My name is Trixie (aka TastyTrixie). The Wandering WebWhore is my personal blog. I'm a 30-something indie pornographer whose journal covers a variety of topics: mundane daily life, work-related reflection, sex stuff, current events, and more.
My sister came over this weekend with our nephews to spend a couple of nights. I figured we'd still be able to get work done when they went out on Saturday for a community event, which of course I would NOT go to. Because work is SO much more important, sitting here in front of the computer, working while I can literally feel the muscles and skin and hold-it-together-stuff in my thighs and ass breaking down into gobs of useless jello while I workworkwork.
But when my three year old nephew looked at me and asked in that hopeful and slightly anxiety-riddled voice if I was coming WITH them to the fair, I COULD NOT SAY NO. Even though I got about four hours less sleep than I usually do, waking up at 6:30ish which is unheard of for me (yeah, I know, you're like, "cry me a river" but I also often stay up working until midnight, one, two am . . . anyway).
So I put some clothes on and we went and immediately I was glad I came with them when I heard the band warming up. A very filled-out community marching-type of band! We got there just in time and everything turned to magic for me, because it's all about the kids and the music and being able to walk around the people playing their instruments and look at them from all angles and point to all of it, naming the instruments and using my Excited Kindergarten Teacher Voice! I have one of those, believe it or not, that comes very naturally to me.
We got behind the band, next to the lady drummers, and I picked him up so he could see the conductor, and I marched and danced and swayed with him in my arms to Sousa marches and Blue Moon. They were old people and little kids and a bagpiper a block away and I remembered how much I love being around regular people making music, how vital it is to dance and make noise.
I love doing new or not-done-lately things that make my body make sense. There are lots of those things: running really fast when you're in decent shape and feeling yourself turn into an almost-flying machine, fucking, getting massages . . . and holding a baby or a child. Everything that's soft and loose and floppy about me makes perfect SENSE. I felt so grounded and connected, and so sad when Mr. Squishypants was too shy to try to hula hoop on the street in front of everyone, but because I was an auntie on an excursion with them I didn't exist the way I would have if we'd gone there alone, so *I* hooped and finally got to feel exactly how awesome those weighted hula hoops I've been coveting are.
Because I'm not used to picking up and holding anything heavier than the stupid ideas in my head, I went to bed last night with sore, cramping arms and a feeling in my torso like the rocking sensation when you get off a boat after a day of sailing; I could still feel baby Skywalker snuffling against and squirming and pawing at my chest, the embodiment of the word "dimples", like a round gelatinous ghost-bubble encasing the IDEA of grinning-baby-kicking-in-shallow-bath and cute-baby-kittens-at-play was against me.
On the same day as all the fun, we also had some crazy stuff happen. Our dog got all tangled up and stuck on her rope down the hill IN THE MIDDLE OF A YELLOW JACKET'S NEST. It was crazy-scary and I'm so glad it wasn't worse AND that my sister was here to help. Poor Mr. Squish was semi-traumatized by all the hubbub with us telling him to STAY INSIDE AND NOT MOVE while we ran around like crazy with the bees swarming in in clouds. It was horrifying seeing our dog trying to get away from them, not able to let her into the house while they stung and stung and stung her around the muzzle. I'm really surprised that Delia, who rescued the dog, didn't get it worse (amazingly, no stings on her face or neck, but her arm is swollen up and we won't be shooting pics of her ass until the stings she got there are gone).
Later, while we waited for a parade, a guy came down the street trying to get signatures for a petition (which I doubt will do any good) for the public insurance option. An asshole next to us got up in the guy's face about it, and my sister (who is a nurse) in turn got up in HIS face. So we spent about twenty minutes doing our civic duty, fighting with this stranger. While we ganged up on him, tears welled up in poor Mr. Squishypants' eyes just from watching the angry exchange.
It probably was all for nothing, but I hope we gave that guy something to think about.
For the record, even though I voted for him I never thought Obama would do anything to fix health care. I still don't, and suspect whatever half-assed efforts are made will only be counterproductive to eventually getting real universal health care in this country. And no, I don't want to have a big argument about it in the comments, thank you very much. But here's a news flash: EVERYONE NEEDS HEALTH CARE, and "insurance" isn't an effective way of taking care of people's basic health care needs. And personally? I believe EVERYBODY deserves quality health care and that it's inexcusable for a wealthy country like ours not to make sure EVERYBODY has it. A non-profit public insurance plan isn't my idea of the perfect solution, but I do think it's better than nothing. I don't think the way they're trying to go about it is equitable, but whatever.
As happy as I am to see my sister and the kids, I'm always relieved (though sad) to see them go.
We're now going back to normal, logging all our spycams back in (we pretty much only have our office cams up when they're here), turning the audio back on, and, as usual, wishing we all lived closer so I could get smaller doses of that on a more regular basis. I need to do some push-ups so I'm stronger next time, because our nephews are only going to get bigger and I want to be able to dance with them in my arms and pick them up and cuddle them as long as possible.
Yesterday I catalogued our inventory of sex toys in a spreadsheet to try to keep track of which ones we have (and haven't) shot with.
This is the Tantus Sport which I got from their closeout section in a clearance color; I've gotten a lot of spectacular (and low-priced silicone toys) from them. In fact, my favorites are ones they don't make anymore.
We have over fifty sex toys, which is pretty awesome. Really a dream come true, I have to say. There have been others over the years we've thrown away because they were cheap/dangerous jelly or broke/got used-to-death.
Crazily, we have barely shot photos or videos with more than a handful of them. We use a lot of them during our live webcam shows so it seems like we get/have gotten a lot of use from them, but there aren't actually a ton of pics or masturbation-with-toys videos on our sites. Pretty dumb, eh? Hence the spreadsheet.
The Tantus Goddess vibrating dildo (a gift from FurryGirl's Sensual Vegan):
Lately I've been CRAVING new toys in categories we don't have. Example: we don't have any big "realistic" toys in our collection which seems like a SERIOUS oversight, especially considering how few of my close webwhore colleagues seem into those types of things and how TOTALLY into them I am (so it seems like a good niche for me to "fill", hardy har har). Sure, I like the way our "non-representational" dildos FEEL, but I fucking love seeing chicks spreading themselves out with big fat fake pricks and I love the way realistic "dongs" look especially when there are good contrasting colors between the head and the shaft (hello, Black Thunder). I totally want more DONGS.
I can't allow myself to purchase any more sex toys, though, until we've shot more with the ones we already have. Even though I totally want a pussy pump, more stainless steel, DEFINITELY more artistic stuff like carved wooden dildos, art glass, & unique molded silicone insertables. AND BIG DIRTY DICK-SHAPED DILDOS, like I already mentioned. Just can't let myself get them. I'm not sure why we never got on the bus that has sex toy manufacturers constantly sending us unsolicited samples, but that's just never happened to us, I'm sad to say.
I did get a couple of toys to review from the nice folks at Pleasure Me Now, but I stalled out after the glass dildo when I couldn't bring myself to properly review the smart balls I was super excited about trying but was then unsuccessful at enjoying. Not that they asked me to only write positive reviews -- they didn't -- but I felt like I hadn't given those GIGANTIC FUCKING BALLS a fair shake and kept procrastinating on setting aside time to really give them a good trial. Sometimes my anal retentiveness is an obstacle to getting freebies.
One of the problems with our sex toy collection (and pretty much everything we buy to wear or use in photo shoots) is the constant struggle to decide between buying A LOT of cheap and semi-generic things on our limited budget or buying A FEW unique and really marvelous things . . . and not being able to buy anything else for months. Usually I wind up buying more for less rather than investing a bunch of money in a very-few expensive and spectacular items. We buy most of our clothes second-hand or on sale and same goes for the toys, so I rarely spend more than $40 on a single toy. Which is why I have zero "realistic" dildos, since all the good ones are in the $60-$90 range (and are made of questionable, possibly-hazardous and hard-to-clean materials making the investment even LESS sound since Delia and I might not be able to share them or get very many miles out of them or they'll stain if we get lipstick on them, etc.). It doesn't really make sense, since even with these frugal choices designed to give us (and our members) more variety I'm not even using all of the stuff AND I *still* use certain things OVER and OVER again (like my Hitachi Magic Wand).
It's the whole dilemma of "do I buy five crappy Frederick's of Hollywood corsets or one REAL corset?" And then the ultimate challenge of making use of everything, which is where I actually fall down on the job(s). But who wouldn't after exhausting all those brain cells on making these tough shopping decisions? Most members don't give a fuck anyway as long as you're regularly posting something new and hot -- the mileage you can get on one slimline vibe, a little hard work and a cheap pair of pantyhose is pretty remarkable, but in terms of standing out in a crowd with your promo materials and really presenting something SPECIAL that continues to be personally exciting sometimes you want things that are fancy, different, stylish, etc. Well, almost all the time I want those things. And never quite succeed in getting them. Which leaves me with something average which is tiresome.
Even more tiresome? All of this is leading into yet another blog entry about shopping for sexy stuff which I'll try to post soon but I had no idea I was going to spend an hour writing THIS one.
The Fourth of July isn't my absolute favorite holiday, but I do enjoy it a lot -- especially small town fireworks displays like ours. We also bought a small tabletop propane grill today to celebrate the American way with cheeseburgers and replace our rusted out charcoal grill.
In keeping with a celebration of our great capitalist country:
I hate to break it to those of you who read my blog through a feed reader, but you'll have to click through now and actually VISIT my blog to read my posts from start to finish (if you want to). I actually set my feed settings years ago BEFORE I actually started reading other people's blogs through a feed reader myself so until recently I didn't realize how unlikely it is for anyone to see my blog presented in all of its obnoxious glory when they can have it generically spoon fed to them through a reader.
I totally understand how much easier on the eyes it is to read through a feed reader but other than that, it's not very hard to click through to the original post and see it presented with the personality of the blogger who wrote it (me, in this case). After about a year of using a feed reader (I use Google Reader) to keep up with my favorite blogs I've noticed I feel more detached from the people who write them. It's like swallowing food without chewing it -- just gulping it down. I also don't like that some elements in my posts aren't properly displayed, if they're displayed at all (example: flash or video elements).
On top of that, my blog doesn't make as much money as it used to before the rise in popularity of feedreaders. Of course there are a number of reasons for that, but the fact that more people are reading me while fewer people are seeing advertisements for my sites and other sites I promote PROBABLY plays a pretty big part. I have never been one of those people who feels the need to apologize for wanting my work on the web to make some money so I'm not going to start now, especially since I think most of my selling is pretty soft/laid-back. I don't shove advertisements down readers' throats constantly, but I am also not going to keep throwing away my real estate when I can least afford to do so. I want people to be reminded every time they read my blog of my little amateur porn empire and crappy design "skills". Every time people read my blog, I want them to see my picture in the sidebar. I do not want people to see me as something contained within google or feedburner or whatever-the-hell. It's depersonalizing and also just not very smart on my part as a webwhore.
I know for SOME people the whole point of using a reader to consume blogs is getting all the content in one place. For me, using a reader is actually more about being alerted when posts are made to my favorite blogs without having to compulsively click and refresh a million links in a list to see if my beloved bloggers have updated yet. It's also about being able to organize, favorite and label blogs and posts. Reading other people's blogs has always felt very intimate to me and I want it to keep being that way; I don't like the way my reliance on Google Reader has made all the blogs I used to recognize on sight conform to the same look and feel. I've also hardly added any new blogs to my lineup because I'm not visiting people's blogs and clicking on their links anymore. I'm totally missing out! So yeah -- I'm just not going to give readers the option anymore to ignore my sidebars and shit. Plplplplplpl!!
Just to rub salt in your wounds, I added a gigantic flash animated Fleshlight banner over there. BECAUSE EVERYONE WITH A DICK SHOULD HAVE ONE and it makes me totally hot to look at those kinds of things being played with or even just presented on display (see also my entry on Tiny Fake Pussies). If I find a less obnoxious banner that I like just as much that shows some "action", I will replace it, though. Or maybe if someone says that it gave them a seizure.
Anyhoo, here are a few little images from the video we posted yesterday for members:
It's pretty rare that we go to them (and we have LOTS of nice ones on reservations in Western Washington where the tribes actually make decent money off of them instead of simply being exploited by outside corporations which is what happens in most states) and the amount of money I spend is trifling, but I still love walking around in them and being absorbed by the noises and orderly rows of tables and machines.
A few nights ago I needed to get out of the house so I went with Delia to her 12-step meeting. Meaning I went along for the ride, dropped her off, and headed to the casino by myself. Delia doesn't like wandering around aimlessly in casinos the way I do so I really got to enjoy spending an hour there with my free Sprite, completely overwhelmed and unsure what to do with myself (but in a good way). Eventually I made a $7 donation to the tribe via penny and nickel slots after I figured out how to get and use their club card.
I allowed myself to be completely unhurried and take as much time as I needed to make and execute the simplest of decisions, like whether or not I should remove my club card from the lanyard so that it wouldn't be dangling across the screen or tying me up by the neck to the machine. Seriously. I spent ten minutes trying to figure that out and get the card OFF the clip. I am not very bright or coordinated, especially when there's a lot of distractions around so it's a huge relief sometimes to be completely alone with nobody (I know) watching and just allow myself to sink into being massively stupid, completely enveloped in the casino atmosphere where you're allowed to publicly do nothing but throw money away while you sit on a stool and look at little pictures of monkeys and fruit and BARBARBAR spinning around. For hours. I suppose that's pathetic, but it relaxes me to feel no pressure. To not have to try to be smart. To be hidden between the slot machines that are all taller than I am.
I love casinos enough that I would throw much more money away in them if I could afford to. Enough that I can envision myself having a serious problem, especially if I ever learned to confidently play cards which is one of those perfect-for-Trixie ways of being around other people, in a completely structured semi-social exchange where the object isn't to chat, but to play and to win. Everybody has a clearly defined role. There are RULES. I like that.
But I don't have money to throw away so after I (ever so slowly) spent my seven dollars I wandered around looking at the steakhouse menu and the cafe menu and the people and the machines and the gift shop. And while I looked at the two pound steak special it occurred to me that it would be very convenient if someone offered me money for sexual favors. That I would DO IT without hesitating, return to consume my blowjob-earned steak, and spend the rest of it on slots.
On the Golden Girls, Blanche referred to buying things with her body as "using nature's credit card". I wonder: what is the percentage of women who 1) want things and 2) immediately scan the room for men who can provide the means for procuring the things that they want. I imagine it's pretty high. It seems perfectly natural. And of that number, how many would use "nature's credit card" to seal the deal?
Of course I wouldn't do that at the casino. Probably not. Unless I did become addicted to gambling.
When the thought first (naturally) crossed my mind it seemed totally logical and if it would've only taken 20 seconds for an opportunity to present itself then YES, I would have done it. But after a minute reality set in and I realized I wouldn't have time to do that before Delia's meeting was over. I don't know enough about the casino to know what the risks are. I have no desire to be publicly humiliated there or never allowed to return. I'm not sure what safety precautions to take. And the whole thing would be so much messier and uncomfortable in real life than in my imagination. Plus the guy would probably offer way less money than would be worth it. Plus I really didn't feel like talking to anybody.
But I didn't look "hot" so I'd have probably performed, for example, a low-priced handjob with my tits out for groping if I knew it was safe and the guy didn't want a big long conversation. Unfortunately, I'm not in a position to ever know for sure that something is safe. And I hate the idea of someone following me around, eyeballing me before they make an approach, or worse, following me around afterward when I'm trying to enjoy the money I earned.
It's much better to be a lone stranger in the casino that the security guys suspect is autistic rather than a prostitute. I didn't feel like smiling at anybody or talking. I veered away from a chunky black guy earlier (before my whore light bulb dinged outside the steakhouse) who seemed to be pursuing me; in hindsight he might have been a perfect mark for that handjob exchange. But at the time I just wanted to sit alone on a stool at a slot machine without being hemmed in by people on both sides.
