked, mainly because the action and talent didn't at all match the description and title. Annoying! So this time I splurged on a movie with a standard price ($10.99) and a title that I thought would mean I couldn't go wrong: Ghetto Booty XXL Volume 2.
The description ("pretty girls make men smile") didn't provide any indication what kind of action we'd find, so I hoped there would be a lot of taunting booty-clapping, jiggling, walking and dancing before any sex took place. Of course, I was almost completely wrong. If I'm paying to see a girl's ass, why would I want to see 20 seconds of it and then two minutes of her pussy VIEWED FROM THE FRONT? I want to see it from behind -- hello! If I'm paying to see a girl's ass, why in the world would I want to see a blowjob in every single scene? And why in the world would every single scene culminate in a cumshot to the face or delivered on the tongue instead of shot all over the ghetto booty I obviously want to see? I totally don't get it. I love blowjobs and all, but it's disappointing when you were anticipating lots of ass, not lots of head. I am so sick of the ubiquitous hurried facials, particularly when there are more obvious and convenient places to shoot a load (like, on someone's ass when the people buying the movie obviously LIKE asses).
Obviously we need to research our purchases a little bit more instead of hoping for the best based on the inane descriptions provided on the tv guide; these kinds of mistakes make it clearer to me why some porn consumers become porn collectors and develop a certain level of expertise regarding their favorite performers, studios, etc. You really have to do some homework to find porn that delivers what you like best.
I'd say that 85% of the moving-picture porn I've rented or purchased in my life has been a disappointment. I don't mean that I have high standards and was expecting greatness, I mean it was either totally boring and/or an actual turn-OFF. The kind of stuff where you practically have to force yourself to masturbate to it just so you feel like you're getting your money's worth. That's really saying a lot considering I've happily masturbated to images of FRUIT on a pbs gardening program.
A couple of the biggest turn-offs for me in this Ghetto Booty movie are the same things that turn me off in most porn: unlubricated pussies being fucked and unprotected sex. Nothing turns me off more than seeing a cock shoved into a dry pussy. I fucking HATE it. Lube is not that expensive so BUY SOME AND USE IT. Oh, I know that a lot of guys freak out when lube is used because they think it's an admission of non-arousal, but isn't the bone-dry pussy and the talent's totally bored expression and faked moans a tip-off? Are guys really able to convince themselves porn performer's are totally into it UNLESS a bottle of lube is introduced and then the whole illusion is destroyed? And as far as unprotected sex goes, I actually do get more aroused watching people fuck without condoms BUT I just wish they would say something at the beginning to assure us that the people were tested and stuff. Maybe it's a chick thing, but I worry about those girls, particularly when they are being FUCKED DRY which makes risky sex even riskier. I find myself sympathizing with the pain the performers are enduring and worrying about their safety rather than being aroused, and it's not just because they are women -- I feel the same way seeing men fucked up the ass without condoms or lube, or having their penises mauled by insensitive hands or teeth. And honestly it's not that I don't like watching certain kinds of rough sex (gagging, choking, spanking, etc), but pointless pain in vanilla engagements just makes me feel so chapped and tense.
I think a lot of women feel the same way I do about stupid-things-in-porn and it could be one of the many and complex reasons women get upset when their male partners enjoy porn so much; how is it that men can enjoy porn without their empathy getting in the way? THOSE ARE DRY PUSSIES!! Isn't that anti-erotic to them? Isn't it a turn off knowing that person is in pain? And don't tell me just because guys don't have their own pussies that they can't recognize genuine pain when the performer is saying "Owww!" and cringing when a big fat dick is stuffed in her DRY PUSSY. For a lot of wives and girlfriends it can be really upsetting to suspect that maybe your boyfriend or husband is turned on by things that cause women pain, like, you know -- DRY PUSSY. Or that maybe he's too stupid to notice it or just completely lacks the empathy or imagination to give a shit. Fortunately I have never been in a relationship with a guy who was turned on by dry pussy (I think Tucker was even more bored watching Ghetto Booty than I was), but the fact that this dry-pussy porn sells and is so rampant does make me view men-in-general with a high degree of suspicion and anger.
On the other hand, I think a lot of men just tolerate bad porn rather than lauding it as great; they recognize it's lame but hey -- there aren't a lot of alternatives and it still "works" for them, so even though they might understand that it's fucked up and prefer something better, they just take what's provided. Still, I know that a whole lot of guys honestly *don't* have any empathy or understanding of what they're watching, and I know this because I deal with them by the thousands in group shows (and observe them in other people's shows). The things many of them say indicate to me that they are dangerously ignorant and devoid of compassion. I can understand why some women get all crazy-mad about porn, then, when it brings out some major character flaws in men. Too bad most women who do get all crazy-mad about porn can't articulate (or are unwilling to recognize) what the REAL problems are (men being encouraged to be totally ignorant of women's bodies, not having empathy for others, etc.) and instead like to pretend that PORN MAKES MEN that way; they like to pretend that if we got rid of porn and all the women who make money in porn, then men would be perfect little angels!! Good luck, you stupid bitches.
