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.
From a video we shot awhile back but just posted recently:
I don't do enough glasses porn so we shot that in part to try to remedy that. It's a shame I don't shoot more stuff while I'm wearing my spectacles since I have a really "sexy" strong prescription, if you're into that sort of thing:
right eye = -6.75 -1.00 x 135 left eye = -4.00 -2.75 x 156
The third number is for my astigmatism.
I also did a creepy voice-over/roleplay with myself for that video AND Delia threw her back out shooting that POV (point of view), so I want to make sure it's fully "appreciated" by nerd-lovers. Members can see it here. Non-members can join our sites to see it OR buy it on our clips4sale store (look for "Interview with a Nerd").
Speaking of nerds, we finally saw Star Trek last night. Aside from it being an amazing, must-see-on-the-big-screen event, it totally had a Father's day theme AND there were only five other people in the theatre with us, and three of those people were mega-Trekkers. The dude looked exactly like "Sex", the crazy guy whose mom brings him to try out for So You Think You Can Dance every season. Only this guy made really awesome geeked-out joy noises in response to the movie and made the experience even more pleasurable and authentic than it would have otherwise been. I mean, we totally geeked out but this nerd-monkey NOISE that he made just epitomized what Star Trek fans are all about. And even with that few people in the seats, I *still* managed to get some fucker putting his feet up on our row of seats and shaking the shit out of me so, as usual, I had to have words with someone. PEOPLE. I love and loathe the shit out of them.
I think the last movie was saw in the theatre before this was Twilight so we're parched for big screen entertainment. I'd love to see Up and Terminator Salvation before it's too late.
My birthday last week was filled with ding dongs and dildos and a deep sigh of gratitude that a few people treated me to a trip to the salon tomorrow to go back to being a blonde.
I sort of stretched out my own personal celebration, doing shows on my birthday proper, then attempting to watch an engrossing movie, selecting Changeling which was sort of a big fat mistake. YES, it was engrossing. In a horrible, harrowing, gut-wrenching way. And even though I knew I was being totally emotionally manipulated by the film industry, I couldn't just TURN IT OFF the way I did with Titanic (you heard me -- I shut that melodramatic motherfucker off and refused to watch it past halfway).
Changeling pretty much ruined our plan to go see The Reader the last night it was playing in town. Instead we opted for something a little more uplifting to balance out the trauma of Changeling: we moved the Playstation (a birthday present from years back) into the bedroom and played a snowboarding video game (SSX3) for hours. And ate ding dongs. Well, *I* ate ding dongs. Delia didn't.
And then I threw the rest of the ding dongs away. Because a) my birthday was OVER, and b) I have a goal to lose 15 pounds by June 1st (or less if I'm satisfied/feel good before I get there; since I've already lost four since I made the goal, I only have 11 to go). I definitely don't want to lose TOO much of this action:
I continued celebrating a couple days ago when I noticed our friend had a two-for-one print sale going on and since I hadn't bought any of her art yet, I treated myself! It was affordable and made me happy.
But what I *really* wanted to do for my birthday was spend some more time reading Paul Auster's The New York Trilogy which is SO FUCKING AWESOME I set it aside because I seriously couldn't stand for it to end knowing there would be a big gaping emptiness without having more of it to look forward to. So today? I went to the used bookstore and picked up the only two Auster paperbacks they had on the shelf (Oracle Night and The Brooklyn Follies). Now I can finish The NY Trilogy and still feel like there's a reason to live.
I also looked for the second and third books in the Abhorsen series, but they only had Sabriel (which I finished months ago and want to hurry up and continue before I forget everything). I grabbed a couple other titles (ex. Codex) plus some appealing books in the "free box" (ex. The Tommyknockers) and guiltily made my way home with a satisfying stack of stories to chew on. Sometimes I leave the books I buy in the car or somewhere Delia won't see them right away because I feel so bad about spending the money on them when I don't even read most of them right away (if ever) and I refuse to GET RID of any of them unless they really suck total ass, so they'll all be living with us forever.
The thing is, I need to have CHOICES. Because there are some moments on the toilet where I'm after a very specific kind of book to lull myself into a comfortable shit. Or the weather demands a certain genre. Or I'm emotionally craving a story that delivers total escapism. And fuck . . . when it only costs $25 to buy a big armful of pleasure, how wrong can it be? Plehhhhhhhszhoooooooor . . . is in the booooooooooks.
Maybe tomorrow after I endure the torture of getting my hair colored, I'll continue celebrating my birthday with some Paul Auster and a sweet mug of Russian Caravan tea.
As a feminist and a sex positive person I probably should DESPISE Twilight, but I don't. I read the book (and only the first one so far) because it takes place near here and I saw the movie because the previews made it look way better than the book . . . I felt compelled by curiosity, local interest, a desire to know more about a pop culture phenom, and because I TOTALLY WANTED TO.
The book? Meh. It was entertaining, mildly annoying from a local's perspective, and mind-boggling since I wouldn't have STOOD for so many pages of overt chastity when I was a tween reader myself in the eighties. A sign of the conservative times, I guess; I am DAMN glad I grew up with Judy Blume's Ralph-named penises and totally taboo rape scenes in Flowers in the Attic.
The movie? LOVED IT. I mean, I seriously fucking LOVED it. The previews drew me in because it looked dark and funny (there wasn't a trace of self-aware humor in the book, so that was an improvement already) and I wanted to see the flying scenes. It was just an all-around great movie-theater movie -- pretty, entertaining, moody . . . familiar.