At the printing company where I used to work there was an autistic guy working in the art department. He scanned logos and cleaned up the artwork. I briefly worked there too on the night shift. Sometimes our boss would look at me working, obsessively sharpening the edges of black, shaving off pixels that shouldn't have been there, and would complain with a laugh that I worked exactly like Bill (the autistic guy). I took it as a compliment even though she didn't mean it that way. Even though she liked Bill better than she liked me, what she meant is that it had been revealed to her that I wasn't so fucking smart; I was actually slow and retarded with no clue how normal people do things.
Everybody liked Bill. So did I, and when someone got in his way when he was headed somewhere or tried to stop him and engage him in conversation and he'd pointedly stare straight past them above their heads and try to GET AROUND THEM, to steamroll straight past them, I totally understood what he felt like. The shortest distance between two points is a straight line, but very few people respect how we want to go directly from point A to point B without someone interfering with our straight line. GET OUT OF MY WAY.
I think it's that desire to connect the dots (going from *not* having something I want to procuring it) in a very direct way that makes turning a trick in a casino to get money for a steak and more time at the slots seem perfectly logical and also anathema to me. It's not a moral or ethical issue to me at all. It's not natural to me to think about it in those terms. The notion of NOT doing it because it's "wrong" is complete nonsense to me. There are plenty of reasons not to do it, but that's not one of them.
Anyway, I had a good time by myself at the casino. I used to hate public smoking, but now that it's illegal (except on reservations) it's been so long that I actually sort of welcomed the stench and that whole Vegas smell. I was dizzy by the time I left.
I remember working swing shift as one of the very best times in my life. I'd get off work between midnight and two in the morning and drive home in the dark experiencing the magic of RIGHTNESS, of everything having fallen into place and a lifelong problem being solved. That schedule didn't make everything perfect, of course, but it was a magical gift that explained part of my life and who I am to me and let me know that things CAN fall into place. It's one thing to complain vociferously about not being a morning person and another thing to be lucky enough to NOT HAVE TO BE. To experience yourself operating at maximum efficiency and enjoy your favorite parts of the day and night, skipping the parts that have never worked for you. To function so much better that you've got PROOF that this "night person" thing is real.
I'm at a point in my life where I need a new swing shift. My gears have been out of sync for years now and I keep looking for some little twinkly adjustment I can make that will fix things. I've given myself a bunch of tuneups and they've been eye-opening and helpful, but I'm desperate to feel something like the smooth, peaceful rightness of driving home on a nearly-empty freeway with the windows rolled down in the summer, smelling everything asleep and reveling in being awake, ready to go home and make a simple dinner for myself. The answer isn't making myself work from four to midnight now, either - I don't live alone anymore and I don't want to; I want to go to bed WITH Delia (not a night person, so we compromise). I feel like I've tried everything and suspect the answer is that I need more time to be completely alone with myself, without the sounds of anybody else, without being seen or heard by anyone watching . . . just totally removed from everybody's sounds and presence.
Last week I allowed myself the luxury of staying up all night long playing with TrixieRadio - listening to music, downloading new stuff and uploading it to the station . . . amusing myself and accomplishing something that has no monetary pay-off in the near future and is absolutely NOT what I should be spending huge blocks of time doing. But I miss listening to music. REALLY MISS IT. I am not someone who can work AND listen to music with words, so it's not an option for me to multitask. Besides, I don't want to. I want to do nothing but listen. NOTHING BUT. So I did, all night long, and organized my .mp3's and made lists of cd's I still need to rip and read about music and made a blog entry begging for money to justify doing it more. Being up all night doing that made me feel a little more like myself. And I finally bought an adaptor that provides phantom power for my months-old new microphone so I can personalize things more and potentially make more sales through the "radio" thing and podcasting. If I can figure out the perfect settings for recording with this microphone (one of those detail-oriented time-sucking tasks that annoys the shit out of me that I usually invest a couple of hours in then decide it's not worth it / I should wait for a better time to do it / I have more important things to do).
I've been retreating a lot more into our guest room, off cam and alone, which has been helpful but maybe I'm still not committed enough to it to really reap the benefits of it. I feel guilty about it and still can't get enough. I haven't figured out how to integrate my need for solitude with work and my relationship with Delia. She's really tolerant and understanding of my limitations in this area so it's me that needs to work out the kinks alone along with continuing to figure out how to succeed at being my own boss. You'd think after seven years I'd be an expert, but I'm still an amateur (both at working for myself and being in a relationship). A lot of things have changed for the better in the past year but I'm still struggling to find daily "rightness". I get glimmers of it, but very inconsistently; for everything I resolve to do better, something else falls by the wayside. It's like there's a never-ending rotation of things I do well and things I fuck up -- every day, every week, every month, every quarter, every year the same fucking challenges just trade places with each other. I make progress but only temporarily before regressing. I feel like I haven't CONQUERED anything in years and I'm pretty fucking sick of it. I try to be patient with myself, recognizing I've had some really fucked-up health problems and am still fine-tuning "curing" myself. Recognizing the economy sucks so it's not entirely my fault that we're on this debt merry-go-round.
The shitty thing is that having a positive attitude means feeling empowered and taking responsibility to fix stuff -- believing it's POSSIBLE to make things better; I'm just really really REALLY tired of the burden. Sometimes I just wish I could drive home and let my boss figure it out in the morning and tell me what to do when I go to work and know that it's not my fault if that was the wrong thing. Part of me loves how I've complicated my life and that I *don't* have a boss, but JESUS FUCKING CHRIST sometimes I miss having things be simple. I miss having someone else to blame. I miss not really caring about my job. That used to make me feel trapped, having to go to work for a certain number of hours and not doing anything even remotely creative. Now? I feel trapped because I *do* care about my job(s). Because it's rare that I get to establish a rhythm doing something simple for 6-8 hours. I can't quit because I love my work, but I have no idea when (if ever) I'll be able to do my job BETTER and not just feel like I'm running on a treadmill. A treadmill that lurches and changes speeds unpredictably and is just like . . . possessed with multiple personalities. There's no water-cooler where I can stand around bitching about my boss and how if I ran things I'd do them differently/better. I mean, I can do that, but it's not really good for my self-esteem. I am my own worst boss/enemy and I'm so. TIRED of it.
I keep slogging along, promising myself that if we just get rid of our debt we'll be able to AFFORD to establish some rhythms and magic swing shifts but right now we seriously do not have the money to do anything efficiently. Not shooting, not marketing, not exercising . . . not even fucking GROCERY shopping. Every day is a schizo fucking mess and I'm just so sleeeeeeeeeeeeeepy. Not as bad as I was before, but still . . . some days are pretty bad while I'm fine tuning different birth control pills, supplements, figuring out just how much fucking with my blood sugar I can get away with, etc.
Fuck it. I am going to order a pizza.
Sorry for the downer of a post. Things are good, I just needed to whine a little bit.
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.
Call me superficial, but coming home with much-blonder hair meant so much to me - it boosted my mood and ego a billion points. Our hair-chick ratted and teased it to be tall on top because she has a Rock of Love fetish, so to take advantage of it we did a slutty faux-schoolgirl shoot and I was too in love with myself to stop there, so I snagged some webcam shots:
Just the day before this I went to the mall and wandered around by myself while Delia got a laser treatment. I was in my usual comfortable-slob mode wearing a pair of old black sweats that were falling down (the drawstring broke a long time ago so I try to hold it together by wadding the waist up in front and whipping a ponytail-holder around that wad to cinch it up) so it looked like I had shit in my drawers, nerdy silver tennis shoes, and an old-lady baby-blue polar fleece ladies jacket from LL Bean that was a Christmas present from Delia's mom a few years ago. I looked so old and so tired and so washed out and I felt that way, too. Like I should apologize for looking so shitty.
I had that quintessential "she's given up on herself" look. Theoretically I HATE that criticism and don't care what I look like which is part of why I became a webwhore in the first place; since I rarely feel motivated to dress up and be seen, the thought of being paid to do it and have a visual record of the times I did appealed to me. I'd be off the hook and could always point to those pictures as proof that I CAN look good if I WANT to and have already DONE that. MISSION ACCOMPLISHED. Why do it EVERY DAY? Of course, there's a slight flaw in my logic since we broadcast spycams and most people paying to see them would like me to look sexy on them all of the time, or at least more often than I do, but whatever. I walked around the mall looking from a respectful distance at clothes and makeup and other ways to improve my appearance, feeling like I wasn't worthy or capable of asking to touch anything expensive and beautiful enough to make a significant change.
The point is that I looked blah and yucky and didn't feel good about it at all. No, that's not the point. The POINT is in the contrast between how I felt that day and the next, when I came home with my hair really blonde and stood in front of the mirror and drew outside of the lines of my lips and filled them in with thick, gooey gloss and frosty highlights and brushed on dark eyeshadow and put on fake lashes.
I felt like magic. Like this is why people want to look like porn stars. Because (sometimes?) it feels a lot better than looking like muted, sloppy shit. And it doesn't matter if I just applied a boundary of fakeness between the plain foundation of myself and what people see, because it felt best when I was the only one looking at myself there in the bathroom mirror or taking self-absorbed pictures of myself.
Why am I hiding the plain truth under all of this bullshit self-criticism and analysis? All I'm trying to say is that looking in the mirror and seeing yourself looking like a hot fucking slut feels VASTLY SUPERIOR to slouching around feeling like an unattractive slob. It's inconvenient, but true. No matter how much I wish my protestations that looking good is a waste of my time and money were true, THEY AREN'T.
It's fucking biology that we want people to want to fuck us on sight, that we want people to be jealous of us, that we want people's eyes to light up when they see us, that we want to advertise our fantastic genes (or that we want to look better than our average ones). If you're a woman (who isn't still shattered by one or more people hurting you because you looked like hot sex and they took it from you) some part of you wants people to look at you with desire and appreciation. Even when it annoys me to be gawked at, it charges my fucking battery. It's absolutely electric.
You want to look so good that you can control a man into paying for dinner just to get a whiff of your hair and stare at your cleavage, that you can render him insensible to paying for everything you need to keep looking so good -- to maintain your value and keep commanding higher and higher prices -- shoes that make your feet arch and sparkly jewelry accentuating all your graceful, slender parts and tight pants and shiny hair and fat, pouting lips and pampering spa treatments performed by undemanding female hands that MIGHT just render you pliant enough to be amenable to saying "thank you" with your soft body. It's an expensive art and time-consuming work to always look like a shiny, animated toy cocksucker and I've never mastered it or even kidded myself that I could compete on that level.
The older I get, the rarer and more exciting it is when I get a taste of what it feels like to BE hot sex. Normally I am the one LOOKING at one of the shiny girls, simply appreciating how they glitter from head to toe, putting so much time and money into tanning, waxing, accessorizing, and accentuating every single morsel of their bodies. Hoping that someone admires and respects it enough to make it worth their while, constantly forgetting that there are intrinsic rewards to looking like honey come to life and taking soft female form and maybe that is enough for them.
My head and body have been so fucked up and bloated and distorted off and on for so many years that now, getting it back on track, I'm at an age where I don't take it for granted anymore that tomorrow I could be riding some strange boy's cock and having him looking up at me in complete amazement and disbelief, moaning about how he can't believe he's really fucking me. That might never happen again, which is fine, but it would still be nice to know that it's POSSIBLE even if I don't want to act on it (it actually feels especially powerful knowing I probably won't). How many years do I have left where I'll be ABLE to turn heads in public? You don't have to be a great beauty to make that happen. Do I really want to waste those opportunities playing the invisible slob?
It's disgusting to admit, but when I pass a mirrored column in a mall I want to make myself wet looking at myself. When I walk by a shiny window of a restaurant I want to see my own reflection on top of people who are WATCHING me and not be able to resist smiling, knowing that they are delighted and mesmerized by what they see. ANY woman can manage if she has time and the desire to advertise herself using resources like bleached hair and juicy lip stains and clothes that highlight your best bounce, wiggle or stride. Resources she can extract from men. It's the OTHER circle of life. It might be a totally fucked up stereotype of gender roles, something progressive men and women want to move away from (or better, switch up for fun -- I do fantasize about being a sugar mama to young women and sometimes men), but sometimes I can't help celebrating it and wanting to WIN at it and enjoy the cheap/expensive thrill of it.
Attempting it often feels awkward and unnatural and hardly-worth-it, but when it works the rewards feed some primal need in me that are so close to my core I can't dismiss them as fake or stupid or unhealthy. There is no pretending we can evolve past this.
Note: originally this entry included more reflection and deeper insight on where my conflicted feelings about making myself up to look "sexy" (or at least presentable) in public (and in general) might have come from but it turned into a total downer so maybe I'll save that for another time. I feel like I should apologize for my undying fascination with mulling over these matters and warn you that they don't end here and I can't unwaveringly commit to any one perspective on them.
I'm already totally embarrassed by this post even though the whole point of it is not to be.
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.
After having the worst sales day on Sunday I've ever seen, I changed our Directv package to the cheapest one (that's still not "cheap", but anyway). I also scaled back our Netflix from five discs out to three and got excited about a return to listening to This American Life and music more often. And maybe having the attention span to watch entire movies again -- something we've all but lost in the past couple of years of television immersion.
Some of the cable shows we love best are The First 48, Cold Case Files, Mad Men (swoon), Deadliest Catch, and Intervention -- apparently we aren't alone in being addicted to that show because I got a bunch of tweets in response to my announcement yesterday from people who couldn't stand to give up Intervention.
I first started watching Intervention alone and totally felt guilty and ashamed watching it, like only a sicko would watch an hour of a stranger's family's most private, horrifyingly personal, lowdown moments. I'd record them on our DVR and wait to watch them alone until once when my sister was over she saw it in the list of shows and was like, "oooh! Let's watch Intervention!!" The concept of all of us watching the show together embarrassed me, like it's something you should only watch in private (which of course isn't true).
It's not that I think the show is bad -- I think it's awesome, and since then Delia and I have watched it together many times -- it's just really intense and weird. I do think it's informative (I love that they focus on all kinds of addictions and sicknesses from gambling to OCD to Diabetes to eating disorders) and helps build empathy, but it still feels wrong to watch it for entertainment. But we do, I guess. One person tweeted to me that she thinks that show is depressing with a capital "D". And it's true, that's the embarrassing part -- why would we watch something totally depressing for FUN? I guess there are a million awkward answers to that question.
One of the first Interventions I watched was repeated last night and pissed me off in a giant way. The family seemed more concerned with Cristy's stripping than with her drug use, like the STRIPPING was THE sign she was way out of control (and what a great marketing hook, too!). Whenever I see that crap it disturbs the fuck out of me the way people alienate someone who already feels totally isolated and judged by being TOTALLY FUCKING STUPID about sex work. I'm not saying that the sick women on Intervention would choose sex work if they weren't in desperate situations, I'm just saying that their friends and families are usually so fucking retardedly focused on that part of it that they contribute to the problem and I've never seen that addressed in any healthy way on the show (though some of the families seem to have it in a more rational perspective).
It reminds me of a story I saw about a missing woman, maybe on America's Most Wanted, told mostly from the perspective of her "loving" parents who OVER and OVER said they knew she would NEVER have become a prostitute in Las Vegas of her own volition and that her evil boyfriend HAD to have MADE her do it and caused her to disappear. They said stupid shit over and over again about how they knew their darling daughter would never have chosen this life for herself and how badly they wanted her back so she could be her old innocent self again. Of course she was probably dead so it probably doesn't matter, but all I could think is that if this woman WAS alive and in a bad situation and saw her parents saying that shit, she'd probably rather whither up and accept her current lot than think she could ever live near them and their unaccepting ignorance again. People are so hyperfocused on how degrading they believe sex work always is that they can't fucking think straight, like these parents who seemed unable to recognize that their daughter willingly chose this boyfriend AND sex work in Vegas, and that the real sad and scary thing was that someone -- possibly the boyfriend -- probably killed her for it. Instead they went on tv, rejected her choices (that probably came from wanting to get away from their moronic idealized perception of her) and shat all over her.