I really would rather spend money on internet porn paysite memberships rather than whole movies, but we don't have a fancy setup to watch internet porn on a computer hooked up to television in our bedroom; our computers don't have big monitors and they're not anywhere near a bed so if Tucker and I are going to watch porn together (or alone in a comfortable bed), it has to be on dvd, vhs, or ordered via satellite. It's kind of amazing how cheap internet porn is compared to buying one movie at a time. I guess if I want to get serious about consuming porn myself, we're going to have to upgrade our bedroom's "entertainment center" to include whatever-we-need to view internet stuff on tv, or get a big monitor and another computer or wireless or whatever-the-hell people do nowadays. I'm so behind-the-times.
The topic of drugs came up while I was talking to Ron and my wanker the other night. It was one of the main reasons I muted the spycam audio; I don't want people to get the wrong idea about me and drugs, so I don't want them to hear me speaking about them in a casual way.
While I'm all for decriminalization of some drugs and drug activities, and all for legalizing marijuana, I'm pretty straight myself and relatively inexperienced with most mind-altering substances. I also tend to be fairly judgemental (compared to other liberal folks) of other people's drug use (including caffeine and alcohol) so I worry that other similarly judgemental people will get a bad impression of me if I openly discuss my RARE drug use or dreamily describe my drugs of choice. I would just hate for that to be a surfer's or member's first impression of me.
How nervous am I about coming across as a drug-addled loser? Nervous enough that when I take totally innocent pills on cam I'm paranoid our voyeurs imagine I'm using schedule I drugs for fun. Nervous enough that when I brainstormed a list of labels/categories for this blog I hesitated to make a "drug" label. Nervous enough that I wanted to make this entry, sort of the definitive "Trixie on Drugs: it's not what you think!" post. So here you go:
PILLS I TAKE ON A REGULAR BASIS:
Vitamin B Complex I usually take this in the morning with my tea and it is a LIFESAVER for my brain, my chapped lips, and who knows what else.
Birth Control I usually take this at night. It's so I don't get pregnant AND to regulate my hormones so I don't alternate between wanting to kill other people and wanting to kill myself.
Naproxen Sodium If I have any aches or pains, this anti-inflammatory is what I take. It's my preferred over-the-counter fixit pill (I'm not a tylenol or ibuprofen gal). My loyalty to this particular med started when I was in junior high and I could only get it as Anaprox with a prescription. I took the double-strength variety. Once when I was eighteen or nineteen and suffering from terrible cramps I actually had to go to the doctor during a bad bout with them and I got scolded for admitting to taking more than the recommended dosage. Then he prescribed some other painkiller to me. Thanks, GP! Anyway, the OTC stuff seems to be enough for me these days.
I'll also take some Aleve sometimes if I've gotten some exercise and feel sore. My sister tells me I'm ruining the whole muscle-building effects of exercise by doing that, but I honestly don't care. Feeling pain ruins the positive effects of exercise for me, so there. I do avoid going hog wild with Naproxen Sodium because it's hard on your stomach. I don't worry too much about the other side effects (increased blood pressure) since I have really low bp.
PILLS I USED TO TAKE ON A REGULAR BASIS:
Ritalin I am SO GLAD I tried it! I'll try not to make this a big entry on Attention Deficit Disorder, but just say that while therapy and my eventual ADD diagnosis in my mid-twenties gave me a whole new (and mostly-positive) perspective on myself, trying Ritalin taught me what being normal could feel like. I took my first dose under super-controlled circumstances (at home alone with no distractions, on vacation) so I could observe myself and my reactions, and when the speed kicked in my first overwhelming observation was that THE FLOOR STOPPED MOVING. The jangled blur of chaos I was used to was stilled.
It was an almost-perfect duplication of the time someone at my data-entry job pressed some mini-thins on me when I was sleepy (back when mini-thins were just pure ephedrine) and I was elated to discover that I could alternate my gaze from the monitor to the data on my copy-stand WITHOUT SEEING ANYTHING BUT THOSE TWO AREAS OF FOCUS. I could look back and forth without anything else distracting me! Miraculous!