Here's the deal about Twilight: no matter how loathsome it may be from a political point of view, that movie (and the book for other people) delivers exactly what a lot of young women crave and feel romantically. It's extremely exciting and beautiful and "sexy" in a vague, inexplicit, totally hysterically emotional way. Beautiful boy looks at beautiful girl and they are CONNECTED, locked together . . . anticipating . . . SOMETHING totally INTENSE!!!!
You can criticize that all you want, but when you do, you're trashing the (natural) fantasies of lots and lots of young woman. When I watched that movie I really didn't care what the implications were, I cared that it DELIVERED visions of something deeply desired by girls. After you finally kiss? Something very exciting happens, kind of like exploding into a flying spell into the sky!! Yeah, it's fucking stupid, but that overwrought anticipation of something that gobbles you up entirely and transcends the mundane is part of most young women's hormonal pre-teen/teenage experience. What's next isn't sex, it's MAGIC!!
I had orgasms and the anticipation of sex on the brain a lot as a young woman and I *probably* wouldn't have liked that movie as much then as I do now (my generation's Twilight was Legend, which I thought was a enchanting for two minutes then a total fucking bore except for when Tim Curry as the devilish dark beasty was going to do whatever dirty things he was going to do to Mia Sara), but I still had to celebrate it for being pure fore-fore-foreplay and girly fantasy with pretty menacing shadows.
In general I'm becoming less and less tolerant of myself and other people making fun of what women want or theorizing that the politically incorrect, unempowering things women want are *entirely* constructed for us artificially. There is nothing fake about girls wanting to fly around on the back of a strong beautiful sparkly vampire boy's back or to be a vampire and run-really-really-fast/fly themselves (I haven't read the rest of the books so I don't know if she eventually gets there or not, but clearly there are OTHER female characters who do).
I don't know why it should make people cringe that girls want to immerse themselves in the fantasy of being in tragic love with such a creature or that the public version of this particular popular story is g-rated (except for the violence, of course -- this IS America, after all). Personally? I watch a lot of porn but there were scenes in this movie that were five billion times more agonizingly erotic than anything XXX rated ever could hope to be. It was a brilliant fucking tease, and there's nothing hotter than having no release. I don't give a fuck about the stammering heroine and her shortcomings; she's a blank slate and nobody else cares much about her either because it's a fucking FANTASY. Do girls really need a fucking role model in every single fantasy they have or are they entitled to be thrilled and entertained and suspend contact with reality just like everyone else? I also *almost* don't care about the scariness of fantasizing about a creepy stalker boyfriend who sneaks into your room at night and stares at you while you sleep; yes, it's totally gross and weird and dangerous. But a lot of us have had that same exact unrealistic fantasy and it made us feel good (in more ways than one). That? It's human nature. And I'm sick of women being shamed and cautioned into censoring their own fantasies because we're apparently too stupid to distinguish between fantasy and reality. IT'S A STORY ABOUT VAMPIRES. Can we tell reality and consequences to fuck off for a little while?
If anyone wants to post relevant links like feminist critiques of Twilight, etc. feel free. I honestly have clicked off of just about all of them without giving them the time they probably deserve simply because I'm not in the mood for dissecting it, but I totally understand if other people are (and that my "arguments" are ill-informed and based totally on suspicions and raw emotion). One of the good ones I clicked off of made interesting observations regarding the popularity of abstinence-only sex "education" and Twilight. I don't know why I'm just not in the mood to care a whole lot this time around (I was certainly pissed enough about The Girl with a Pearl Earring that I almost walked out of the theatre) unless it's as I said above; that girls deserve to have their desires spoken to and to enjoy their daydreamy fantasies regardless of how unrealistic and bizarre and dangerous they might be. So yeah -- *I'm* not very interested in getting into a discussion about it in comments, but I totally understand why others might be so more info and other people's perspectives and discussions are still welcome.
Every chance I got to go to the library and request that they set my friend and I up to listen to this, I WOULD. I remember it as an audio tape with a little paperback book hung in one of those baggies with plastic handles they had for mixed media, but now that my memory is jogged by this youtube video I wonder if it wasn't a filmstrip because everything about this seems so familiar, but it's probably just the narration and images, not the motion:
Anyway, I loved it. Couldn't get enough of it and listened to it OVER and OVER again. I've always loved stories that take place at night, were dark, involved sleeping, criminals, loners, outsiders . . . dark escapism that's sweetly menacing. It's weird to look back on it now and see more adult elements in it and to read this New York Times review of the book and the author and the challenge of creating both art for children and erotica for adults. I'm glad I was exposed to The Three Robbers in the seventies in public school because I'll bet that book would never see the light of day without a public lynching of the guy if it were to come out today. Nowadays you must either be 100% child-and-work-safe or resign yourself to being considered a 100% evil boundary-rapist. Take your pick. The only way people can fly under the radar is to be unsuccessful or too artistic for the general population to acknowledge you, and I'm sure this reissue of his out-of-print books is one of those things that will only be noticed by existing fans like myself.
I wish I had a magical blunderbuss to blow that bullshit right out of people's assheads. But for now I'm going to add The Three Robbers to my wishlist so I can read it to my nephew(s -- another's on the way). WITH SOUND EFFECTS!
Our friend AmberLily is a big Dexter fan, so her blog and tweets reminded us to check it out. I figured I would love it and looked forward to getting it through Netflix and starting from the beginning.