This is why I need to stop watching TV. Because this crap HAUNTS me! And I haven't even said anything about the MOST DISTURBING episodes of Intervention and America's Most Wanted! Gah!
My birthday is next week (on March 17th) and I decided what I want is to be blonde again. It's as much a business decision as a personal one; I know I said I finally made up my mind and would stay brunette FOREVER, but in these trying times, BRIGHT and SHINY are better. Now that I have more energy and my hormones are headed back towards the right track I can't help wanting to be blonde again, too.
If any blonde-lovers want to gift me for my birthday and chip in towards my hair makeover, here you go:
If I get MORE than $200 WHOEVER CONTRIBUTES THE MOST MONEY WILL GET AN AUTOGRAPHED COPY OF THE BI APPLE -OR- BEST SEX WRITING 2008 -OR- BEST WOMEN'S EROTICA 2009 (eep! I still need to blog about that) and if I get MORE than $300 EACH CONTRIBUTOR WILL BE ENTERED ONCE INTO A DRAWING FOR A SECOND GIVEAWAY.
Don't worry -- I will email you first to find out a) which one you want (if you want one at all), and b) where/how you want it shipped. If there's a tie for the highest contributor there won't be one (I'll give people an opportunity for a tie-breaker in that case) UNLESS the tied amounts are substantial (over $150) in which case the people tied for highest contributor will each get a prize. People can contribute more than once, and each contribution will count towards a cumulative total for that individual.
I usually spend between $120 and $150 each time I get my hair colored and cut; it's not worth pinching pennies or trying to do it myself, I've learned. The more money I have stashed away for hair, the more frequently I can get it done (instead of ceasing shooting for weeks because my roots are showing, etc.). This time around, as long as my colorist promises my hair won't all fall out, I won't do the blonde halfway, either. I will err on the side of too light before I cautiously err on the side of too dark.
NOTE: NO PRESSURE HERE -- I don't *expect* people to lavish me with money and goodies, I'm just giving those who WANT to the opportunity and the knowledge that it would help a lot. And if you want to send something but don't want it to be about my hair, here's my Amazon wishlist or my shipping address if you have something else in mind (yes, I love inexpensive things like cards, bookmarks, used books, music mixes, socks, etc.):
Trixie Fontaine 1240 W. Sims Way #7 P0rt T0wnsend, WA 98368
I thought about making it a competition between brunette, redhead and blonde, but I really think blonde is the right decision for now. I'm looking forward to it, especially after this unusually long, cold winter.
I wish I had more time and brain power to consume other people's blogs because when I do, I come across provocative and revealing entries like these two about class:
Keeping San Francisco Safe From Prostitutes? Melissa wrote this back when SF voters had the chance to decriminalize prostitution. They didn't, of course, and her post explains a lot of reasons why even a supposedly-progressive, liberal, educated population is ignorant and afraid of sex workers running amok:
"The biggest opposition to Prop K isnít anti-prostitution feminist groups. Itís 'neighborhood associations.' Unlike even the most socially conservative feminists, they never say, I donít want sex workers to be raped. They say, I donít want to see sex workers. Donít want to see them on their front steps. Donít want to see their clients or 'pimps'. Donít want to see condoms, or syringes. In short: donít want to see poverty, donít want to see poor people. . . . What K opponents will never say in public, is that itís not prostitutes that are hard to live next to ó itís poverty."
"My mom was a bartender until I was 7 or 8 years old. When Iíd go spend the night at friendsí houses, Iíd take my toiletries in a purple Crown Royal bag (we always had tons of them around the house). We also had a lot of extra beer/liquor T-shirts that I used as nightshirts . . . . it wasnít until I was in my teens that it dawned on me why [my friends'] parents might think itís weird for a 7-year-old to carry a Crown Royal bag and sleep in a Finlandia T-shirt."
Without going into a lot of detail (just because I don't have time to write that book right now), I can't overemphasize how much my socioeconomic background shaped my identity and values. More than being female. More than being white. Even though both of those things are a big huge intrinsic part of it, the money stuff and place my family occupied (pretty low down) in the hierarchy colors the way I see and respond to pretty much everything, I think, and in such insidious ways that I'm constantly chipping away at my lack of awareness at how deep it goes and how far back and how much it continues to effect my options and choices today.
Sometimes I feel like discussions about race and gender are just big polarizing distractions to keep us from addressing the BIGGER, all-encompassing issue of class. They're not, but sometimes I feel that way (and I know some other people do, too).
A related note: right now I resent the way blame is laid for the recession. Instead of saying that banks ass-raped tons of people who probably COULD have made their mortgage payments if not for the usury/deception/inflated interest rates and doubled/trebled payments, every comment seems designed to tell us that banks simply LENT MONEY TO POOR PEOPLE. Like, THAT was the big mistake. As though those borrowers could never have made FAIR payments on mortgages with FAIR terms. As though people wouldn't have felt the need to take out second and third mortgages to be able to pay credit cards with ludicrous, unjustifiably-high, ass-raping interest rates.
The mainstream discussion about it and language referring to sub-prime mortgages, etc. is all backwards; it *pretends* to call the lending institutions and big mucky-mucks greedy while using language that continues to make it sound like the banks' problems were making bad bets on bad people, when really they fucked vulnerable people dry, butt-ramming them straight into the ground. Let's just bleed these people dry. When you make financially troubled people pay exorbitantly high interest rates and double their minimum payments, etc. what the fuck do you THINK will happen? Unless they win the lottery, they'll never be able to keep up or dig themselves out of the deep grave the lenders dug for them.
I'm not making these comments as someone who thinks she has all the answers or understands the complexity of all of it or is well-read on the subject. I'm making them as an average joe butt plumber based on her own experiences with banks and mainstream exposure to superficial news with a little bit of deeper reading here and there. My intention isn't to spark a big-ass discussion about it, just web-log some stuff. The above paragraphs are only a small chunk of reflection, not a complete or coherent argument. I won't publish comments from people assuming I'm claiming to be an expert or assuming that because I haven't written this or that or included another bit or piece, that I must not agree with this or that bit or piece, nor will I publish comments demonstrating a lack of comprehension regarding what I already wrote. HATE that.
For the record, my interest isn't really in "punishing" rich people (even when they DO *deserve* to be hung from the highest tree) or placing limits on how much money people can make, it's on making fair regulations and restrictions on how deeply people can be abused. It's on little things that would change a lot. LIKE NOT LETTING CREDIT CARD COMPANIES MAKE YOUR PAYMENT DUE ON A WEEKEND OR HOLIDAY, THEN CHARGING YOU A LATE FEE AND RAISING YOUR INTEREST RATE BECAUSE YOU FAILED TO PAY ON TIME WHEN YOUR PAYMENT ARRIVES ON THE NEXT BUSINESS DAY FOLLOWING THE DAY THEY DEMANDED YOUR PAYMENT, BUT CAN'T EVEN RECEIVE IT/WON'T EVEN PROCESS IT. It's a pretty fucking simple matter -- we have the technology at this point to automatically reject a date that is a holiday or weekend and chose either an earlier or a later date, or to have a FAIR regulation that doesn't even ALLOW lending institutions to punish you for not delivering a payment on a day when delivery of said payment IS IMPOSSIBLE.
Seriously. I don't understand why everyone isn't talking about things like this. Everyone. All day. Until something happens.
Just one example. I know *some* people are talking about it some of the time, but it's not on headline news, etc. every five seconds the way Chris Brown is. Instead everyone just ignores and skirts around these tangible, obvious bits of fuckery. It just keeps adding up, but I don't hear anything except "bail out". If anyone has links to proposed regulations tightening this shit up, I'd love to read it because as it is right now I'm too busy bitching about it to look the shit up (I know! I'm an ass!). I know awhile back congress was talking about putting an end to the credit card companies burying high interest rate balances under the lower interest rate balances, but I don't know whatever became of that/if they are in fact now forced to automatically apply payments to the balances with the highest interest rates first.
Why am I still sitting here blogging about this? Seriously, all I was going to do was post two links. Gaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhh . . . hate myself for not keeping up with the news on this stuff better.
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.
When the economy is in the shitter (the direction it's headed right now) people are MORE judgmental and resentful about how much other people are paid and for what kind of work; that's a recipe for even more violence against sex workers. Lots of perpetrators of violence against sex workers explain that their crimes are justified because they shouldn't have to pay for sex -- the woman (or sometimes man) and the work s/he's charging him for are not worthy of payment and/or should be punished for thinking she is. Check out this guy who said a prostitute put her head in his plastic bag by mistake when he wanted his $100 back. For trying to kill her he'll only get a few months in the slammer.
It's not going too far to say that beating, raping, exploiting, infecting, killing, stealing from sex workers and/or refusing to abide by their boundaries is covertly state-sanctioned -- the government says sex workers don't have the right to charge money for their services in most places. Not only do they not have the right to charge money, they are CRIMINALS if they do so. In some places in the United States you can be arrested simply for carrying too many condoms -- it's intent to sell access to your body (which you have no right to do, and if you intend to flout the law in this way you deserve to expose yourself to disease and pregnancy)! You can be charged with a crime in many places just for advising other sex workers ABOUT sex work. The government might not have a bounty on sex workers and we all might SAY that killing them is going too far, but it's a pretty fucking mixed message.
While most of my own work as a webwhore is legal (I say "most" because some of it could easily fall under the nebulous definition of "obscenity" - that and a couple of other things I can think of could land me in prison if the Department of Justice or other unsavory elements chose to target me) and I feel fairly safe doing this work (not just safe for a whore, but even safer relative to women with straight jobs), there are still more than enough people who resent me and women like me for making our livings this way. People who spew hatred and threaten violence that all falls under the category of, "BITCH! YOU DO NOT DESERVE MONEY FOR WHAT YOU DO & YOU DESERVE TO BE PUNISHED FOR EVEN SUGGESTING ANYONE PAY YOU FOR THIS!! I will *take* by force what you deny me for free." I'm willing to bet these messages will only increase and intensify in the months and years to come as people get poorer, hungrier, and angrier.
There's a march in DC going on right now. FurryGirl is there and taking pictures like this one:
The demand on the banner to "STOP SHAMING US TO DEATH" is powerful, especially in conjunction with the message that "ONLY RIGHTS CAN STOP THE WRONGS". Violence against sex workers is made too easy because of wrongheaded laws that make some people's versions of "immorality" criminal. It's broader than the moral or religious issues, though: it's about class and gender -- specifically denying women (1) ownership of their bodies and (2) the right to charge people to access it (3) within boundaries each woman defines for herself.
Connect the dots in the bigger picture to shaky/compromised abortion rights, our continued unwillingness to recognize parenthood as real work worthy of payment, and our refusal to protect natural resources like WATER (where ownership by one entity should be really fucking hard to claim) from unsustainable corporate exploitation compared to our insistence upon denying individual women opportunities to profit from their own individual bodies (where self-ownership should be pretty fucking OBVIOUS/undeniable, especially when you consider how much money male pro-athletes make abusing their bodies for our entertainment and no laws deny them the RIGHT to exploit their bodies in those damaging ways***) -- it seems pretty obvious that denying rights to sex workers is part of a bigger agenda to deny women opportunities to profit from work that is mostly performed by women because we are at a natural biological ADVANTAGE to perform it. Basically? It's about making sure women are only punished for their gender rather than economically rewarded for it.
It will be a cold day in hell when someone goes violently vigilante on the asses of Wall Street executives and all the corporate fat cats and bankers getting bailed out for fucking us over financially; there are always loopholes to guarantee their "right" to be multi-fucking millionaires at our expense, but there are sure to be plenty of whores killed by men who get the message loud and clear from our government(s) (and all of us who tell them we LIKE our laws just like this) that there IS no loophole for a woman who thinks she's entitled to earning a few bucks for a blowjob. God forbid we put a cap on the exorbitant amount of ill-gotten money men "make"; instead let's keep making sure the whores don't get out of pocket thinking their dirty pussies are worth a thin fucking dime.
Discriminatory laws against sex work and women's work in general don't just encourage and facilitate physical violence, some people would say those laws and their applications are themselves acts of violence -- when you make it next-to-impossible for someone to work, when you take away her income, when you stigmatize someone by slapping a criminal record or a special stripper/whore license on her that will limit her job opportunities in the future, when you eat up her time in court and behind bars, when you make her pay fines, when you make her vulnerable to blackmail by thieves and rapists both in and out of uniform, that can at LEAST be called a hostile and dangerous violence-breeding atmosphere. Whether or not you believe Deborah Jeane Palfrey's death was a suicide, you have to recognize that she (and possibly other women connected to her case) would not be dead now if women had the right to do sex work. Who needs the Green River Killer to cleanse the country of garbage as long as we have the government to ruin and destroy the lives of sex workers? And when I say "government", I don't mean that the rest of us have clean hands. Voters are the ones who had an opportunity in San Francisco last month to decriminalize prostitution and guess what? THEY DIDN'T. We're not talking about old laws no one enforces anymore, we're talking about active BULLSHIT that just keeps on trucking.
Yes, it's impossible for me to calmly deliver a moderate, easy-to-understand argument about sex worker rights and reducing violence perpetrated against sex workers. I'm sorry for that. I feel guilty for not doing more for sex workers as a group -- for not being more of an activist, for not staying better informed, for not being a more coherent educator. As with any minority suffering discrimination and persecution, it's a challenge to have time to earn a living in that discriminatory atmosphere AND be an agent of change. That's why discrimination and marginalization WORK SO WELL; when people are underprivileged and denied rights granted to others, they 1) lack the resources to effectively fight for change, and 2) can't be completely honest or open about their own stories without fear of reprisals and punishment. It's true that I feel relatively safe as a webwhore, but I said RELATIVELY safe, not just-plain-SAFE. I realize I am VERY lucky, but still vulnerable.
I hate that my blog entries on this subject wind up preaching to the choir and are probably ignored or misunderstood by everyone else, but seriously -- this whore needs to spend the rest of the day trying to make money rather than blowing off steam just to hear her head rattle. With the poor economy and my own situation of having gone deeply into credit card debt to finance our business, I do have a heightened awareness of how my own safety and standing in society is threatened even more by the fact that I'm a sex worker and therefore considered disposable and fair game for scapegoating, at the very least. I know from my OWN feelings of jealousy towards people who are economically privileged and resentment towards those protected enough by their gender and class to get away with huge scams that are considered legit ways to fuck people for money that we all can become very, ummmm, mean-spirited when the chips are down.
I wish I could wrap this up with a big Christmas bow that would change the world for sex workers or at least make people WANT to see that happen, but I'm at a loss for how to do that so I will simply say THANK YOU to the people who are out their lobbying for change on behalf of me and other sex workers today.
***there are definitely class (and race) issues at work that allow mostly poor men of color to beat each other senseless in boxing rings and suffer tons of injuries in other pro sports with regulations that do very little to protect them; by bringing this up I'm not saying boxing or other sports should be illegal or even necessarily more heavily regulated -- I only mention it as an interesting comparison to sex work. It illustrates the irrationally contradictory double standards when it comes to women's bodies versus men's bodies and what kind of work they can put them to for how much money.
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 ;).
While other women are out shopping for bargains today, we're staying home to masturbate on cam. Yes, I planned it that way deliberately to target the men in the states who stay home jacking off to internet porn while the wimmin-folk are out in the malls blowing money.
I'm sure many of those women would call me evil, exploiting the Thanksgiving holiday for profit by appealing to people's "base" instincts. Leading their men-folk astray and causing them to cyber-cheat while their loving wives are out dutifully blowing wads of dough.
Can you tell I think that's all a crock of shit? The way the chaste and moral crowd points their fingers at whores like me while they're out TRAMPLING PEOPLE TO DEATH for Black Friday bargains?
A worker died after being trampled and a woman miscarried when hundreds of shoppers smashed through the doors of a Long Island Wal-Mart Friday morning, witnesses said.
The unidentified worker, employed as an overnight stock clerk, tried to hold back the unruly crowds just after the Valley Stream store opened at 5 a.m.