On Ritalin I could play piano and actually HEAR myself for WHOLE ENTIRE SONGS rather than plunking along and, three measures into a piece, be immersed in daydreams and consuming trains of thought that blocked out concentration and made practice completely futile except as something to do with my hands while, you know, daydreaming. On Ritalin I actually got BETTER as I practiced instead of getting worse.
On Ritalin when someone was talking to me, I actually heard them for the whole conversation. Someone could even tap me or start talking behind me and I would barely even register the feeling or sound; I remained totally focused on the primary conversation and I DIDN'T EVEN *WANT* TO INTERRUPT THEM.
On Ritalin, if I was trying to find something (my keys in my full backpack, for example) I would FIND them straight away instead of forgetting what I was doing and finally pulling out some random object hoping it would jog my memory or just so people near me wouldn't think I was batty, rummaging aimlessly in my backpack for ten minutes. On Ritalin, when I walked into another room to get something I wouldn't find myself in that room (or some other room) wondering what in the fuck I was doing there a mere 15 seconds after I began my task.
On Ritalin, I experienced blissful sleep. I'd set my alarm for an hour before I wanted to wake up, take my first pill of the day, and fall back into the most amazingly restful sleep EVER. It didn't last long (25-45 minutes), but it was fucking fantastic and made getting up pleasurable instead of a cranky nightmare. I would also dose myself before I'd get a massage and those massages were the most blissed-out, relaxing, meditative, beautiful things EVER. Sometimes I fell asleep. It was these experiences of relaxation that convinced me that ADD and speed's paradoxical effects on people with ADD/ADHD were real. Or at least real enough to be of significant use to me.
On the flip side of all of the positive effects (too many to list here), I did experience pretty bad rebound at the end of the evening when my last dose wore off. I would start freaking out, getting really explosively hair-rippingly angry, sensitive and frustrated, without realizing what was going on until my husband would look at me and tell me to go to bed, that my pill wore off.
At work I also got negative feedback from friends who said I was acting like a zombie, I was boring, etc. I also developed a really bizarre compulsion to whisper instead of speaking normally (I think that was the only side effect or symptom I described to my psychiatrist that he'd never heard of in connection with stimulant use -- in fact, he didn't seem to have ever heard of that compulsion at all).
I'd also lost quite a few pounds during therapy (before I was prescribed Ritalin) simply because I felt happier, so when I started taking the Ritalin I wound up losing more on top of that (no way around its appetite-suppressing effect). I don't know how much I weighed then -- maybe 103 (a good healthy weight for me in spite of it sounding underweight because of those retarded BMI charts). Then my dad got really sick and almost died a few months later.
While he was hospitalized and then transitioning to possibly dying at home, I eventually realized I had to stop taking the Ritalin since the combination of it and major stress (and not having TIME to eat much) pretty much destroyed my appetite and I sunk down to around 93 pounds, if I remember correctly. At the end of my first full day back at work I couldn't figure out why my ass hurt until I realized it was because I HAD NO FAT LEFT ON IT.
That was the end of my love affair with Ritalin.
This is getting way too long so I'll post Drugs: Part II later.
Tonight, the CW network will air an episode of Veronica Mars that is based on misleading right-wing claims about contraception. The show is about a young woman named Veronica Mars, who is both a college student and a part-time private investigator. This week, Veronica is hired by Bonnie, “a promiscuous classmate, to find out who secretly slipped her the morning after pill, causing her to have a miscarriage“
PLAN B IS DESIGNED TO *****PREVENT***** PREGNANCY, not to terminate it. It's simple, yet there is (and has been for years) widespread intentional ignorance perpetuated on what should be a very simple matter. VERY. SIMPLE.
Subtly lying to people about how emergency contraception works is yet another piece of seriously dangerous propaganda floating free on the boob tube that I think is WAY worse than internet porn in terms of our obligation as a society to regulate and "crack down" on irresponsible media. So let's crack down on them!
"Veronica Mars is extremely popular among young women, the very women who need accurate health information. E-mail Paul Hewitt, CW’s Director of Publicity, and tell him that CW needs to correct its information on emergency contraception."
Yesterday I had my yearly "well-woman" exam with my lovely doctor. For those of you who don't know what strange things happen to women during these exams, you get your breasts methodically checked for lumps and looked at for dimples (and questioned as to whether or not you are performing these examinations yourself at home on a monthly basis) and then they jack-up your vagina with a speculum to take a gander at your cervix which they then swab with a tiny bottle-brush type of thing to collect some cell samples to see if you have cancer or pre-cancerous cells. They might also test you for STD's, but I didn't do that part this year (I feel tempted to explain all the reasons why I didn't spring for that extra expense, but I'll spare you the details and assume you know that I'm a responsible person in that arena and that it just wasn't necessary this time around).