We only made it through one and a half episodes before we sent it back. In some ways it was just my style; I *DELIGHT* in movies like Gacy, Ed Gein, May and American Psycho. Dexter is stylish, a little campy, witty, etc. I appreciated many aspects of what I saw, but I totally didn't want to spend any more time watching it. Part of the problem was that I loathed the female characters. Another problem is that we watch our netflixed tv shows at night before bed, and Dexter is just too dark and ludicrously violent to be relaxing then.
I'm also hypercritical of stories of vigilantism when the vigilante is a MAN, meting out "justice" for crimes perpetrated against women and/or children. REALLY annoys me (except in the movie Buster and Billie which I *love*).
And it was just too far-fetched. I know, it's in a way that's probably cool to other people but for me was just annoying. I'm pretty hard to please in the crime drama department, preferring/loving the stuff that's openly based on real crimes or is documentary style (almost all the crap on "Tru" tv). Also, since we've been part of shooting a few low-budget movies I have a harder time suspending disbelief when we watch other people's acting; I feel awkward for the actors and wonder how much time went into crafting certain scenes - the veil has been lifted even with the small-scale stuff we done and everything seems so transparent. I felt that way (embarrassed) a lot watching Michael C. Hall in his "action" scenes where he's confronting his victims.
We prefer to watch Star Trek: Deep Space Nine before bed. I know it doesn't make sense when I criticized Dexter for being too far-fetched, but whatever. It makes me feel good to totally escape into a positive, optimistic vision of the future. I like going to sleep with messages of hope. Watching shows like Next Gen, Deep Space Nine, and Northern Exposure is like going to an ideal version of church for me where nobody expects you to believe in God and everyone at least TRIES to treat everybody else with kindness. People express enthusiasm, wonder and awe at the mystery of it all and the boundlessness of possibilities is depicted as something people can experience while they're still alive.
So Deep Space Nine (with help from Weeds, Entourage, Spaced and Big Love) beat Dexter off our queue.
Note to AmberLily: I just want you to know that I started writing this BEFORE you tweeted that you hate Seattle. And I don't hate Dexter as much as you hate Seattle -- I was so close to loving it! Some of the images were so beautiful . . .
Yesterday I walked across a field with my eyes closed. After the heavy grounded feeling of walking in wet sand for almost an hour, walking blind on hard-packed dirt with sunburned grass felt like flying with the wind in my face, blowing my hair around. Or floating, at least. The only other people in the field were three black-robed figures sparring with each other using long sticks. With my eyes closed they sounded like three people playing football. The field was so big it was easy for me to avoid walking into them even without the benefit of sight.
We've been having some private stress around here (on top of the published stress of trying over and over again to get pregnant) so yesterday Delia canceled her show and we *finally* went to see The Dark Knight. I wasn't nearly as excited going into it as I was Batman Begins and didn't feel the same attachment to this one, maybe because I preferred the more solitary focus on Bruce Wayne in Batman Begins and the whole emphasis on creating and finding an alter ego for himself. The imagery in Batman Begins was also darker and more appealing to me in a sort of Robert Louis Stevenson way than Dark Knight, which everyone keeps describing as "darker" than BB but really was just more hideous, brutal and scary. Yeah, the humour was darker and everything felt more tragic because of Heath Ledger's potent brilliance, but that diverted so much attention from Christian Bale that it wasn't really about Batman or anybody except for Heath Ledger's Joker. Oh yeah, I do love the whole commentary on human nature being a dual thing of dark and light, I'm just saying that it didn't speak to me on a deeply personal level the way Batman Begins did.
As I get older, it's harder and harder for me to watch movies without being bored and annoyed by what seems like derivations from other movies I think are "better" or strike me as more original just because *I* happened to see them when I was younger and was first introduced to certain themes. There were a lot of familiar elements in The Dark Knight, but it really was awesome enough that it didn't annoy me, especially since I recognize that there are *no* original ideas (plus, having no familiarity with comics or specialized movie knowledge I KNOW I'm completely ignorant of where some of these things "originated"). I felt like I recognized stuff from In the Line of Fire and freaky cross-dressing a la Silence of the Lambs. Since I know nothing of the comics and never even saw Jack Nicholson's Joker, I couldn't help totally associating the smile/scar with the Black Dahlia, especially since I just picked up another book (with the ghastly pictures) about the case.
Anyway, I loved the magic trick with the pencil and lines like "whatever doesn't kill you simply makes you... stranger." Favorites aside from Heath's performance? Maggie Gyllenhaal's Rachel Dawes was SO much better than Katie's -- LOVED her, and the chase scene/shootout with the semis. We also loved the political commentary on whether or not the threat of terrorism justifies spying on people, etc. Still, I don't feel compelled to see this one more than that once in the theater (unless we could see it in IMAX). I really wasn't prepared for the violence, and of course it always annoys me when there's no swearing in a movie but there's plenty of freaky brutality (I could not hack the part at the end when the dogs and Batman were being beaten with the pipe) and it gets less than an R rating; just having the knowledge in my head that our government is prosecuting people for "obscenity" even for just writing taboo stories and that they refuse to let COPA die makes me resentful when I see how violence in movies is embraced in America as totally acceptable for young people to watch. I can't watch this stuff without thinking, "so THIS is okay for thirteen year olds to see but the sight of my clitoris will scar them for life?" Whatever. It's not that I want kids to see porn or that I don't appreciate a movie without swearing or that I think violent movies should be boycotted, it's the nonsensical double standards that drive me up a wall.