Witnesses said the surging throngs of shoppers knocked the man down. He fell and was stepped on. As he gasped for air, shoppers ran over and around him.
As far as I know, no one has ever had a miscarriage watching porn, so take THAT family values!
I break out into a cold sweat whenever I hear about and imagine crowds-gone-wild; all of those sports arena horror stories and such make me crap my pants; I am deathly afraid of the mob, of our basest, wild-eyed instincts stomping the fuck out of each other. Of having the breath crushed out of me.
We were watching one of those MOST SHOCKING CRAZY-ASS THINGS CAUGHT ON VIDEO shows the other night showing a riot in Vancouver after a hockey game; people running amok, setting shit on fire, overturning cop cars, smashing into storefronts, etc. It's just bizarre to me that people are so scared by PORN and do so much to try to censor it out of existence, but no one ever says we should stop allowing mass-attendance at sporting events, or we should ban sports all together. It's a stupid proposal, I guess, but one that makes WAY MORE SENSE than getting rid of porn or continuing all the lame-ass crackdowns on sex work in general.
People are fucking insane, especially when they're in large groups where they feel no personal responsibility for the damage that can be done by the mad power of the unstoppable horde.
On that note, I must now prepare myself for the unruly, anonymous crowds that might attend my webcam show in a couple of hours. But no matter how badly they behave, it couldn't possibly be as unpleasant as SHOPPING today.
Thanks to Delia for the heads up on today's trampling death.
If you follow my twitter you know I went to Seattle for FootNight on Thursday thanks to AmberLily giving me a heads-up about the event and encouraging me to apply with her to be a "foot model". It was a good opportunity to get out of my nerdy hermit bubble and enjoy having my feet fondled (something I've always enjoyed).
It was also a good excuse for me to get a pedicure: an expense and investment of time I rarely can justify since I don't specialize in foot fetish porn (though we do try to include at least a few shots of my feet in most of my galleries).
99.99% of the sexually stimulating work I've done has been on the internet or over the phone, starting out with private shows on iFriends in 2000. Even though I enjoy private shows and phone, I have almost no time to do one-on-one stuff anymore (especially since the camworld is so much different from when I started) but I *miss* it, so attending FootNight was a way to get back to that a little bit while also experiencing something new in a safe environment with an emphasis on something I love: feet.
The rules were very clear for the event (no nudity, foot worship only, no direct sexual contact, no leaving the party with customers and coming back in, etc.) and all of the women were dressed to attend a nice cocktail party or fine art fetish shoot: black turtleneck dresses, shiny black corsets, etc. In my estimation, I was the only one dressed in a way that said, "it's all for sale, boys! I'm a total hussy!" with my blouse buttons bursting, my skirt way too short and my boobs bouncing all over the place. I was also the most nervous person there, I think, next to many of the guests with my knees practically knocking trying to walk up and down the stairs in my unimpressively practical (but still challenging for me) heels and very unsophisticated sweat stains accumulating under my arms. The truth is that I don't have any classy party garb that's also sexy/leg-baring that I can still fit into.
Besides, I didn't want to go to great lengths to "fit in"; I figured it was better to stand out looking like a tramp than try to blend in. On top of that I love upskirts and panties and have much more of that kind of thing than feet on my site so I was excited by the idea of having men on the ground below me able to see right up my skirt to my hot pink and black panties. Even if it wasn't THEIR thing, it's MY thing; I don't get out much and planned to milk the tease for all it was worth.
I don't actually think I have great feet; the only thing I have going for me is that they're exceptionally small, but at the party there were A LOT of women with small feet. Maybe not quite as small as mine, but there were plenty of size five and six chicks there. All that small-foot competition gave me yet another reason to be glad I had a corner on the market for the super-slutty look.
So WAS there a market for it? Not so much, I don't think, but wearing something less conspicuously trashy wouldn't have made a difference. There were a couple of guys who expressed quite a bit of appreciation for the upskirt action, but as far as I know I didn't have guys waiting in line to spend time with me and my feet at $20 for ten minutes. I kept busy and had fun, but probably only gained one new die-hard fan for the future.
The first guy to give me money wasn't even there because he liked feet. He was there on a mission with a bottle of Scotch to try to get back into Lady Lydia's good graces. He told me he'd been rude to her on the phone so she'd stopped talking to him and all he could hope for is that she would accept his gift, if not his apology.
In the process of relating this to me, he reached into his pocket with defeated contrition, pulled out a twenty and assured me that he KNEW the ONLY reason we ladies were there was to make money. "I know it's all business and I don't want to waste your time." I told him that if he was going to pay me, we should at least retreat to a more private area (ie a different couch farther from the door) so I could make sure to give him the time that he paid for even if he didn't care about my feet or really anything besides Lady Lydia. He and I also agreed that our move and the open exchange of money for time would serve as a model early in the evening for the other guys to take similar steps to secure special attention from the "models".
After forty dollars worth of talking he felt compelled to resume his tortured quest to adequately humble himself to Lady Lydia. Even though it was the first face-to-face transaction I'd made like that, it felt very familiar . . . very natural to the point where I'm sure I'm forgetting a whole lifetime of doing exactly that: being the whore that men pay just to listen. Of course there've been a few other times I've gotten money from men face-to-face for certain things, but the circumstances were less formal and the terms not at all clearcut. No, I don't think I ever blogged about them even though they'd make interesting reading. Much of my limited experience with photographers felt exactly like sex work too, even though they took great pains not to call it that -- not to even call it porn -- and they didn't pay me with money; all factors that made it MORE compromising and awkward than work that's commonly labeled as sex work.
Anyway, Lydia's guy probably only wanted to spend twenty dollars on me out of obligation because I'd practically forced him to tell me his story simply by introducing myself, but my timer's battery wore out making it difficult for me to keep accurate time. I'm still not sure if my unreliable timer worked in my favor or against me; on the one hand I wound up giving people more time than they paid for before I realized the timer had no intention of beeping. On the other, they sometimes paid for more since I would discover this too late for them to turn down the next ten minutes since they were already in progress. We were advised by the party organizers to keep a discreet eye on the time but my timer was NOT discreet AT ALL; I pulled that fucker out at the beginning of every session and beeped in ten or eleven minutes in a very obvious way, nerdily assuring them this would help me NOT be distracted from the fun we could have by worrying about the time while they raised their eyebrows and mumbled that I certainly was . . . prepared. If it had actually worked and sounded an alarm at the end of those minutes, I'm sure it would have annoyed a great many people so maybe it was all for the best.
I felt busy the whole time I was there, but didn't really make enough for the trip to be worth what I put into it between the pedicure, ferry, gas, and time that I could have spent doing more lucrative things (like finishing the years-overdue redesign on my site and Delia's and this blog and . . .). Still, it was worth it to me because it was FUN, super-erotic (I'll elaborate on in another post) and a reminder of how good it feels to connect with customers individually.
It was also worth it to have BigD snap his suspenders at me, "work" with AmberLily to doubleteam a guy with our feet (again, I'll elaborate in another entry), and to meet Lydia (I only realized when I got home that she's the one Ron has told me so much about with so much admiration), Reyja (a fellow Emma Steel), and Mistress Matisse. We women didn't have much time to stand around chatting with each other, but after so many years of reading Matisse's blog and communicating online even the little bit we have via email and blog comments it felt to me like we were cousins at a reunion. You know how there are people that feel like they're in your life -- that you're related to in some way -- even though you only see each other face-to-face a couple times in your life and rarely interact? That's what it was like being in the same room with Matisse: totally uncommon but still irrationally familiar. In fact, that's what being with customers face-to-face is like. There wasn't anything weird or new about it that I didn't recognize as the same as a million other interactions I've had and kinds of work I've done which is probably what made it so hard for me to accept that I couldn't just climb on top of a couple of these guys and fuck them dry for a few dollars more. Not that any of them asked for that (everything was very above-board, no-pressure, polite, and legal), I'm just saying it's hard for me to accept the stigmas, restrictions, and separateness attached to sex work and all the little subtleties built into some of them so that they can avoid being labeled as such.
I'm trying to figure out how I can be more of a whore, more of a photographer, more of a blogger, more of a web maven, AND a better person/friend/family member while staying healthy (you know, SLEEPING) and maintaining enough focus/having enough time to efficiently make money to pay off our huge debt.
All of you who've known me and read my blog for any length of time know that I'm easily excited about new ideas, projects, learning experiences, and concepts particularly when they involve sex and money and offer fascinating insight into my own and other people's intimate lives and thought processes. I want to do (and LIKE to do) too much to really specialize in any one thing, FINISH any one project, or devote enough time crafting and marketing any one website to make it truly successful.
A couple of weeks ago I was really on track, ready to push aside distractions and FOCUS. I had a plan and felt great about it, but then new opportunities and reminders of old ones started running through my field of vision and now I'm tiring myself out again trying to figure out how I can do it all. Because I really REALLY want to. Unfortunately I just don't have the competency, stamina, or appropriate temperament to do it all or even 10% of it in a way that's worth more than just the fun of being able to say I "experienced" it and still have anything left over for the people who love me so they don't have to deal with me acting like a monster, whirling around in my own chaotic dust storm like the Looney Tunes Tasmanian Devil.
I guess I need to go back to the plan I had a couple of weeks ago, write down the past two week's distractions and set them UNDER the goals I need to finish before I get to them, and remind myself that I can go back to scatterbrained messing-around when I get our debt paid off. It's a lot of money, but not so much that FOCUSED work on our sites for a year shouldn't be able to erase. It sucks that I have to prioritize everything by what will make the *most* money the *fastest* and most *efficiently*, but that's life. It's really a very simple concept and I'll be very proud of myself when I finally apply and master it. Then I can allow myself to just do stuff that makes me the most horny. ;)
I'm glad there's still no clear winner from yesterday's pick-me-a-blog-topic post because I don't have enough time to blog or masturbate or do anything enjoyable except snatch some tv while we're eating as therapy to recover from the stress of . . . not having enough time/having time sucked up by STUPID stuff. Uncreative, unsexy, uninspiring, frustrating, lame-ass, stupid stuff.
Specifically? Too many hours spent over three (not consecutive, phew!) days replacing our router. Summing it up in one sentence like that hardly seems fair to me and only makes ME look stupid. Like only a dumb fuck could lose days of work on what sounds like such a simple little task. But it wasn't simple (and even when it was, it was still excruciatingly time and money-consuming) and was connected to many other things. Being a camgirl/pornographer? So not fucking glamorous most of the time. And it's not just me: pretty much all of my fellow camgirl/pornographer friends are constantly battling the same obnoxious tech shit that interrupts the fun parts of our jobs and makes us all want to just go bathe in gravy-covered carbs. Tech problems are the ultimate turn-off.
Sometimes when my eyeballs feel like they're about to pop out of my head from the force of my frustration and I start hyperventilating and looking around for things to throw out the window (or AT the window while it's still closed so they'll both make satisfyingly loud shattering sounds), I try to calm down by asking myself, "what would I do if I were an Officer on the Starship Enterprise? I certainly wouldn't behave like this, even if WebWhore Headquarters were about to blow up in forty-five seconds!" Patience! Faith in one's own problem-solving abilities! Barely a sense of urgency: just a confident, one-step-at-a-time pursuit of a solution with nary a raise in my heart rate.
So far this technique hasn't worked for me. But maybe someday it will; it's dorky enough that it might do the trick when nothing else can. Or maybe I just shouldn't skip my Ritalin.
Tomorrow night we're going to *try* to trek to Ron's to do some shooting for IMakePorno. Hopefully I'll have gotten most of my "asshole" out of my system today, part of my tax return done (I *have* to get that done, like, yesterday), my hair colored (it's the color of faded, sun-dried feces from a malnourished cat right now) and have time to pack and plan before we get there.
I am a Starfleet Officer, though. I can do anything.
Actually, I'm like an unholy (and super-irritating) union between Barclay, O'Brien (cranky DS9, O'B) and Quark. Sprinkled with the annoyingly pompous, bossy, hypercritical, controlling, buttinsky loudness of Kira and Riker.
Yes, you *should* feel sorry for my friends and family.
From the gallery of 150 photos I posted for members yesterday:
The leopard print dress I bought at a thrift store for around $10. The nylon stockings are from StockinGirl (I can't remember exactly which style and color they are; they MAY have even come from one of their bargain grab bags). The gold pumps were also bought used from the Portland Red Light on the cheap. The gloves are just the generic cheapies you can buy at costume shops. The "string" style garter belt is from Victoria's Secret which I chose because it looks better with the orange panties from Ross (Dress For Less) than our nice thick six strap belt would:
Basically there is not one thing in this ensemble that cost more than $15. Unless you count the time it took to shop for and assemble them, which I do.
Today is show day so if you want to chat with me and watch me masturbate on cam, join my site and go to the LIVE SHOWS page for members. I've got a SexCamCentral show at 1 pm Pacific / 4 pm Eastern and another on Camz at 9 pm Pacific / midnight Eastern. Delia has her Camz show at 4 pm Pacific / 7 pm Eastern.
I have $150 of my own spending money and am trying to decide which of these things at the top of my personal wants list are most worthy of it:
*a new microphone perfect for podcasting
*hiring a guy to make a logo for WebWhoreBucks.com so I can give the whole thing a facelift and a proud capitalist woman vibe
*use it all on massage and maybe exercise classes
I'm leaning towards massage (and maybe mental health care) because even though I *yearn* for those other things, taking care of my body fulfills my basic needs (and IS mental health care) better than those other things do which require follow-up effort to be truly useful. Buying massage is one of the few things I can do for myself that is really good for me, requires no effort on my part, and on top of all that is PLEASURABLE.
Mildly put, I'm having a really difficult time today. A lot of it is hormonal/PMS, a lot of it is just the normal difficulty I have as an ADD person in prioritizing overwhelming sets of to-do's, but some of it is specific stress over a few different circumstances that I overall feel hopeful about, but have been emotionally exhausting. My emotional resources are tapped out and my brain's really loud and jumbly.
To make part of a long story short, Delia's going Alcoholics Anonymous meetings now and I'm going to Alanon. It's a huge relief to me and I feel really positive about it. I feel like a lot of weight and isolation is being lifted from me. Still, there are residual effects of the stress I've/we've accumulated getting to this point and being in a number of transitions; I've cried a lot more than usual in the past week, which is awesome in some ways but just really fucking exhausting.
On top of that, we continue to be plagued by problems with our neighbors. Fortunately, the guy got thrown back into jail yesterday so we'll have a bit of a break from him, but the woman is probably more of a menace to us than he is. And the daughter? I just feel so fucking bad for her that she's one of the pains that I cried over recently.
Our main ISP where we have a business account tightened its spam filters and pretty much blocked us from sending any email from or referencing our porn domains through their outgoing mail servers; they were very helpful, professional, and non-accusatory, but ultimately I had to spend a lot of time on the phone for a couple of days to find a solution and get it working again. That time-suck piled on top of others makes me feel totally burned-out, like I can't get ahead. I know that's not true, I'm just feeling that way this week. It hasn't all been bad, and most of the time I feel happy, but my mood swings are extreme and the lows are really pathetic. I tried to get ahold of my psychiatrist that I haven't seen in five years or so, but he hasn't returned my messages. It would be a big help to get back on Ritalin so I could at least concentrate and get some work done without being totally scatterbrained, distracted, and wanting to rip out my overactive, inefficient brain. Just being able to sit down and work without little sounds like frogs croaking (which should be PLEASANT!) driving me to insanity would be a really huge help.
I can't stand hearing people go on and on all the time about all their problems that they always seem to be having, so I just hope that if you're reading this that you have enough context for my complaining to know I'm not defeated or just a pitiful slug of depression with no hope for the future, I'm just in a bumpy spot. I know it's nowhere near what other people have to deal with, and I wouldn't trade in my problems for other people's, but that doesn't mean I can pretend everything's totally smooth sailing for me right now. It's not the big things that are bothering me today -- I feel pretty excited (in good ways) about the big things -- it's the little things that are wearing me down. Like my mom calling to say that even though Grandma appreciates my letters, she'd rather I called. And that making me feel like I was smothering in a lead blanket of guilt that I will never have enough energy, time or detachment to throw off (it's impossible to talk to my grandma without the first thing out of her mouth being a passive-aggressive guilt trip; I thought I was fulfilling more than I'm capable of just to talk to my MOM on the phone four times in two days but I'm supposed to interrupt work to do more? YES!!!).