My doctor complimented me on my socks and the vigorously healthy appearance of my cervix, and during most of the exam I chatted with the nurse about the pros and cons of the Instead Cup. I left the office lubed and slightly bloody (some people spot after a pap test, and I'm one of them most of the time).
I *also* left with various prescriptions for migraine remedies. I talked to him about my headaches which I have been blowing off a little bit, mostly because I HAD classic migraines as a kid and teenager and these headaches I've been getting are NOTHING compared to those ones. My doctor seemed to think that having a headache for two days is nothing to blow off, though, so I'm going to be trying out some different things if/when another strikes AND am going to get magnesium injections (inexpensive) to try to help prevent them. And refresh my awareness of the food triggers and possibly cut back on some of the things I've been eating that have been linked to migraines. And maybe think on my stress level and ways to lower it.
Tomorrow (Super Bowl Sunday) we'll be in bed watching the game WITH (old, barely-functioning) laptop. I'll be logged in to chat with our voyeurs during commercials, and we won't record the game -- we'll watch it live with everyone else. If that sounds like fun to you, hope to see you there. We're really only watching it to see Prince.
I finally updated my free-area updates page; I haven't done so in three months and I'm sure I lost sales because of it since it looked like I hadn't added anything new during that time (though I *did*, I just didn't post them on that free-area page). The whole page needs a redesign and it's scrolling like a son-of-a-bitch because I need to split up the pages, but whatever . . . at least people will see that I'm updating all of the time. Now if I can just maintain that every week things will be good. Anyway -- it's worth a look if you're a non-member because there are a bunch of free pics.
In other good news, we took both of our vehicles to the shop(s) (again) recently and now they are BOTH running smooth. Yay!
We have seven cams running most of the time again, and my new computer only has a few essentials left to install before it's up to par PLUS the old one is working again now that I unplugged the new mouse and plugged in THE ONLY MOUSE MY OLD COMPUTER WILL PLAY WITH without insisting on safe mode. Bizarre.
I know it's been boring in my blog lately, but things always get worse before they get better. I've just been hyperfocused on meeting some other goals; once we meet those I'll do better with things that have taken a backseat to content production.
Warning: this is another boring entry and more for my own benefit than yours.
A headache hit me yesterday as I got ready for my first show of the day so my "performance" was extremely boring. I had to turn off my main "show" light since the brightness shining in my face seemed to be piercing my brain. Ultimately I decided to cancel my second show only an hour before it started because I still felt crappy in the head.
If I'd have taken a nap I probably would have felt better, but the trouble is . . . I didn't want to sleep. True, I was experiencing *some* pain but not so much that I didn't still want to read or watch tv. I wanted a sick day, I think.
We wound up taking the dog for a walk (fresh air -- delightful) and spending the rest of the evening in bed watching movies and television. And popping Vicodin. MARVELOUS. It completely slipped my mind we have a stash of those until Tucker reminded me. Nevermind that it makes my skin crawl with itchies and gives me bad dreams, every so often I adore a little prescription mind-alteration. When you can't take a real vacation, I say take drugs!
Of course I feel terribly guilty for skipping out on a show so I could take a walk, pop pills, and eat even more ding dongs, but I'm human and can't remember when (if ever) I've cancelled a show because I was sick. It's times like this when I feel incredibly self-conscious about the spycams, imagining I'm being judged harshly for neglecting my webwhore duties in favor of lazing in bed. Imagining people are "tsking" and remarking to themselves on how I must not be really sick if I'm alert and having sickbed fun instead of lying in a pool of my own sweat and vomit (or at least sleeping). Again, I wasn't tremendously sick or pained, I just felt yucky enough that I couldn't stand the thought of doing another half-assed show.
I actually do still have a headache this morning -- nothing terribly painful, it just hurts to bend over and . . . hurts. It's mild, but distracting and I still feel light-sensitive.
Here is a long list of my ideas about what caused this headache (I *told* you this would be a boring entry):
Too much salt! I've been scarfing down a lot of salty carbs in the past few days, plus Tucker thinks I don't drink enough liquids to counteract the salt effects.
Eye Strain! Maybe I've been reading too much or the fact that I still haven't got a new and correct prescription for my contacts and glasses is to blame.
Psycho! Maybe I just didn't want to do my shows and *created* a headache for myself to excuse myself or because I so totally hated the idea of doing shows yesterday.
Ding Dongs! Oh, those poisoned pucks of cakey deliciousness filled with goo. I bought a box of them midweek and have consumed all but two of them over five days. I know they're evil and toxic so perhaps they are to blame.