So does Christian Bale's alleged assault of his mom and sister ruin my appreciation of his acting? Ummm, no. Just like a president cheating on his wife has absolutely zero to do with whether or not he's a good president, whether or not Marky Mark is a homophobe or a racist has nothing to do with my enjoyment when I watch Boogie Nights or Entourage and I still think PYT is a fucking awesome song whether or not Michael Jackson is a pedo. Given the rant I just made, it probably surprises you to hear that I don't relate to people who can't enjoy a celebrity's work because of their crimes and supposed personal flaws (which may or may not be true, but we will never know). It's not that I don't enjoy juicy gossip about famous people, but it's just another form of entertainment to me that is separate from whether or not I enjoy their actual work. Like, is it really a surprise to Christian Bale's fans that he's a freak? The guy wanted to starve himself to 100 pounds only eating an apple and can of tuna a day for The Machinist; were you really not aware that he's fucking mental? Apparently, because I've been reading whining from women who think they can't adore him anymore. YOU ARE WATCHING HIS MOVIES, NOT DATING HIM!
So yeah . . . sometimes I can separate things. Other times? Not so much.
In addition to taking the night off for a movie, I also made emergency reservations for a three night stay at the beach next week, so our Sunday, August 10th and Monday, August 11th shows will be canceled. We will do some shooting while we're there, but mostly we just need to get away. Yes, we have a beach here, but Puget Sound and the Strait aren't the same as the actual ocean. I didn't know it until Delia told me, but the timing is perfect because we'll be out there for the meteor shower. She also just happened to order some things from REI before we made these plans so it all fell into place perfectly since the days I happened to find open rooms and camping spots weren't my first pick before I knew these things, but just happened to be after the REI stuff will arrive and during the meteor shower.
When I told Delia I wanted to take some pictures at night while the frothy white things were still in bloom, she explained to me that "those "blooming frothy things" are called oceanspray (Holodiscus discolor)". I adore it when she gives me the Latin names for plants. She went on to tell me, "they're a native shrub noted for their exceptionally hard wood. ;-) The local tribes used them for spearing fish and such."
It was windy when we took the pictures so the blossoms are white blurs in many of the photos, but here is a small taste of what we were aiming for:
I love the way my white panties are gleaming!
FYI: the light source is an overhead street light. We have a lot to learn and practice with night photography but I really enjoy making the attempts. We would go back and try again, but the flowers are all getting dry and brown; we really shot this set of pics on nearly the last possible night to get the white froth. There's always next year, though.
If you want a peek at something that encapsulates a lot of what's magical to me about black and white, nighttime, small towns, intimacy, and taboo, here's one of my favorite things from one of the most beautiful movies ever, To Kill a Mockingbird:
As if the opening credits weren't enough gorgeousness, so much of the movie takes place at night. It's spooky and vulnerable and wondrous. That feeling of trees with treasures holes and dark houses with Boo Radleys and curious little people wandering around at night when they shouldn't, finding out sad, scary grown-up things . . . that is a feeling I love and something I would someday like for us to be good at capturing (but without the children, of course). It's why my Keds and panties and my limbs lit up are so captivating to me in these pictures. Why I love the debris on the path. I love the nighttime. I love woodsy places in drowsy neighborhoods. I love being outside and awake when everyone else is asleep. Or *trying* to fall asleep. Or getting fucked really loudly, which is what we heard one lady doing while we were shooting -- it was HOT BEYOND BELIEF!
I'll be posting the full set of pictures for members today. If you'd like to see them (and support us in our erotic endeavors as we learn more about low light and night photography) but you're not a member yet, you can JOIN HERE.
As usual I have lots of thoughts and news swirling around in my head, waiting to be blogged about but without adequate focused time to do it. Thanks for staying interested and continuing to check in with me during my dry spells.
I'm in a funk right now, mostly owing to PMS. The weather has been a bit gloomy; even when it's sunny out there's a shadow of oppressive darkness hanging around. See how it's crushing our dog? Tiny purple weed flowers growing close to the ground. You don't even feel like stretching.
How about some movie-talk? We saw Iron Man. We went into it prepared for the bad aspects; it was a ridiculous blockbuster MOVIE-movie, and we needed that for the mindless entertainment factor. I loved the metal King Kong and the flying-against-the-fighter-jets scenes. It was nowhere near a V for Vendetta type of flick, but it's still special to see a big movie in the theater with a lefty storyline. One annoying detail sticks out in my mind above all others: armpits. Was it my imagination, or were his armpits shaved after supposed months in captivity? If so, gross. That's the epitome of a fucked-up dose of contemporary unreality.
I definitely think we should all thank our lucky stars Robert Downey Jr. got the title role instead of Cage or Cruise. He's been wank material for me since I was a teen watching Less Than Zero when James Spader made him get on his knees and suck some cock to pay for drugs. I so wish that scene was hardcore or even just a minute longer (since it wasn't I relied heavily upon the straight scenes for "inspiration"). I loved Secretary and all, but I'd really rather have seen a long redux of that interrupted BJ scene. Maybe this time it could have been Jake instead of Maggie joining RDJ to perform sweaty, tear-stained head on some large coked-up stallion. Robert, you STILL have the most lickable, greasy eyelids in film. And I will never forget the way you told us you were getting "chubby" in Shortcuts.
If you want a sense of what my days have been like lately, check here.
My favorite Christmas present was having Juno come to our town's theatre and getting to watch it with Kris, and seeing Diablo Cody win an Oscar last night for writing Juno was like an early birthday present.
Here's a video of Kris and I at the movies GUSHING over Diablo:
For me, Diablo represents the very best of what the blogosphere and web voyeurism/exhibitionism offer: the opportunity to watch another human's story unfold and experience success along the way. To develop high hopes for someone and cheer for them when things go well. To recognize someone's talent, observe that recognition snowballing, and see her REWARDED for it. It's very fulfilling, and not in a vicarious I-can-now-imagine-it-happening-to-me way, but just in the basic sense of caring about someone and being extremely happy for her.