Then there's the world-is-out-to-get-me crap where you think everything is being aligned to stymie your efforts, like the library being closed for staff training the one day of the month you go out of your way to visit it, or water aerobics being canceled this week (JUST *this* week, they say!) when you made what felt like a herculean effort to go to the pool for the first time in fifteen years specifically for that because you really fucking need the exercise. And you know the whole modern cult-of-magnetization thinks you brought this shit on yourself . . . there ARE no coincidences and the world isn't out to sabotage you, YOU ARE DOING IT YOURSELF, but I have to calm down and remember that's both notions are a total fucking crock of shit and I just have to keep trying in spite of being annoyed that both facilities' online schedules were totally misleading!
I made the best of both situations. I'm a fucking winner. And I know it will get better. Probably when my period starts. And my girlfriend is making me eggs and bacon right now to remind me that my life is charmed, sweet, and I'm not in this all by myself. I get taken care of.
I can't say for sure whether it will really make a difference in what I post here, but I'm always curious about people's . . . desires. Feel free to leave comments to elaborate if you want.
THE FOLLOWING IS BORING & BITCHY: READ AT YOUR OWN PERIL:
Today's been one of those where every little annoying task has been much more difficult than it should have. Even posting this poll, for example, took five failed attempts, edits, logging into other sites for help, etc. before it worked. This whole post-poll part of the entry? Didn't exist until that happened and I lost it and now just need to vent.
We received our three new 500 GB hard drives because we're totally MAXED OUT on storage space, especially with our new camera and the huge pictures in two different sizes we're posting for members. Tried to install one in just one of our Dells only to discover that their funny little proprietary blue mounting bracket/bay rails aren't in two of our machines. And are apparently impossible to order. Very cute. This discovered after much googling and a long annoying chat with a very slow customer service person.
I tell you these things not because I imagine you want to hear me bitching, but just to shed light on some of the less glamorous aspects of webwhoring and to explain why sometimes I don't have time to do nice things like reply to emails or, you know, create new content or get exercise so I won't be a fucking lard ass.
I also tried to do a couple of the bootstraps method of site promotion via webmaster boards where you make posts to try to get some attention to your "program" so you can get people to sign up and promote your sites, and submitting to lists and directories. Because somehow we need to be able to pay for the new camera and hard drives and computers that I speak of and the realistic way to do that is to get more traffic to our sites so we can get more sales. I have to say that really put me in a bad mood today because it is such a joyless, inefficient, uncreative use of my time, especially when I know how much easier and more effective it would be to have money to pay for advertising. That whole "it takes money to make money" adage is so so so true, and the American Dream / pull yourself up by your bootstraps mirage is such a tired old joke. You run up against forums that require you to make 10, 25 or even 100 inane worthless posts on "would you hit it" threads and other more brutally misogynistic topics (or worse, the ones where the people actually are TRYING to be thoughtful professionals but can't bare to restrain themselves from telling me my girlfriend and I shouldn't be allowed to have children or that I'm a legal threat to them because I dare to masturbate when I menstruate) or just really BORING stuff before you can make a post with a link to your site or even a fucking picture. TIME SUCK.
Or you submit one of your sites to a directory and only AFTER adding a reciprocal link to them and studying their directory to determine what wording & subdirectory, etc. would fit in and also garner attention do you hit "submit" and get a totally nonsensical error. These are the parts of my job that I would love to have the money to never ever have to do again, either by being able to pay other people to do it for me or to avoid it completely by paying for advertising the normal and efficient way: WITH MONEY.
And these are the reasons why no matter what anybody says in the poll? My options are limited simply because my time is (simply because my MONEY is). This is not a feel sorry for me post, it's just part of a record that includes contrast against the ways people who already HAVE money can run a business and/or produce lovely things like porn, art, or other pleasures. When you don't have a rich daddy or collateral you have small, tiny, torturous steps to make that really do seem like schemes by rich people to insure you never. Do. Get ahead. At least not ahead of THEM, and certainly not without damaging yourself in the process or being a completely manic workaholic on stimulants (and even then you'd shoot holes in your computer out of frustration at having to work so slowly through all the obstacles that a moneyed person could soar over without a hitch).
I think I feel extra sensitive about this today in part because lately I've been working pretty hard (not twenty-two year old hard, but harder than I have been over the past couple of years) and been just about as focused as an ADD person can. It's hard to see where it gets me except that I'm harder to be around ("don't INTERRUPT me! Can't you see I'm concentrating?") and my eyes are crossing from looking at the computer for so many hours at a stretch.
I actually have some really nice, pleasant, heart-warming things to blog about, but this bile rose to the surface tonight instead. My apologies, but I feel better now. Again, I would put this over on my bitchy blog instead of here, but I do think it's interesting not as leisure-reading, but as documentation of how porn entrepreneurs without startup money have to operate. It's especially frustrating to me when I have something GOOD to do (example: finishing a private diary entry that I started IN APRIL for members about one of my students, began re-researching/refreshing my memory to finish last night, and have had no time to properly immerse myself in today). And instead I'm spinning my wheels doing drudge work.
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.
I detest most social networking sites (MySpace, Facebook, etc.) so it's rare that I'll excitedly ask for friends to join one of them, but I *love* GoodReads. It's focused, list-oriented, and all about books. I want to see what my friends and fans are reading, so definitely friend me there and/or post a link in comments to your Good Reads profile.
Annoying ad I just saw in sidebar: BELLY FAT IS NASTY.
Do you know how often we buy a groceries at the store to put in the food bank donation bin and forget to do so? Too often (and yet not often enough). That's why we have twice as many cans of Hunt's Spaghetti Sauce with sausage (flavoring) at home than we actually need. And no, we don't just try to buy the poor people crap, THAT IS JUST REALLY GOOD SPAGHETTI SAUCE! If you don't think so, you're just a snob living too high on the hog. It's both cheap AND delicious! You're missing out if you don't know what I'm talking about. I cannot walk by sale cans of that shit without snatching up a basketload.
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.
Delia and I are trying not to eat out so often; we've actually done pretty well with that this year. It's not that I mind spending the money on it because we don't go totally crazy with it, it supports local business people and I need to get out of the house SOME time, but we aren't even enjoying it that much anymore and do it more for comfort than anything else.
Anyway, we're now motivating ourselves not to eat out by listing frivolous things we want that are in the eat-out price range and focusing on those when we feel tempted. $20-$25 is our average lately since we usually split something, so at the end of every week we manage not to eat out we're rewarding ourselves with $25 each. Is that dorky? Whatever.
Since we didn't eat out for a week, I used my money plus some other in my phone sex money stash to buy her:
I feel good about my purchase, partly because it's something beautiful (way prettier than leftover mexican food) and partly because I bought it from some awesome bus-dwelling people. It's always interesting to me when I compare what other people charge for their arts/crafts/work to what *I* charge for access to my porn, stories, shows and spycams. In many ways they're incomparable, but at first glance I have to gasp at how relatively inexpensive it was to buy something as gorgeous as this doll, something that must have taken hours to make -- something I myself can't fathom having the time, talent, skill or patience to to make. It's amazing to think about all of the life that goes into something like that from the sheep to the person collecting the wool to all of the steps in making the doll: shaping, dying and whatever else I'm clueless about.
It makes me wonder why I don't buy MORE beautiful, handmade things. I love them, but it always strikes me as a luxury/something I'll do LATER, when I don't have debt; that way of thinking is pure fucking nonsense, though. And it really seems RIGHT for me to cycle the money people spend on me as luxury/entertainment/personal support by doling some of it out to other small-business people and artists, right? On top of that I think I feel more inspired to do better work when I spend time looking at and touching other people's beautiful work. I spend most of my money on plastics and electronics and such, justifying it as being "for work", but forgetting that I need personal/spiritual juice for my work to be worth doing.
On Saturday I'm doing my civic duty at our county convention as an Obama delegate; I've canceled my shows that day rather than rescheduling them; there was no way I could get my other work (shoots, webmastering, etc.) done this week if I crammed show day into another slot. What I *have* done, though, is put a chat session at 9 pm Saturday night. I know that's probably going to make it unattendable for some people, but I'm not sure when I'll be home from the thing and want to have dinner and a break in between (my social juices being in always short supply).
With my emotional state and my choice in tunes, listening to my own station gave me a bloated throat-lump and more crying. In a sorta good way.
*For the past few weeks it seems like the viewers/chatters in my webcam shows have been MUCH more pleasant than usual. I wind up the shows loaded with lots of warm fuzzies and really appreciate the change in tone. Coincidentally, most of these shows were during my vibrator-abstinence period and my PERIOD period so they were very chat-oriented shows with less actual showing-off of my body. Normally a less explicit show leads to the natives getting restless and very rude, but for some reason the crowds have been noticeably more tolerant, receptive and respectful than they have been in the past few years. I think that the big cam network might be filtering out some of the freeloaders because the crowds also seem smaller. Whatever it is, I like it; it's a lot more fun and relaxing.
*Our hosting company had some hiccups and is doing some upgrades so our sites have had (and might have more) downtime than I've seen with them for the past six years. They are doing some upgrades April 1st Monday Night/Tuesday morning between 1:00am Ė 6:00am and hope to limit the down time to fifteen minutes, but it's possible there could be more.
I hate the impact that has on people's perceptions of our sites, but it happens to everybody at some time or another so I hope everyone will be patient with it. Members: if you want all the technical details and apologies from our hosting company, I've posted them HERE and HERE.
We're going to have to do some heavy time (and semen) management in the upcoming weeks to try again to get pregnant, shoot content, and do some major work to try to get our income boosted (this week is going to be TIGHT) so I'm making a lot of lists, plans and goals. It might make me even more boring than usual, but also more productive (but maybe not more productive in the "fun" way).
An overwrought, incoherent mini-tribute to my favorite periodical and worthy cause, $pread magazine:
Do you know what it's like to go to the newsstand and see business magazines like inc. and then for a second get excited because you see a magazines for WOMEN-run businesses. But it's called something like "PINC." and you buy it even though you know absolutely nothing inside will have anything to do with the one industry that women should dominate. The sex industry (the pinkest industry). Not. One. Word. Of recognition. It's like trying to plan your own funeral in a society that doesn't have a word for death or acknowledge that everyone dies in the end. That's how crazy it seems to refuse to acknowledge the business of sex in general discussions about business, particularly businesses run by women. That's how fucking backwards and NOT progressive we are (but I'm sure most straight business-women think that IS progress, to not associate women in business with the possibility of anything remotely sexual except for harassment and victimization). The new ambitious woman is required not to be in charge of her body or to enjoy it in her off time or to use it to get ahead, but to project a consistently professional asexual image, don't you know? God forbid word leaks out that she even HAS a body underneath those clothes! No, the working woman can only advance in status by keeping her tits and pussy discretely locked away in a witness protection program; showing off our assets only serves to make them a liability. If we show them to anyone on purpose it might make it harder for us to use them to prosecute some guy later who took an uncivilized interest in them.
The world thinks that starting an ebay business selling crocheted kleenex box holders is a better, more legitimate career* for a woman than turning tricks or being a webwhore. This is unbelievably STUPID to me and it's why women who do sex work are pretty motherfucking socially isolated. Because we're not just doing a job that's hard to talk about with other people, like being a paramedic or a soldier or a nurse who attends to the dead and dying and ends and saves lives; those people are considered heroic even if no one wants to hear the truth of their jobs. Those people usually work in teams, teams that don't have to compete against each other for pay; they can talk to EACH OTHER about their work. I'm not denying that there's competition in those fields for promotions (which do equal more money) and status and I'm certainly not denying that those jobs are hard (on the contrary) nor am I trying to say that sex work is harder than those jobs; what I'm trying to say is that doing sex work can be very isolating. Not only are we discouraged by polite society from talking about our work (and even laws against talking about it in some cases), but our work itself is often against the law. Very few sex workers can talk to their family, romantic interests, or non-whore friends about our tough days at the office, and developing a sense of camaraderie with colleagues is often challenging. There's no human relations department where we can file grievances. I'm not saying these circumstances exist for all of us or are necessarily unbearable or even undesirable for a lot of us, I'm just saying that it *can* be pretty fucking lonely in ways that are fairly unique. I am really lucky that I am a hermit to begin with, my partner does the same kind of work I do, and I'm out with my family and can be fairly open with them. Plus, my brand of sex work is really safe, no-(physical)-contact stuff. Still? There are times when I realize that my friends and family have no fucking clue who I am, what I do, or what's important to me . . . and don't WANT to. There are some things that I can only talk about with other people who do the work I do. I'm sure it's the same for lawyers, priests and teachers but they HAVE networks and coffee rooms and church and professional associations. Me? I am still stunned by finding out that my sister (who I'm very close to) assumed I would want my sites taken down if/when I die. Apparently my story is something she thinks I would want erased rather than shared and preserved in all of its grotesquely intimate nakedness.
So is it weird that seeing $pread for sale at a bookstore made my heart skip a beat and a pain dive down through my innards as though I'd just unexpectedly caught sight of someone I have a big crush on? I don't know if I can explain where that intense feeling of recognition comes from and the sense of being on the verge of something life-altering, like standing in a crowd and having a beam of sunlight shine specifically down on just you, singling you out as deserving of solace and renewal. While everyone else just mills around the bookstore, you are aware of being part of a group of people witnessing and breaking through thousands and thousands of years of foul, soul-staining, isolating, life-killing bullshit.
I think it's the sensation of battle (not war) victory upon seeing a visible representation of a long line of stigmatized women's voices finally coming to be recognized and legitimized, our hiserstories written by ourselves and our concerns and specific business needs addressed. Uncensored, not twisted or misappropriated or degradingly pitied by academia and looky-loos and feminism-hoarders. Not perfect, not artsifucked, but really fucking important. Our stories. VALUED in print and for sale in public.
*Note: I mean no offense to crafty crocheters of kleenex box holders; I myself would love to know how to crochet. Plus I would never disrespect someone for honoring tissue boxes since I myself have a major kleenex fetish. I'm just reasonably sure that whoring is a more viable business than hand-crafting tissue cozies.
**Confession: I delayed posting this entry because I let my $pread subscription lapse and felt like it would make me a liar to post this without my money backing it up. Then I realized that's silly since I will resubscribe and order the back-issues I missed. And who would know this if I didn't tell them? Why am I so uptight and guilt-riddled? I also need to finish my site redesign and include more links to things and people I care about.
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".
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.
I almost did something crazy just now . . . I started filling out an application to work in a grocery store.
Oh my god! Is money REALLY that tight for Trixie? Or is she quitting webwhoring? Errr . . . what the fuck?
It's nothing like that. It's actually more embarrassing than that; I don't NEED another job, I just really like cashiering. Sometimes when I go to the store I am jealous, and I just think it would be fun to pick up a Saturday or holiday shift or a busy dinner rush now and again. Sometimes I just want to get out of the house and do something regular, normal . . . something with a rhythm and set of rules. Something with clearly defined boundaries. Something where I pick things up, move them only a couple feet, then set them down in a bag. Something that doesn't require a lot of complex thought. Something that doesn't involve planning for the future. Someplace where I'm never asked to make big decisions.
Sometimes I'm just tired of being in our house, and I don't want to socialize exactly, but I want to interact (in very predictable, regimented ways) with people. I guess normal people would go out and have a drink with friends in my situation, but that is SO INTENSELY BORING AND COUNTERPRODUCTIVE TO ME. The thought of sitting in a bar drinking to relax just bores me STIFF. But the thought of having a mundane, repetitive job sounds relaxing and wonderful to me. I like counting money and typing on little keypads and scanning things. I would be standing up and lifting things! I would feel so efficient and pleasantly robotic.