Muscle Tension! I have horrible posture at the computer; sitting for hours in my bad computer pose compounded with doing shoots in which I torque my back and neck trying to look "sexy" can really fuck up my/anyone's spine and nerves and stuff, especially when I haven't made time to stretch this week at all.
Hormones I skipped my period / birth-control-pill-off-week this month, so have been popping hormones nonstop for six weeks without a break; the pill is a very likely suspect. I've actually been having some weird dizzy spells too, now that I think of it. Hmmm . . . I probably better not do that again.
Lack of Sleep I didn't get quite enough sleep over the past three days leading up to the headache; I don't function well when I'm even a little bit sleep-deprived.
Emotional Build-Up Having our van break down again and having to spend another $500 getting it towed and its radiator replaced this week was, you know, stressful. I also have been repressing my urges to cry at stupid things, and being on the pill makes me want to cry at A WHOLE LOT of stupid things (Extreme Makeover Home Edition is a major culprit). It's so embarrassing that I wind up furrowing my brow and hyperventilating in my attempts to restrain myself from having crybaby outbursts. My whole body gets all hot and tense trying to hold in the tears so our voyeurs won't see them and Tucker won't worry that I'm, you know, losing my mind. I really should try giving myself a week of complete crybaby freedom instead of letting myself boil inside with repressed emotions, no matter how trivial and silly their sources.
Physical Build-Up I'm still not getting enough aerobic exercise; that build-up of unspent energy along with unspent SEXUAL energy can sometimes make me really crazy and I don't doubt that has some effect on my BRAIN.
Whatever. It's always good to have a reminder to strive for more balance. I hardly ever get sick, and never in any way that's debilitating, so I can almost-always blame my own behavior for not feeling well. Maybe it sounds like I'm being critical of myself, but I like reminding myself that I have control over how I feel and that if I want to avoid feeling bad I should modify my behavior (get more sleep, eat less salt, get more exercise, do more stretching, TAKE A WHOLE DAY OR TWO OFF EVERY SO OFTEN, etc.). I wonder if it seems to other people like I over-analyze and hyperfocus on my trivial ailments when I do have them to the point where it sounds like I have serious health problems; if so, I attribute my actually-quite-dandy health to being aware and thinking critically about how I feel.
Today I'm going to take it easy, do some napping, and not feel guilty at all about lazing in bed. I still have a lot of work to do today, but I'm going to start it out relaxing. I wish I could say I'll post a more interesting blog entry today, but I don't really think that's going to happen with the other stuff on my to-do list.
MMMMM . . . GOODNIGHT! I am going to bed, happy happy happy! For one thing, my members' update is posted, including the trashy set of photos I mentioned in my last post:
Full Gallery appearing now in my Members-Only area. JOIN NOW for access to ALL of my pics (full size) & vids!
Also, I enjoyed spending some time in the chatroom this evening, had a chance to do some stretching . . . then lit candles in the bedroom and played some Portishead and Morphine while we had sleepy, smiling, fantastic sex. It was vital to me that we fuck tonight because I have a gynecologist appointment a week from tomorrow and you're supposed to avoid having things bumping against your cervix beforehand as it can fuck up the results of your pap smear. Pap smear -- god, that sounds so pulpy, sticky, and slimy. Wet mount. Whatever . . . anyway, I want my results to be as accurate as possible as I've had "bad paps" in the past.
Upcoming Events for Members: SHOWERCAM & CHAT Monday 11 am - 1 pm Pacific Time. Click on the SpyOnYou link on Members-Only page. JOIN NOW for access.
HOME AGAIN We're back home after two nights at my mom's shooting pictures. I packed a bunch of different outfits and wound up only using two of them and borrowing something of Tucker's for a third set. Surprisingly, the ensembles I most looked forward to wearing didn't even come out of the suitcase, and the trashy little number I thought I WOULDN'T use wound up being my favorite:
Full Gallery appearing in my Members-Only area with Monday 11/22 update. JOIN NOW for access to ALL of my pics (full size) & vids!
Lace gloves? A hanky-like tube-top? And that ridiculous pairing of platform heels with little white lace-trimmed anklets . . . jesus christ. But I felt like such a cute hot slut wearing it. Like the hottest piece of ass in the trailer park. I actually had fun doing those pictures.
I'm so glad to be back home. My mom has three cats (which I'm allergic to) so I have a big benadryl hangover now with remnants of allergy attack; my mouth is dry and yucky, there's a wheezing tickle in my lungs, and it feels like a hard lozenge of bloody mucous is lodged in the back of my throat.
Suddenly my computer and internet connection speed have slowed to a painful trickle like they're constricted by a swollen prostate gland. Sigh.