Of course, she *is* also a symbol to me, too (on top of just being an awesome human); seeing a woman on that stage who has stripped and worked the peeps doing hardcore masturbation shows for money now getting respect for her non-sex work while everyone knows about her stint in sex work is Pretty Fucking Cool.
Anyway, we have (one of) her shining moment(s) recorded on our DVR now and have watched it about 35 times in the past 23 hours; I have cried every single time. And can I just say that she looked fucking fabulous, too?
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.
Last week I saw Christopher Walken on Conan and almost cried watching him pretending not to be struggling to breathe. His pursed lips, skinny limbs, sweetness and concave chest reminded me so much of my dad before he died of emphysema that I could barely breathe myself just watching him.
Of course, I've never heard anything about Walken having COPD so maybe it's just my imagination. If so, I kept right on imagining it last night while we watched Hairspray. I felt so sorry for him trying to keep up with the dancing, and kept hearing and seeing him work-in natural-sounding attempts at exhaling fully; I expected any time for him to crumple down with his hands on his knees and break out an inhaler.
Am I the only one seeing (or imagining) that he's ill with a breathing issue of some sort?
I'm not done reading HP & the Deathly Hallows, but I've scheduled a free webcam chat session next week for any and all nerdly HP followers to discuss the books and movies and perhaps share sordid Potteresque fantasies.
Though I will be on cam, it won't be a "show"; there will be no nudity. I'll probably even be wearing clothes on my face, that's how modest I will be. Still and all, you have to be eighteen or over to participate because I'm sure I'll say really despicable porno-like things.
We just got home from seeing the latest Harry Potter movie. I *adored* Dolores Umbridge; lately I've been smacking my lips over crone villains and she did NOT disappoint.
I thought the effects for the combat scene between Dumbledore and Voldemort were worth the price of admission alone.
I'm not fanatical about the Harry Potter books so I never feel any disappointment about plot elements or details being left out of the movies; I prefer the movies to the books in all but the first case and mainly just care about the villains and the pretty moving pictures. Okay, maybe I do care a wee bit more than that, seeing how I almost started blubbering tonight watching Voldemort inside Harry and then seeing Harry flashback on all of his pleasant memories of smiles, hugs and friendship. I'm a sucker!!
We also saw a preview for Transformers which I've had no desire to see until tonight when I heard and saw all of the dirty (but still shiny!) clanging metal moving around menacingly. I wish we could see it just that way, with all the inane dialogue taken out leaving nothing but score and . . . clanging, transforming metal.
While I'm on the subject of machines, let me tell you that I reviewed a scene from COPS over and over the other night. There was something about this particular cop with his shaved head and blonde hairy arms, but what initially got me excited was just the sound of his engine revving and the car changing gears as he chased a speeder. Then I got *really* excited when the guy he caught was very stupid and bratty, and the cop tried to be patient with him and give him lots of chances which resulted in the cop repeating directions ("keep your hands on your head!")over and over again, then having to reach out and manhandle him sternly, but not to put him in cuffs at first, but just to re-situate the guy's hands as though his detainee was a naughty schoolboy. LOVED it. BIG turn on. HARD to explain, but when the dumbass quivered and giggled when the cop grabbed him by the wrist suddenly to pull his hand out of his pocket, it just . . . aroused me.
We've had a full day today, but nothing too exciting except for my CLIT THROBBING LIKE AN ANGRY CARTOON THUMB THAT'S BEEN BLUDGEONED BY A HAMMER.
Seriously, my pussy has been on red alert (and with my period starting today I mean that in more ways than one). It's really been achingly demanding. Last night at the movie for the whole first hour all I could think about was how much I wished Delia could reach over and give me a handjob. As far as the movie went, all of my excitement was over Calypso and Davy Jones. Orlando and Kiera make me want to barf -- what was up with that body double for the closing thigh-worship scene? Fucking lame.
Here are the boring details of our day:
*went to the gym *got my period *posted to that blog and this one and moved little things around in the sidebar *checked stats *wrote back and forth with Kris *researched stuff for the pregnancy site *watched an episode of The Deadliest Catch while we ate lunch (one of the few meals I'll step up to the stove to cook: fried eggs, turkey bacon and toast) *did dishes, laundry and other cleanup *grocery shopped *watched another episode of The Deadliest Catch while we ate dinner (Delia took care of this one: a delicious garlicky quinoa concoction with stir-fried shiitake mushrooms) *shot photos and video of Tucker *tried to follow along with some instructional bellydance dvd's *walked the dog together at dusk
It's been a full day for me considering that I only got around seven hours of sleep which is usually not nearly enough for me. I've enjoyed the entire day, though, and now am looking forward to climbing into bed with some toast to watch So You Think You Can Dance and going to sleep.
If someone knows how to put stuff (like my borane [borane = boring+mundane] what-i-did-today bullshit) behind a cut using blogger so it doesn't soak up the brain cells of people who'd rather not waste them reading such trivia, I'd love to hear how.
Voyeurs: if you saw me masturbating yesterday and wondered what I was reading to fan the flames, it was a little porn-story-magazine thingy featuring guy-on-guy sex. With lots of really good drawings of gigantic cocks surrounded by sensuous big lips, horny sailors, etc.