I know I have a college education and I don't *have* to get a job like "that", but how can I explain how much I want one sometimes? Sometimes I just want things to be simple, rote. Cashiering is like a video game job.
I can't really afford to take time off from our sites to have a smiling robot job, though. Part of me seductively whispers that maybe it would REFRESH me for my real job here in internet porn. If I knew I wouldn't be pressured to work when I couldn't and I knew I wouldn't have to wash toilets or face product or, god forbid, MOP anything, and I could just work at a checkstand, like, once a week or something . . . I would totally do it.
I feel like I shouldn't be admitting this.
I feel embarrassed about this desire, but today isn't the first time I've felt this way. Lately I have been fantasizing about getting a temporary job doing data entry (there's nothing like that available in our town so it really is just a fantasy). I enjoy the world of what-other-people-consider to-be menial labor. I enjoy the structure of it. And I really like typing. Do you know that? I REALLY LIKE TYPING. I like the sound of it, the feeling of it. I like the cadence of data entry. I like escaping into work that only requires lower-level thinking. I have told myself that I could pretend in my head that I'm only getting a job like that as research for a book, but that would be a lie. I just like learning the little subcultures of wage-earners.
People who've never had normal jobs like this, I'll bet they don't know how fascinating they can be and how interesting the people you work with are. There are the people who are surprisingly interesting, and there are the people who are predictably dull. And I usually like them all. I would never want to feel stuck in a job like that, but those kinds of jobs can be extremely SATISFYING. They're mechanical, manageable, and fun to master.
My job(s) right now? I will never "master" any of them. Sometimes that's really cool and exciting and sometimes it just makes me feel tired and want to cry.
Sometimes I just want to have a stack of work and see it visibly reduced as I complete each piece, one at a time. Sometimes I just want to know when my shift is over. Sometimes I just want to be faster than someone else. Sometimes I just want things to be simple, and to go home and spend the whole night reading a book or watching tv without feeling guilty about it because I should be doing something creative and productive and special. Sometimes I don't feel like I can be productively creative and sometimes I don't want to be special. Sometimes I just want to be a worker bee and enjoy being a well-oiled piece in a bigger machine. Sometimes I want to be able to blame corporate or upper management or just some dickwad above me for my problems and limited range of motion. Sometimes I am just so tired of not having anyone to blame but myself.
Sometimes I just want to know exactly what the people in charge of my paycheck want from me, and to be able to ask them that point blank if I don't. What do you want from me? Sometimes I just want to know who those people are, and have there only be one or two of them. With my job(s) right now, it really is cool and almost divine to be able to make so many people happy in so many different ways, but it makes repeated success complicated and unpredictable. Everyone wants something different and everyone is so many people in so many different time zones. Who are they? What do they want from me NOW? This is not easy, and the only way to make it easy is to only care about yourself in a way that requires turning inward too far.
Sometimes I want to know that I can quit, but the problem is that I can't. I can never and will never quit this job I have now. This is my work and it's what I'm supposed to do with most of my life. Sometimes it's boring to have found your life's work and know that you're never actually going to be GREAT at it. It (in all of the different forms it does and will take) will be special, but it won't be GREAT. The best I can hope for and work towards is that someday it will be more profitable, but money is not as great a motivator as greatness, so these days I move forward very slowly.
Sometimes I'm depressed, and that sometime is now (especially without the wonderful, magical, mood-stabilizing happiness that is hormonal birth control). Sometimes I feel like a failure for being a regular person, and sometimes I feel like I'm about to really EMBRACE being average and become crazily happy with that. Sometimes I am.
"Family & Holidays" sounds like a title for a tired, bitchy entry, but it's not.
I'm not sick of my family, I'm sick of not seeing them as much as I want, as often as I want. Right now we're separated by many miles and large bodies of water (Hood Canal and Puget Sound to get to my sister/nephew/brother-in-law, plus Lake Washington in my mom's case) that take at least a couple of hours one way to traverse.
For the past few years we've celebrated Thanksgiving and Christmas on off-days, before or after the actual days on the calendar, so that we wouldn't have to contend with holiday traffic. I've enjoyed that, but now that my sister has a kid and we're planning to have one ourselves and we're all just getting older, I really want to live close together, to be able to walk to each other's houses or at least be within a fifteen-minute drive of each other.
In a bizarre new twist in my fantasy life, I've actually been fantasizing about Thanksgiving and Christmas. About celebrating on the same days everyone else does. Eating turkey at one of our houses, then walking to one of our other houses for pie. I've been fantasizing about the cool outside smell of late November as we walk to my neighbor/sister's house with a big bowl of cranberry sauce. About seeing my nephew, who is now (for real) singing, walking, and signing like crazy, every day.
I fantasize about living close enough to my mom that I can see her in short, fun, frequent bursts, instead of long, painful ordeals built up by ridiculously long drives.
I want to be able to pick up flowers or stupid gadgets during a grocery trip and drop them off at my mom's and sister's houses. I want us to play cards at night with my brother-in-law and sister after the kid(s) have gone to bed. I want to smell each other's houses so often that they all feel like home. I want all of us to get fat and happy eating from each other's tables.
Whenever we drive around town lately I imagine we're driving to my sister's or mom's house, and that we're only a minute away from arriving.
My sister and brother-in-law actually want to move to our town, so that part is settled in terms of goals. When that actually happens, I think our mom will get on board too. The problem right now is of course just money. Part of me feels certain it's completely in my power to make this happen within a couple of years. Another part of me is just so slack and unambitious, I get annoyed with myself.
Part of the problem is I'm pretty content with our lifestyle and what we have so it's difficult to feel motivated to make more money. Yes, I'd like to have our own house, health insurance, no credit card debt and to be near my family, but the reality is I hardly feel the absence of most of those things. I feel pretty fucking comfortable.
In the past I've been motivated by the fear of failure, and since I don't really worry about failing anymore I struggle to feel motivated. I feel like I need to perform a bunch of focused mental acrobatics at this time in my life to encourage myself to run harder and faster to realize my now ultra-mundane dreams. I'm simultaneously frustrated with myself and stultifyingly content. I make myself sick with laziness yet I'm also sickeningly happy. The only thing that seems to light a fire under my ass is watching videos of my one-year-old nephew and missing the chance to see him often while he learns new things.
I've never hated the holidays. Yes, I've hated celebrating birthdays and hated SHOPPING for holidays, but the actual Thanksgivings and Christmases have had so much goodness I can separate them from memories of family dysfunction, like when a huge Thanksgiving fight ended with my grandpa verbally disowning me. My family is smaller and less dysfunctional now, plus I miss my dad who LOVED Christmas and gift-giving; maybe that part of him inhabits me now and urges me into this sentimental frame of mind. I don't want to spend one single Christmas day on the road, I want to spend a whole week with my family, with kids in sleeping bags and no worries about how losing sleep staying up late together on Christmas eve to play Santa will potentially cause a car crash. I want to go to church with my sister, and argue about which one we'll go to. Maybe we'll switch off.
Going to watch a video of nephew then slog through the more mundane aspects of my work, trying to stay focused . . . trying to remember what's MOST important out of the billions of things that are important to me.
Details and insights from our two day shooting spree:
S T A T S :
Created: 906 photos in five different galleries, 45 minutes in 3 JO (jack-off) videos
Costs: $186 - room $110 - four pairs of inexpensive shoes $100 - legwear and hosiery accessories $170 - other bargain-hunted clothes, panties, and bras Total: $566
Average approximate cost per photo: $1.60
Note: these are all approximations. I didn't account for the cost of our cosmetics, lights, camera, camcorder, memory cards, tapes, luggage, or time. The total number of pictures is inaccurate since we won't actually use all of those photos; some of them will be junked. Considering these factors, the average cost per photo is actually grossly underestimated. On the other hand, many elements of our "costumes" will be used over and over again, or have already been used in other shoots, so figuring in their total cost for this shoot is an overestimation. I also didn't average in the video production, although the videos probably have greater potential for sales.
V A L U E : Of course, I think the amount of money we spend to make porn is "worth it", otherwise I wouldn't do it. Some people would say we spend too much money on our shoots, others not enough. Some people would say we don't shoot enough content, others would say we shoot too much. To really measure whether or not what we spend is "worth it", we'd have to know how much we'll earn on each photo set and video, or how many sales we'll make or memberships we'll retain because of each one. This is next to impossible to determine. There will probably be someone who loves Delia's satin panties so much, and specifically seeing HER in them that he'll buy a membership if he sees a sample photo, and keep his membership in hopes she'll shoot MORE satin panty stuff. But there's no way of figuring out how many of these people are out there.
In the final assessment we have to look at each photo gallery and video as one small piece of a large body of work, since most of the money we make comes from selling subscriptions to access it as a whole, not per photo set or video (though we do a little of that too).
If forced to figure out the potential earnings from just this block of content we produced over the past couple of days, I have to first say that THERE IS NO LIMIT. We could sell these photos and videos to a billion people, barring a legal disaster. Of course, that (selling a billion memberships) probably won't happen. The photos and videos will also probably decrease in value as time goes on due to overexposure, leaps in technology raising acceptable quality standards, etc.
If REALLY forced to figure out how much we'll make in the short term off of these photos and videos, I'll lead you through this explanation:
1) Monthly memberships to our sites currently cost about $20. 2) After processing fees (15%) and affiliate payouts (average of 23%), we average about $12.40. 3) That doesn't account for any of our other business expenses like
*hosting costs ($399 a month) *electricity to power our computers and provide us with light and heat while we're working (maybe $75 a month avg.) *cable AND dsl (about $140 a month) to run our 10+ spycams, do our shows, upload our content to the server, etc. *taxes (jesus FUCKING christ) *software, scripts, smaller hosting packages, domain names, blah blah blah (at least $50 a month) *time *health insurance (which we don't have) *gym memberships, hair coloring, and all those things we do to try to make ourselves pretty (at least $150 a month on average)
On the very low side, not counting our rent, food, time, taxes or any of that, those expenses I mentioned come to about $800.
So how many memberships do we need to sell to pay the very bare minimum of our expenses for two months (eluding the tax man all the while) plus pay for a photo shoot costing $566 that will provide just one of our websites with about two months of updates? We would need $2,166 just to break even. At $12.40 per membership, we'd need to sell 174 one month subscriptions or 87 per month. That is 174 different joins or 87 different people who stay on for two months.
Fortunately, we do that and more. The part that makes it "worth it", though, is not actually having to go through these calculations every day (or even every month or quarterly) to know what we do is valuable. I know very well that THE POTENTIAL money we can make off our content vastly exceeds what we spend to make it. We don't vastly exceed it right now -- NOT EVEN CLOSE -- but I can't describe to people how incredibly exciting it is to have NO VISIBLE CEILING on our potential to make money. There's no top of the pay scale, and that rocks so hard that I keep on trucking in spite of my hideous debt load.
F U N: How much fun we have making porn is almost as important as the money in determining the value of our work. Some of you might be horrified and turned-off by my money talk and haven't even made it this far into my calculations, but what we do truly is fun. No, I don't mean my panties are soaking wet every second that I'm working, but our work is fun and rewarding on many levels.
Take this photo shoot as an example. My panties WERE indeed quite wet (though not exactly "soaking") while I shot Delia. Especially while seeing her in those satin panties. Aside from the obvious stimulation of watching Delia pose for me, there's the added bonus of pondering the "end users" who will enjoy the content. I like thinking about what they're going to do to themselves when they see the photos and videos. I like thinking about individuals (in a shadowy and anonymous way) who have very specific tastes and imagining I'm shooting at least a few shots that will wind up favorites because they have a nice photo of someone special/different (Delia or me) exhibiting something in particular they can just never get enough of (panties, nylons, precum, snappy garters, bare feet, cleavage, upskirts, hairy pussy, freckles or whatever).
It is FUN to capture beautiful, sexy images. It's fun to be the one saving and sharing it, knowing it will elicit little utterances of pleasure from people all over the world. It's also a challenge, and challenges are fun, too.
P H O T O G R A P H E R -VS- M O D E L : We only shot one Trixie set/of me, and the rest of the time we shot Delia. Sometimes I enjoy my shoots, particularly ones involving videos with role plays. Often they are interesting from a technical perspective. Most often, though, I enjoy shooting other people. Sexually I get off on shooting other people more than I do by being the "model". When I do get off on "modeling", it's usually because I am imagining someone *else* getting off on the end product.
This time around I wasn't feeling very sexy about being in front of the camera, partly because my body felt like dead weight; posing for (good) pictures is pretty demanding on your body so being in good shape is kind of important. I'm not. Anyway, I was totally in dirty old man mode. I wanted to see Delia in all her different outfits and take as many good jack-off-worthy pictures as possible, and lots of good, taunting build-up to those ones. Plus, Delia is a great model. Still, I enjoy bossing her around and giving her directions. I'm sure I annoy the piss out of her sometimes, but I like it.
As the Delia shoots went on, I started feeling groovier and groovier. My body felt great and I felt really productive, like we were on a roll. When I am behind the camera it's almost as physically demanding as being in front of it, but way more fun because I DON'T HAVE TO LOOK PRETTY. I'm on the ground, then I'm climbing on furniture, then I'm holding my guts in an isometric contraction. I'm bending over, stretching up high, and holding as still as possible when shooting with low light (we never use flashes or speedlights; I'm not saying they're bad, we just haven't invested the money and time in buying the equipment and learning to use them properly, and we hate the way that stuff looks when done without effort). Anyway, my body warmed up and started working in a way that felt efficient, smooth, and electric. Delia looked so hot and I felt so good and alive, it was fantastic fun. I felt truly amazing inside, and utterly blessed.
We wound up coming home instead of spending the second night in the room. It was a nice room with a cozy bed, but we packed and crept out before midnight to go back home to our dog. I also really wanted to see what happened with Heather on America's Next Top Model, but our DVR only recorded twelve minutes of it for some reason. Fortunately they run a repeat on Sunday since a) I *hate* missing an episode of any shot I actually like to watch, and b) I *hate* watching television on the computer so I don't do that. It's not an option for me to waste time sitting upright at my machine trying to find some crappy bandwidth-eating stream of a tv show somewhere. That's not my idea of relaxation (though I understand why people with different jobs and better setups do it that way and someday I'm sure I will too).
I think we do a good job of balancing professionalism and productivity on our shoots with healthy personal-fulfillment. We don't shoot in a way that feels unpleasantly like an assembly line the way most porn is shot. I'd say 90% of the time we spend actually shooting (not including prep time which can be a big drag) we enjoy it and if we start getting sick of it? We can quit, do something else with our time, and look forward to the next shoot when we'll be in a sexier mood. After not shooting as much Trixie content as we planned, I actually feel really amped up with ideas, like I have a whole treasure trove of naughtiness to explore. I love anticipating shoots in that way, and I also love that we have a nice stack of Delia stuff shot so that we can spend a day, for example, focusing all of our energy on shooting just one scene that requires more creative energy than our shoots that are more photo-focused on fetish attire (nylons, panties, etc.) rather than video-focused on a role play, or shot outside and require having a whole day open to feel out the weather, pick a spot, etc.
Ideally we will have and maintain a large backlog of efficiently-shot content so that we can do more spontaneous and/or creative shoots that need the time and space to do RIGHT, by preparing properly and also having the leeway to be leisurely about it so that it feels less like a big plan and more like something exciting we've been looking forward to doing. In other words, plan well enough and have enough free time so the plan feels NATURAL and doesn't involve stress like hurrying to clean up part of the house to shoot in, buy/create props, wash the right clothes, charge up camera equipment, set up lights, etc.
The weather is now gloriously cooler and damper than when we shot these pics, which are my last bonafide summer photos for 2007:
So, what have I been up to?
*Tweeting instead of blogging (though I've actually been laboring for a week over a blog entry involving scary pussy pics; I'll post it one of these days, but both the writing and the topic are near-tragic)
*Setting up our cool new schedule for fans of our shows and spycams; it's a google calendar and a much better way to communicate exactly where and when we'll be "performing" since we appear on more than ten different sites regularly (three spycam sites, three cam show networks, and an assortment of venues for private shows and phone sex).
*Fucking (we are still trying to get pregnant, and it's consuming a sort of big area of my attention especially since it's connected to Delia's transition; she/we had her last therapy appointment to get the go-ahead for a report to an endocrinologist recommending her for hormones; if we don't get pregnant now, or even if we do, we also want to have some of her sperm frozen which is a whole project in itself requiring money, research, and determining what her sperm count is in the first place). I'll write more about that in other blogs and post links when I do.
*Doing fun camshows and chat sessions while also suffering a moderately nasty weekend headache which I've decided to blame on Celestial Seasonings Roastaroma tea, which I LOVE but inexplicably (and perhaps only coincidentally) winds up with me having a migraine the day after I drink a cup.
*Housecleaning (a soul-sucking yet mildly gratifying labor after you invest enough hours into it and stay focused on one thing at a time); we have fresh flannels on our bed, a clean mossy-green wet-autumn-colored comforter, and my nightstand crumbs and piles have been dispersed. The television is dusted and windexed, ready to shine the light of fall programming on our stupefied faces; I've not been this "into" television since I was ten years old and plotted my life around the tv guide when I stayed over at my grandparents' house. I just happened to pick up one of my favorite crap magazines with ads and descriptions of all the new shows popping up on the networks so I decided to try something new (because I seriously have never ever done this in my entire life): I want to watch all of the pilots, even the dumb ones that I really don't want to see. Okay, I've already failed because I'm *not* going to watch that new Frasiery newscaster show, but I am totally looking forward to Kid Nation and Dirty Sexy Money. Does anyone have any guesses as to whether the Geico caveman show is going to suck or be great? I'm one of the apparent millions who loves those commercials and am hoping they aren't just ruining a good thing making a whole series out of it. I'm very curious about how the copyrights and stuff work for that (but not curious enough to google it and actually find out who paid who what to make it happen).
*Stressing out a little about money since our extension to file our taxes expires next month. On a positive note, I feel myself gearing up for a cycle of productivity and happy hard work. I feel like I'm just coming out of a period of slack time. It's been great to feel less driven and consumed by work; I needed to slow down a little and have more lazy time. I feel ready to step up and put my nose back down to the grindstone, though. It's dysfunctional, but I do feel more excited and motivated when I'm on the brink of financial ruin (like maybe not being able to pay our 2006 taxes while I'm still making payments on 2005). I know, I know, some of you nervous nellies are aghast that we're considering creating our own small human under such dire circumstances, but seriously; the worst case scenarios are really not all that bad. And I'm not genuinely concerned "the worst" or even anything all that bad will happen. Call me crazy, but just do it in your own bubble and not in the comments because I don't want to hear it. I already know I'm insane. We don't need to discuss it.
Last night we watched Cruel and Unusual, a documentary profiling transgender women in American prisons.
If you want to see a movie about real people performing heroic acts, see it.
I usually feel like we're lucky enough to live in a time and place where a single person cannot lead a major rebellion or do something even remotely revolutionary. In my lifetime and country the only things described as "revolutionary" have been new tech products like the personal computer; that type of revolution is meaningless to the lower class in terms of positive change since it mostly serves to widen the gap between the haves and the majority of have-nots.
What a couple of these women did while they were incarcerated was to shed actual BLOOD to effect personal change and governmental/institutional/legal change benefiting other trans women, and, I think, genetic women too. When the prisons refused to CONTINUE hormone therapy when they jailed these people who'd already been on hormones and refused to even acknowledge there were adverse *medical* implications to their obstinance, what did these prisoners do? THEY CUT OFF THEIR DICKS AND/OR BALLS.
And laws changed.
I'd love to wax appreciative and thoughtful on these issues longer, but I'm going to leave it at that for now.
*Yay! I got my updated credit report today with one derogatory item DELETED since I finally invested the time to write a stupid letter about it (leftover ex-husband stuff; I am so lazy about these things -- so lazy, in fact, I'd probably still be married to him on paper if he hadn't taken the initiative to file the papers; too bad he wasn't as proactive about paying his credit card bills).
*After spending a whole wonderful week away from home and work I was able this morning to pinpoint with clarity a couple of the things that really drain my energy. Number one is the problems we're having with the spycam site we're exhibiting on and the connection instability we've had there for about six months now. It is the worst feeling to greet the day by finding out that your spycams are inexplicably disconnected and you have, in effect, failed to deliver on a promise you've made to your customers. Number two is our freewheeling unscheduled approach to each day; while there are benefits to doing whatever you want WHENEVER you want, it's aggravating and inefficient when you want to do whatever you want WHENEVER you want WITH YOUR PARTNER. I can see now how much of an annoyance and energy-drain it is to me when we interrupt each other in our offices and decide spontaneously we want to do something (eat, go to the gym, go for a walk) when the other person isn't ready for that and HAS NO IDEA WHEN THEY WILL BE. I don't know how much it affects Tucker, but contrasting how relaxed I felt last week with the nuisance factor of today back at home I'm thinking it would be good for us to commit to more of a schedule.
I implemented a new budgetary device for Tucker and I; we're each getting a weekly allowance for our vices. I tend to spend money willy-nilly on books and magazines while he opts for wine and beer so we're going to have a new limit of a paltry $15 a week each from our shared money for our personal addictions and if we want to spend more on them it has to come out of our own camming or phone sex money.
What does this mean for you? It means I might have to start camming and doing phone sex a whole lot more because I LOVE TO BUY BOOKS.
Right now is one of those moments when I am IN LOVE with my job, my boyfriend, my life and even myself. Pictures like these ones give me an idea of just how good things are and could be with a little more effort. It all seemed wonderfully synchronous to wind up with such retro sets right while I was reading James Ellroy and my mom's house always turns out great light and ambiance.
I know Delia probably won't be as excited about the black and white set as I am because of the harsher less-feminine lines and shadows, but as far as interesting PHOTOS go they are so much fun to look at. Of course, I wind up criticizing the baseboard heater and radios in the background that are from later eras. I always wonder what it would be like to shoot for a couple of hours and only try to get between one and ten really GREAT photos instead of trying to get 75-150 pics designed to lead to a thorough jack-off fantasy. I suppose we could find out, but I'm not really that curious to work it into our schedule.
What I'm more curious about is how cool it would be to invest in a fixer-upper without having any financial pressure to actually fix it up fast; the idea of having an older home that's kind of trashed out with texture to shoot in really appeals to me. Being able to do messy paintjobs and wacky shit without worrying about "ruining" the house would rock. I suppose first we have to be able to afford a house we can actually LIVE in, though.
Shit!! Delia is camming tonight in one of her blonde wigs and in three hours made three times as much as she made last week as a brunette in six hours. GUYS SPEND MORE MONEY ON BLONDES. That's all there is to it.
I have an appointment to get my hair colored tomorrow and planned to stick with dark hair just ONE MORE TIME but Delia's income tonight reminds me once again how foolish it is to cling to my brunette locks. FOOLISH. There's no backing out now, though, as all of my outfits I've lined up for our next two photo shoots look best with dark hair. ALL OF MY FAVORITE COLORS LOOK BEST WITH DARK HAIR!! Coral, salmon, aqua, orange, pink, red. I do *love* brown, though, and brown looks best with blonde hair.
When I'm in hermit mode I *love* to do work that only requires lower-level thinking skills: stuff that's repetitive and allows me to get into a mind-numbing rhythm where I can hyperfocus on the trivial details of the task at hand. Jobs where I can totally lose myself.
One of those jobs is adding galleries to my neglected/underdeveloped/unfinished free porn site. Another is finding photos and clips to post and write about over at my Live WebWhores blog. I seriously wish I could spend a couple of weeks doing nothing but writing blog entries there, and then at least a full workday or two per month after that. Does it qualify as work? Yeah, it does; I promote iFriends from that Live WebWhores blog.
I know some people think we webwhores are supposed to pretend that we do all of this sex work and blogging PURELY for the sheer pleasure and sexual ecstasy of it, but I simply must ruin the mystique of it to tell you that every time someone joins iFriends for free from one of my sites I actually make more money on that free join than when someone joins MY site and pays for it. Wacky, huh? The truth is I could make more money promoting other people's sites for 25% of the work and legal risks and at 5% of the expense of running our own sites. That fact on its own should mitigate any damage I've done by reminding people that I do this work for profit since I clearly must love operating our sites if I continue to do it in spite of the fact that I could make more money with less effort in other ways.
As it stands, I enjoy so many aspects of this industry that I can't help scattering my efforts all over the place. It's nice to have a job for every mood even though it makes it a challenge to make efficient time-management decisions. In the end, I think it's pretty healthy and cool. And fuck, I really need to make more time to CONSUME porn and enjoy it; it doesn't make sense for me to make porn but allow myself so little time to peruse other people's. Example: best movie gallery I stumbled upon today: self-conscious slightly-dorky but-still-hot guy tugging himself outside. These are thing I *need* to see, right??
My first reaction when I clicked on this article, before I even started reading it, was total disgust that a bunch of relatively rich people shopping in downtown Seattle need more excuses to keep more of their more money to themselves during the holidays. It's not that I hold anything against people who don't give to panhandlers (I rarely pitch them anything either), just that I don't think we all need a tutorial on how to say "no" guiltlessly.
I think it's cool to provide people with better avenues for donating money that will be used more efficiently to help people who don't benefit from other people's high-visibility panhandling, but I agree with the people in the article that have a bad taste in their mouths with an effort that is aimed to discourage people from giving at the street level if they feel like it. All to make their shiny storefronts look tidier.
While I'm often annoyed by panhandlers, I balk at people who get so resentful and critical of them.
My personal panhandler preference? I actually give more to obnoxious people who entertain me somehow. Not just aggressively beg, but tell me a joke or try to ham it up. This is probably totally sick and twisted of me, but I often feel like asking the simple beggars to try to put a little more energy into it -- you know, give me something for my money! Perhaps a little jig? A crooked toothless smile? An off-colour limerick?
One of the things I loved about Chicago was how many street performers there were. I *love* people who preach, sing, soft-shoe, or make screechy violin sounds on streetcorners. That's, like, GOD to me. I don't know that I like the practice of making them get LICENSED, though.
I remember one day when I gave to a quiet man who needed money. I got to see the creases in his hand and touch his palm. We didn't say anything to each other -- it was a gift. To me.
Okay . . . we just got back from a productive shopping trip and I'm granting myself permission to postpone my update. We have COMPANY; you wouldn't want me to neglect Kris, would you?
Some of you may be wondering if we've been spending our time together eating box lunches and giggling about how much we love cock, but there's been none of that, nor do we have plans to shoot anything like that. Plus, Kris doesn't do hardcore anymore (and yeah, I think licking carpet qualifies as hardcore). She does want to try to get in some fetish shoots, though so we might get around to something erotic (yet inexplicit) tomorrow. If not tomorrow, next time.
It's been fun just to talk and hang out. I mean, REALLY fun.
I bought 25 pairs of panties tonight for Delia and I. We went to Ross ("Dress for Less" - if you're a poor bargain-hunter on the west coast you know where I'm talking about) so for $250 we were able to get a cartload of stuff that qualifies as costumes for our sites. We got Delia some shoot-worthy dresses (example: we got THIS DRESS at Ross awhile back) and I got some tops that make my boobs look TOTALLY GINORMOUS.
I have to get a loudly-whistling kettle SOON before I burn the house down.
Tucker bought me a beautiful BEAUTIFUL tea kettle; it was large and shiny and lovely. I don't remember how I managed it, but I burned it to death (perhaps the whistle was too soft-spoken? I don't recall, but it made me sad when I destroyed it).
I tried getting a new, pretty, red one, but I had to take it back to the store because the whistle was SO weak, and I knew that spelled disaster. I bought a cheap replacement that I also recently managed to neglect during it's hot process (did I forget to put the whistle-thing down? Or did I forget to tamp down the lid and the steam escaped through there so it wouldn't whistle?). Whatever; it's burned up, the black plastic handle melted into hot lava down its silver sides and the bottom blackened and flaky.
Through all of this I've managed to not set fire to a house (these aren't the only water-boiling mishaps I've had, just the ones during the past two years). The past few months I've been boiling water for my breakfast tea in saucepans. Today I decided to put in a little more water in the pan than usual, which was fortunate because I totally forgot all about it until I left my office to go pee and smelled hot burning something coming from the kitchen. FUCK. Water all boiled off, only mineral remnants frying in the bottom. I *love* that saucepan, too, with its copper bottom. It's one that came from my mom's kitchen so it's been in my life for . . . ummm . . . twenty-five years, at least. I hope it's still usable since its my favorite pan for popping corn, but it looks like most of the copper is going to flake off.
This latest kitchen casualty will probably motivate me to buy a good new proper tea kettle, which will probably be a relief to Tucker; he gets stressed out when I hold onto my mug with my left hand while pouring boiling water into it using my right. He keeps telling me I'm going to burn myself and I need to SET THE MUG DOWN FIRST. It's charming, really, how bothered he gets when I take this minor risk.
You might wonder why I don't just use a microwave to boil water (and pop popcorn). Well, I hate microwaves. HATE them. The only thing they're good for is softening chocolate chip cookies. Microwaves disgust me -- I hate the way they sound, the way they always wind up smelling, the way they look, the way they take up so much space. HATE them. If we had a huge kitchen and money to burn on scary appliances, sure -- we'd have one and use it for heating up leftovers and stuff. But I'm not going out of my poor way to stuff one into a tiny-ass kitchen.
By the way, I hate dishwashers too. So there.
There are certain things that should be done by human hands, the old-fashioned way. Washing dishes is one of them. No matter how many times people scoff and tell me about the advances in dishwashers, no one I know has a faultless dishwasher. They all leave crusties or break things every so often. And I HATE the smell of dishwasher-washed dishes (or just the SMELL of a dishwasher running). Blech! I would rather smell food mouldering on a pile of stacked-up dishes waiting to be hand-washed than catch a whiff of that hot steamy dishwasher aroma and have to HEAR its noisiness on top of it. Maybe the problem is that no one I know is able to afford the latest and greatest dishwashing technology, but whatever . . . I doubt I will ever fully trust dishwashers. Even if I were rich enough to have a maid to load the dishwasher for me, I know I'd be skulking around the kitchen making his/her life miserable by questioning her judgement on which dishes s/he would put into the evil machine. Not my favorite mug -- noooooooooo!
I know it's crazy, but I just don't like the way microwaves cook food. I don't trust it. I'm suspicious. While it's delightful that you can microwave bacon and it will come out perfectly cooked and FLAT (instead of curly), there's something horribly wrong about that. I'll still eat it and everything, but not before narrowing my eyes at the microwave contraption to let it know that I'm onto it and it better not try anything funnier than making flat bacon.
It's too bad that "young" clothes are so inexpensive while purchasing mature and womanly garb requires more funds. When WILL my bankbook match my age? I need my grownup-galleries to outnumber my youthful-role-play content by at LEAST two to one instead of the other way around. THREE to one, that would be PERFECT.
This weekend some or all of our cams will be down while family is visiting. My apologies for my low-level of interaction in terms of shows, email, chat, etc. I *almost* scheduled a chat session tonight, but was wise enough to decide against making that commitment. I'm feeling pretty tense and overwhelmed right now, and will probably remain so for the next few weeks until some goals are met. Our van is in the shop AGAIN (fan clutch being replaced), I have housework to do to prepare for company, and just a shitload of tasks demanding my attention. When I'm struggling to balance a lot of stuff and am focused on getting stuff done, being social is pretty much inconceivable for me. I don't just mean that I don't want to do it, I mean that I am incapable.
So. I have dirty dishes and a dirty toilet waiting for me, it's too late for me to do them tonight so they'll have to wait for morning . . . RIGHT BEFORE THE ONE SHOW I LEFT ON THE SCHEDULE, right before company comes over. Oh, won't the boys LOVE my charming attitude tomorrow!