And if you saw us fucking yesterday and wondered what was on the television that was so damned erotic, it was Notes on a Scandal. Note: I am not one of those people who romanticizes or excuses real life women (especially teachers) who fuck young boys, particularly not Mary Kay Letourneau, but that's a subject for a different blog entry. Aside from the naughty hot sex scenes, I loved the wicked narration from Judi Dench's deliciously evil character. She was like a combination of John Malkovich and Glenn Close in Dangerous Liaisons, Snape, and Patricia Highsmith's Ripley all rolled into one nasty bit of work.
I know we're supposed to be critical of portrayals of lesbians and older women and women in general as scary unhinged monsters, but I love and celebrate Barbara Covett and her fiendishly manipulative pursuit of female companionship and sexual pleasure. She made me hot -- best movie villain I've seen in a long time.
After my show today I spent most of my time working on a new website; I'll give you more details on that tomorrow or Tuesday. I've also been really sleepy even though I got eight hours of sleep; I needed to take a couple of naps today, probably because I got no exercise yesterday as I spent many splendid hours in bed (see above) masturbating, reading and fucking.
Yay -- a few hours of relative silence and solitude; Delia and my sister are going to see a drive-in movie, my mom and nephew just went to bed, and the dogs are quiet so I'm going to spend some time by myself in bed with books, clean pajamas and perhaps some new age music. Because I'm a dork like that. I'm sad to miss seeing Spiderman 3 in a drive-in, but I know I won't be able to concentrate; having company for days on end means my ability to pay attention to things is totally shot to hell and I just can't hack the thought of being in a field surrounded by people and their noises and the smells from their cars and their movements bouncing around in my peripheral vision.
Delia made a lovely dinner of deviled eggs and gazpacho tonight for all of us. Earlier today while my mom and sister were out hiking with her dog and Mr. SquishyPants, Delia and I had a "meeting" to talk about our goals and plans for the sites, shooting, budgeting, etc. We should do that more often.
Tomorrow (Sunday) I have a group webcam show at noon (pacific) and will be putting my nose back down to the grindstone since we'll be alone in the house again. Delia also has a group show tomorrow and will be available for private shows, too. We'll also be on the road a little next week since we are going out of town for Delia's laser hair removal and her first appointment with her psychologist who will be helping during her transition from male to female. I am excited to meet the psychologist, too.
Good: Tucker spied a washer and dryer for sale for $50. With luck we'll be laundering every dirty thing on the premises by midnight. This could signal the return of pee to my group shows.
Bad: Doing a group camshow and seeing your stepdad's nickname in the list of viewers. While it's incredibly unlikely that it's him, it's still really fucking unpleasant and a serious obstacle to enjoying masturbating.
Ugly (but in the best possible way): John Malkovich in Colour Me Kubrick. Adorably ugly -- it's such a perfect role for him, so manipulatively sexual and totally silly. I love movies about people who are totally full of shit. FYI: I didn't for a second think the word "ugly" while watching the movie, but I needed something that would fit the bill for ugly and this actually works. And I really just think a lot of you would love this film if you haven't already seen it. It's actually only ugly in a sort of Grey Gardens way that's half repellent and half motherfucking inspiring as in, "I want to be grandly removed from reality and take everyone with me while wearing fabulously wacky ensembles assembled from the rubbish bins of rich people."
The bad and the ugly of this entry both make me feel like escaping certain elements of my "job" that make me feel trapped, bored and invaded. While doing these free group shows is great, the nature of the internet porn business just gets nastier and nastier; to make a decent living starting from scratch you practically HAVE to give tons of stuff away for free.
As I mentioned in my last vlog, these hour-long explicit camshows we do are now broadcast for free on sites where ANYONE can get access without paying a nickle, without sacrificing even a nugget of their own personal information, without proving they're over eighteen, and without demonstrating that they have or will ever pay for porn. I don't blame people for eating up free porn and enjoying these sites, I just don't want to supply everyone in the known universe with my time and such a high level of interaction and intimate access to me and my body.
But. Even though I don't WANT to do it I've sort of resigned myself to it for the time being because there ARE benefits to doing it and right now, no good alternatives. I've dealt with this type of exposure before (namely when the guy hosting our spycams decided to build a site with my name and give our cams away for free to get as many people as possible to get them to download his spyware; not only a sucky thing to have your name attached to, but a really invasive free-for-all inviting people into our home on a virtual basis that basically horrified me). It didn't kill me, though, and in the end when the site was shut down I did make money off of it when the people shut out from those cams joined my site to get access to them again. The benefits were measurable (being able to offer high quality spycams and getting paid to do so while also getting exposure without any advertising effort on my part) and the costs were really all psychological (big deal! Suck it up! You'll live! So what?).