Yay -- we're home again after a two-day shooting-spree, bringing us about one third of the way to meeting our Valentine's Day Goal of getting three months ahead on content production for our three main sites.
The place we rented was HEAVENLY, and I loved getting up this morning with no computers or cams to go check . . . just padding around in a clean pretty house after a lovely night of sleep in a perfectly firm and tidy bed. It was the kind of house that makes you feel like your life would be perfect if you could wake up there every day . . . if it belonged to you with its pretty colors and clean linens and someone else to do the housekeeping. While I pretended it was my house, Tucker had to go home and let the dog pee. When he came back to our pretend house, it was in our beater truck instead of our beater van and he bore the bad news that our van broke down. Again.
The reality of our precarious situation crashed down onto my head as we filled the dirty cab of the truck so full with our suitcases, lighting equipment, etc. that there was barely room for us to squeeze inside. But whatever. Things will get better. Someday we'll have reliable transportation. But before that we'll have three fucking months of content queued up for updates and won't be scurrying three times a week to shoot half-assed shit just so we have something to post. More time to make money (for a new camera and, you know -- a car that runs), more time to shoot FOR FUN and with a little more ambition, and a lot less tension and anxiety. More time to do other stuff, like chat with members and do private shows and phone sex -- things I really miss (like writing more interesting blog entries). But all I care about right now is meeting that goal of getting ahead on content; we have just over two week to achieve that before Valentine's Day strikes, and then we should be able to stay on top of it with some focused effort (maybe two or three days of focused shooting each month with spontaneous stuff thrown in for good measure, and the freedom to experiment a little more without worrying that we've "wasted" a shoot trying something new or strange).
So. Now I'm waiting for the tow truck to get here to haul our van to the mechanic's. I haven't had a safe and reliable car for about six years and I'm getting really sick of this shit. It's not a very big deal because we work at home, but it has become a larger issue since my nephew was born (and lives hours away) and my grandma is sick (and lives hours away). Right now, at this very moment, I'm not sure if I want to rip my hair out or just shrug it off and remind myself it will all be okay.
If any of you voyeurs saw me looking flushed while I slouched in my chair and/or heard the sound of buzzing and wondered what I might have been watching while I masturbated with my magic wand, it was a video of Tucker jacking off that I was editing for his update tonight.
Then again, you probably didn't see or hear it because it only lasted for about four minutes and I didn't take off any clothes or start moaning or anything. Wand over pants watching cockstroking = quick orgasm for Trixie.
When we started watching the Seahawks vs. Bears football game this morning I honestly didn't think we'd be watching long, assuming Chicago would take an early and pronounced lead and we'd just turn off the rest of a boring game. If you watched it, though, you know it didn't turn out that way. It was an entertaining waste of time and I thoroughly enjoyed it.
Watching Matt Hasselbeck (Seattle's quarterback aka "the guy who throws the ball", I should tell you, since this isn't a sports blog) doubled over in pain from his broken fingers while he kept on playing made me wonder how people would respond if I as a webwhore/camgirl, for instance, did a masturbation show with broken fingers and kept wincing in pain, and then had an announcer reminding everyone in the viewing audience of all of the injuries I'd suffered while doing explicit sex shows and masturbation.
Trixie's back today and it looks like she's still favoring her right ankle; no one really knew last month that she sprained that ankle when she twisted it wearing five inch fetish heels because she kept her game face on and kept doing her show but wound up having to stay off her feet and on her back for the past three weeks to give that time to mend, really REDUCING her versatility on the playing field. She looks to be in fine form tonight, though, with no traces of that rectal tear giving her any problem, but I wouldn't be surprised if we saw that ripped asshole FLARE UP in the second half.
Wouldn't the anti-porn, anti-whore people be mortified? And wouldn't they be even MORE mortified if a whore suffered those kinds of injuries and actually got paid as much as a pro football player?
Yeah, that's what I thought. You know what I'm talking about.
I'm ready for bed - my morning started out with a tragic nightmare regarding my sister's health and pregnancy; I woke up on the verge of tears which really cast a nasty pall over the first part of my day.
Things did improve; I got some work done and we managed to get to one of the few local showings of Kinky Boots. It was a totally old-fashioned story and I loved almost everything about it . . . everything except that Lola didn't get the girl (when the two of them danced it was ELECTRIC), instead taking the usual friendly-freak role by being the facilitator of romance rather than its recipient. It was nice to see a guy in good drag on the big screen with a mostly unmitigated masculine voice. I'm also a huge sucker for "saving dad's factory through resourcefulness and the inspiring intervention of an unlikely hero" stories (Mousehunt comes to mind). I blame Mr. Rogers' Picture-Picture (and the opening sequence of Laverne and Shirley) for my abiding love of scenes shot in factories -- I *love* anything with yellowed conveyor belts and special machines tooled to do special things. LOVE it. I could watch that shit for hours. I wonder if there's a DVD collection of Picture-Picture does Factories . . . if there's not, there should be.
Honestly though, I love stories about entrepreneurs, small businesses, or people leaving the safety of society to take up an adventurous career. People on the brink of losing everything, barely making it, struggling to stay alive but still refusing to do something more conventional. It's probably what drew me to stories of streetwalkers and other whores as a teenager and I just didn't CARE that they were cautionary tales, what I cared about is that they seemed to be independent and on any day they could make $10 or $1000 while having to dodge all sorts of obstacles and dangers. I like anything where people are making a living by their own rules and their own schedule, or are flouting conventional wisdom. Another whore-like story that appeals to me is the type found in The Tattooed Man -- I love the whole, "I'm going to make money and have adventure on the high seas!" thing. It's just good old American-dream boot-strap stuff with a little more of an unsafe fringe element that appeals to me. It's what I like about hard-boiled detective stories - they so often are barely eeking out a living, but THEY LIVE BY THEIR OWN RULES dammit. They are always just teetering on the brink. I love the tension and the uncertainty of that kind of lifestyle, so much so that I've established a similar existence for myself.
There is a thrill of uncertainty and danger as a webwhore that feeds on itself in an addictive way. It really is a gamble from both a financial and legal perspective, and the payoffs come in unpredictable ways. On the one hand, you have nearly-unlimited potential, but on a day-to-day basis a lot of times (at the stage I'm at now and have been for years) it really seems like the luck of the draw when it comes to how much money you pocket. It's quite possible that I like teetering on the edge so much and living the fantasy life of the scrappy entrepreneur just barely making a living that I probably hold myself back because it's just feels more fun and romantic this way than it would to have financial security. I love not knowing what will happen next, but feeling that a breakthrough could be just around the corner . . .
I think I burned through a ton of personal energy yesterday because today I feel like I could sleep for twenty-four hours. This morning I had some crazy hot sex dreams, but couldn't really sleep soundly for worrying about finances and repeatedly waking up to immediately begin thinking of ways to ease the current situation.
I know I should probably make it sound like spending ten thousand dollars is no big deal for us, but . . . it is. Tucker took a giant jar of change to the coinstar machine so we'll have money for food and so I could try to avoid incurring an overlimit charge on one of my credit cards. He did it early this morning since we woke up at six accidentally and of course the first thing out of my mouth was, "we need to take that change in TODAY and get it to my bank before it closes at noon".
I'm thinking of pawning my old wedding/engagement ring; the only thing delaying this act is that there's no pawn shop in town. I like my ring a lot, but I never wear it and it's really not that important to me. I've never pawned anything before, either, so I'm kind of curious about the process and like the idea of being part of an old white trash tradition. I like the idea of sacrificing something tangible and precious, of doing something ritualistic to commemorate this event and burn it even deeper into my brain. I don't think I've ever even been INSIDE a pawn shop, to tell you the truth.
I should confess that the only reason I'm in this current precarious situation is a lack of planning; I could have cammed my ass off for a month prior and paid for Trixie.com with no problem. But I didn't. I honestly didn't even consider making a goal of raising or saving a certain amount, partly because there was no way of guessing how much it would sell for and partly out of sheer optimism and faith that everything would turn out for the best. And it did. It does. It will. I trust "it". I trust myself.
DIVERSIONS Tucker hooked up our television antenna today so we could watch the Superbowl (and so I could supply myself with new and disgusting bits of pop culture to mortify, shock and offend my own old-fashioned ideals). What the fuck is up with that disgusting Jessica Simpson Pizza Slut popper commercial where she suggestively "pops" the adolescent boy? What the fuck!?! Would they make a commercial like that featuring an adult male "popping" a twelve year old girl? It really got me in a lather.
The hypocrisy in our culture sickens me; it's totally okay when a mainstream corporation colludes with broadcasters to air sexually suggestive advertisements on a Sunday afternoon depicting pedo relationships between goody-two-shoes Republican whores and little boys, but the FBI and Department of Justice censor, destroy and criminalize businesses that clearly label the same fantasies (even presented only in text format) as pornography. Every time I turn on the television I am bombarded with whores of all types peddling their wares and exposed to all kinds of pornography, and yet it's only the honest whores and smut peddlers like myself who call a spade a spade who are considered criminals.
I felt a little guilty watching football today and couldn't stop thinking about what Noam Chomsky says about sports. That they are served up to us to fill our heads with irrelevant bullshit and divert our attention from absorbing and processing news and information that really MATTER in life-altering ways. I also can't help wondering how these whores on the field, these men who are destroying their bodies doing nothing of more (or even equal) genuine import than a janitor or a garbage man or a paralegal or a streetwalker does -- these athletes are presented to us as virtuous noblemen, celebrities (people to be "celebrated"), patriots, heroes, icons, and role models. Some of these men do not even choose (or know how) to put their baseball caps on straight!! But we've all helped create (or consented to the creation of) this $213 billion sports industry elevating these completely inane games to epic proportions.
Think about it: the sports industry is worth "far more than twice the size of the U.S. auto industry and seven times the size of the movie industry." Just the sports INJURY industry alone is worth over ten billion dollars!!! We pay to watch them get hurt, and then the doctors get paid to fix them. Go go gladiators!! Tell me again how prostitution is illegal for the protection of women. If we're so concerned about people's bodies, why are sports legal if they result in these kinds of injuries? If we can mass-consume sports injuries (and yes, I love watching a man writhing in pain on the field or punch-drunk in the boxing ring) and heroize the players for taking the battering ram like men, it seems like we could legalize prostitution (which would only make it SAFER for us). The obvious answer is that we really don't give a flying FUCK about women's bodies OR men's bodies; when it comes to good clean sportin' entertainment and fuel for our SUV's we're more than happy to let the body parts fall where they may. We keep prostitution illegal because we'd rather see scores of whores killed than actually allow that women should be able to safely charge access fees to their bodies and be protected in doing so the way any other low skill capitalist athlete is allowed to do. It's so funny the way sports programs are seen as brilliant opportunities for underprivileged youth and how the boys who make it out of the ghetto to go onto BIG SPORTS INJURIES (or exciting military careers and possible death!) are jolly success stories; I'm not suggesting after-school streetwalking programs, but there's definitely a weird double standard.
I don't like agreeing with theories that say we're a bunch of mind-numbed pawns in some enormous brainwashing conspiracy, but when I look at those statistics that say that even the STORIES we want to be told on film are of less importance than sports I have to agree that the powers that be are undoubtedly very VERY happy we are so busy consuming, both financially and intellectually, these ridiculously trivial GAMES.
Another thing that gets my goat is the culture theft. The way that the football people can buy off Dr. Seuss' money-grubbing traitorous widow into letting them turn one of his stories into a pro-Super Bowl poem read by fucking Harrison Ford, but they won't let bars advertise "Super Bowl" parties because the NFL doesn't want to tarnish their image (or let anyone capitalize off of their game who doesn't PAY for the privilege of uttering the sanctified game name). Seriously, the NFL has sent people cease and desist letters for violating their copyright (thanks Doc Holly for the tip on that).
It INFURIATES me when corporations infiltrate our lives and weave themselves into the thread of our culture and then try to govern and control and profit off of every single mention of their precious fucking names. Either you want to be embraced by society or you don't. Either you want free advertising or you don't. We shouldn't have to PAY you a licensing fee for barging into our lives and making us like you, even if we then make money off of the way you've foisted yourselves into our homes and businesses.
Speaking of culture theft, if you care about this issue at all or are simply curious, check out WillfulInfringement.com.
On a more personal level, I resent seeing athletes portrayed as noble heroes and role models when they are just well paid whores who get the best surgeries possible when their pimps push them to blow out their knees, rip their groins, and dislocate their limbs. It's not that I resent the athletes themselves or that I am "jealous" of them or that I don't think they deserve good treatment, I just think it's really "funny" that real whores aren't allowed even a trifling of that kind of respect and we're really doing extremely similar jobs, we whores and athletes. In truth, the athletes are the ones who are participating in a much more evil scheme that doesn't even bother to meet any basic needs the way prostitutes do (and if you listen to Noam Chomsky, sports actually suppresses our drive and ability to take care of ourselves and act human because it's not participatory; we're only passively WATCHING the competition rather than engaging in it).
I hate demonizing an entire industry and everyone in it -- I really am NOT trying to say that I want athletes to be paid less. I am NOT trying to say that I think Paul Allen is part of a plot to make all of us stupid sports-watching zombies via his ownership of the Seahawks. I'm not trying to say that. I'm just saying that if the sports industry can have all of that, why can't sex workers and pornographers have ANYTHING? And if mainstream media can shove violence and sex down everyone's throats on television to sell everything from pesticides to war to hormone-riddled milk to burgers made of cow eyeballs to gas-guzzling suburban tanks to alcohol, why can't I sell my own motherfucking body if I want to? I don't understand how all the sweet Mommies in our country think *I* am the enemy and thief of their children's innocence with my porn website, but twelve beer commercials (plus more subtle advertisements like their Daddy drinking and driving the family home from the stadium) during a football game are a matter of American pride. Again, it's not exactly that I think all alcohol commercials should be pulled (and it's certainly not that I think pornography should be advertised during a football game). I'm just sick of the scapegoating and the overall stupidity.
But hey, I'm part of it too. I drank beer, I ate chips, and I wasted about five hours waiting for "my" team to lose. And I felt angry at the referees and full of certainty that they were against "us". And I understand how that is so much easier for a country to swallow than thinking about the bad calls our "president" has made and how he and his cronies are buttfucking almost all of us as hard as they can.
I'm in a much better mood than at the time of my last entry; I might just be sick of being stressed out and now, having indulged myself, am ready to toss the stress over my shoulder. I'm also feeling really excited about the prospect of shooting content. We haven't shot much since we got back from our vacation, and the break has been great for renewing my enthusiasm and giving me unhurried time to fantasize about cool ideas rather than worrying about all the time- and money-consuming practicalities that go into shooting.
Last night we watched The Life Aquatic with Steve Zissou; halfway through it we decided to augment the experience with some herb. And then we went to bed and fucked like cummy monkeys. And *then* . . . I slept like a baby (except for the endless bizarre dreams, some of which included a Tyson/Ali/Foremanesque character who morphed quite a bit).
Speaking of fucking, I just have to mention that Tucker's and my sexual compatibility is unparalleled by anyone else in my roster of past sex partners. I can murmur incomplete lines hinting at the fantasy playing in my head, and I know he knows exactly what I'm talking about but to any other person it would probably just sound like some bizarre uncrackable code.
As far as the movie went, it really didn't thrill me. In fact, the only reason I even finished watching it is because I was high (and because Cate Blanchett's swollen belly and jugs looked so luscious). But what's this? Wes Anderson is making The Fantastic Mr. Fox? Oh my god!!! I LOVED that book!! I read it about a billion times (even after I had totally "outgrown" it), and think it could be a fantastic movie in Anderson's hands. Speaking of Roald Dahl books made into movies, I'm not as excited as you might expect about Tim Burton's Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. Maybe because that wasn't one of my favorite Dahl books (Danny, the Champion of the World is probably my favorite).
Okay . . . I'm now going to finish Tucker's weekly update.