Over the years I've weighed the psychological costs with the monetary benefits and have concluded every single time that it's worth it. Yes, I abhor the system which has developed in internet porn with tiers of pimp-web"masters" degrading the value of our pussies and pocketing greater and greater chunks of the profits while competing with one another to give more and more and MORE away for free (making it less and less and LESS necessary for surfers to join our sites to get their jollies), but that's the way it is now; the only way to avoid it is to get out of the business or deal with it long enough that you can afford to create alternative advertising and live-interaction platforms . For the record, I don't begrudge *individuals* the money we pay them to pimp us out just like I don't begrudge individuals access to our free shows as long as they're available. I don't blame anybody for making money off of it and enjoying it while they can (and we have been supported and enjoyed the company of many viewers who would never have found us if not for us appearing on those free sites). It's just a fucked up network of bullshit that whores allow to continue to operate because it's easy, we're lazy, and we can't get our shit together enough to take over the infrastructure ourselves and ditch the profiteers we've come to rely upon for their cam networks and such. We'd rather bitch and whine about it and honestly, it's embarrassing. It embarrasses me that I allow myself to be emotionally affected by it when instead I could buck up, work harder, and make enough money to create solutions where I would not have to relinquish so much control and exclusivity. But god, I do think it's incredibly degrading to be sexually exposed so cheaply. Sexually exposed is fine as long as I am compensated or it's a private and consensual thing. Sexually exposed FOR FREE just sickens me. It tears at the fibres of my value system. A few still images here and there, a video clip every so often, or even a live teaser . . . that's okay. Being able to speak to me, see inside my home, or time your orgasm to happen with mine in real life FOR FREE? I'm opposed to that. It's ridiculous that we chicks have the cunts but we still roll over and let pimps invite thousands of surfers to fuck them dry FOR. FREE. Some of the chicks with cunts have learned that there's more money to be made pimping out other chicks than there is trying to reign in the free-for-all atmosphere; with good reason, they'd rather invest their money in creating more advertisement jungles that suck in surfers with the opportunity to see hardcore live action FOR FREE without adequately compensating the performers or focusing on motivating surfers in any meaningful way to pay the performers. Once surfers get their fill of the devalued live content, the site owners know a profitable percentage of their hoardes of mostly-freeloaders will click on ads for stuff they haven't just gotten for free. Middle-aged woman hungry for love settles for gang bang instead. Lonely girls just want to chat and please you. The site owners make their money on clicks, joins, and even just flying banners and text ads for other FREE sites.
I started camming seven years ago right as the internet porn industry and pay-for-play camming began to be more competitive. As more and more people have gotten online and web savvy, our earning potential should have grown with the traffic increases regardless of new webwhores coming onto the scene, but instead the web has just been glutted with more and more free porn. Instead of competing with other paysites, we have to compete with the people who give our shit away for free (and I'm not talking about people who write lovely reviews or thoughtful blog entries and link to a few free galleries, I'm talking about people who spam search engines with our names, insert their affiliate codes, and redirect that traffic to our sites in order to make 50% off of the sales they essentially stole from us, just as one filthy example, or the cam networks that lease their feeds which consist of our live shows to people who then give them away for free and then take a 50% cut of the few measly sales we make doing those shows; it adds up to more for them, but less for us -- they lessen the sales potential of porn in one fell swoop by giving so much away for free and in that same instant capture a hefty portion of all of the decreased sales that are left).
Oh, I know there are people out there who think free porn is such a lovely thing and gosh, I agree it sure is delightful but in the same way cheap shit at Walmart is delightful and toys made in China are delightful; you have to know that someone, somewhere is being underpaid and overworked in hostile, unhealthy conditions while some men are getting fat and rich off of exploiting their sweet young Chinese asses. You're getting your bargain and consumption-for-cheap, but at what cost to the people who actually do the sweating to provide the goods?
I'll say it again, though: enjoy it while you can. My intention isn't to alienate those who provide exposure for our sites or to alienate those who don't need to (or can't afford) to pay to enjoy us, it's to vent and provide some perspective on the costs of being a webwhore. While it sounds like I'm bitching about the financial costs, I'm really not: with hard work we can still make plenty of money to be very happy and satisfied. What I'm bitching about is that a lot of that hard work is EMOTIONAL and it really doesn't have to be this way . . . it just is. There is an emotional cost for me realizing that hundreds of thousands of people have seen inside my home and had the opportunity to say hideous things to me while watching me stick vibrating things into my holes. I can hear them now saying, "Didn't you know tons of people would see you naked when you got into this?". No, actually -- I didn't. Not when I got into it seven years ago because it wasn't like this. Or at least I assumed that if I were to be exposed to this many people on a regular basis, I would have sales to match. It disgusts me to be surprisingly well-known, recognizable, and enjoyed by so many over the years but not be rich. Seriously, it's totally backwards -- I have no desire to be famous if I'm not going to be rich, too. You should stop doing this if it bothers you so much! Like I've always said, I have no problem with being a whore -- I just have a problem with being a CHEAP whore. I've got no problem with buttloads of people having seen me in compromising positions; my problem is that they got to do so FOR FREE. If you put on a better show, more people would join your site -- maybe you're just too mean and old and ugly to convert that traffic into sales! Entirely possible. I could indeed be a better salesgirl during my shows but then I'd feel like an even cheaper whore if I tried harder. Anyway, you're deluded if you think it would make a real difference; I honestly think that the more you "please" the crowd in the camshows with smiles, pleasantries, cuteness, and hardcore, the less likely they are to join. Instead they just come faster, leave, and forget you and your site sooner. If you're not an amazing beauty I genuinely think the best way to get people to remember you is to piss them off. No, the way to make more sales isn't through shows anymore which have become so easily accessible in such great numbers for such extended lengths of time so as to make them pathetically worthless, it's through the pimp-web"masters". With the industry the way it is now, it's pretty unrealistic to try to make money without them (and honestly, I am actually proud to be able to reward the vast majority of folks who promote us).
I feel now like I need to defend all of this off-putting money talk. I've figured it out in my head and you make more money than *I* do!, I hear them say. Actually, you're probably not figuring in all of our expenses, but so what -- after seven years in this industry, I do indeed make more money than a lot of people who generously support us. And those people probably make more money than large villages in Indonesia. Everybody makes more money than somebody else . . . there's always someone who has got it worse. What I care about is whether I make enough AS A SEX WORKER. As a woman, part of a group of people (other women!) who should have a corner on this pussy market. As a person who is at risk to be targeted by the federal government for obscenity prosecution resulting in prison time and the seizure of ALL ASSETS resulting from pornography, am I adequately compensated? As a person who is vulnerable to the possibility of having relatives have free anonymous access to explicit sex shows she is performing, am I adequately compensated? As a person whose earning potential will decrease with age, am I earning enough to compensate me for the lack of longevity one can expect to enjoy in this field, particularly when you consider that once you've been a sex worker and there is any record or public knowledge of it you will be barred from a number of other jobs (teaching, for example -- the profession you studied for in college)? These unique factors must be considered when assessing whether or not a webwhore is making a suitable amount of money. Call me crazy, but I think whores should not just be adequately paid, they should be WELL PAID. They should earn enviable amounts of money, even the mediocre ones. As it is in the internet porn industry, however, a girl can make massively more money PROMOTING her corporate-created paysite as an affiliate than she can by being the model in the photos and videos and doing a weekly camshow. That's not how I want whores to be treated. Not at all.
If I didn't feel certain that we can make more money in the future, I'd have to say it's not worth it. I would give it up and just be a web pimp instead of a webwhore. Actually, in some ways that's what I'm doing since Delia's site makes twice as much money as mine does. There are definitely things that ROCK about webwhoring, stuff I ignored to make this ranting post, but I seriously do not think it's worth it, to be at the point where you are recognized as Trixie at the grocery store by strangers who have seen your vagina but you can't even afford health insurance. That's totally bass-ackwards. Again, I recognize that I could be making more money -- could HAVE been making more money all along by working longer hours, sleeping less, worrying less, enjoying the freedom of self-employment less, getting hypnotherapy to prevent myself from feeling even the slightest sting from being naked and reading text scroll across a screen saying, "SHE IS AS UGLY AS A SLOTH AND GOT HER PUSSY IT TOO HAIRY FOR THIS DAY AND AGE, GET A RAZER YOU SKANK". Seriously, I'm well-suited to this career and can put that shit into perspective and even enjoy it sometimes (because I don't find slothfulness or a lack of hygienic modernity all that insulting and the idea of someone razing me is pretty funny) *but* I'd have to be a psycho if I didn't notice it at all or get frustrated or assess the damage and ask myself if it's worth it.
The answer, as always, is that it IS worth it. For the past seven years, it has been worth it. And fuck, I can't think of anything that would make it worth it to quit. I assure you in my most sincere white trash fashion that IF I WERE TO WIN THE LOTTERY I would keep on webwhoring. I would not give it up. Because I *do* love it. I love making blog entries like this and then worrying about how it might upset or confuse someone. I love the challenges. I (especially, perhaps primarily) love the freedom. I love the possibilities. I am addicted to the uncertainty. Sometimes, though, I do feel burned out.
When I watched Colour Me Kubrick I was jealous. Because sometimes I feel like my commitment to our sites and exposing so much of myself has left so little time and energy for me to be a liar. To pretend for a week to be someone else. While faking a persona was never my approach to camming or phone sex, sometimes it was requested and it was always POSSIBLE, the opportunity to be a total whack-job other-person. Now with the spycams and the layers and layers of exposure on our sites, in my blogs, and on the camsites I feel not only that there is no place for me to hide, but there is no room for me to PRETEND. When I did one-on-ones, especially phone sex, I was giddy with the possibilities. Talking to one person and one person only, with no one to overhear, I could be wearing anything I could be doing anything I could be an absolute FREAK. Oh, the dirty things I have done on the phone! But now, with so many people watching and knowing me I feel like I can only be me. My most authentic self. And, worst of all, my BEST self. Me at my best. And I never am (or perhaps my best just isn't very good).
I feel like if we keep at this and actually DO do our best, in a couple of years I may not have the freedom to go places without being TRIXIE. All of the time, pressure to be the best Trixie I can be even though sometimes I just want to dress up in green socks, pink slippers, a grubby caftan with sequins falling off and a turban sitting askew on my head and go swishing about town with a long cigarette holder, ashing everywhere and never actually smoking, affecting ridiculous accents.
There is a sexual component to this train of thought that's been dogging me for the past month or six, but I'll save that for another entry or perhaps a confession for members only.
While Delia is webwhoring today/tonight, I'm driving her crazy with cam issues and complaining that she's not in the spycam chat. I'm sure she loves that. When I'm not busy doing that, I've been working on other stuff, eating, DDRing, and READING.
An engrossing book, finally! I was trying to take a break from true crime, but this true story of James Ellroy's mother's murder beckoned to me: My Dark Places. Yeah, the guy who wrote L.A. Confidential and The Black Dahlia, neither of which I've read (but did digest in movie form).
Having just opened the book today, I'm not too far into it yet but as a woman and sex worker (and true crime story hobbyist) I'm intrigued by the perspective of a boy who lost his mother in a brutal sex crime and then became a man making his living creating popular entertainment out of stories of -- you know -- brutal sex crimes. I suppose it's nothing new, these stories told by men of raped and murdered women, but Ellroy is a good storyteller and this particular story is incredibly personal so it's fascinating the way he starts out with such a depersonalized narrative maintaining a giant distance between his adult self, the little boy he was at the time, and his mother. I can't wait to see how it progresses.
You know how people like to point at sex workers and label them damaged goods, drawn into the sordid skin trade never by choice but always by some history of past and present victimhood? Yeah, you know what I'm talking about. We do our jobs because we were sexually abused or because we've been brainwashed by pop culture into thinking we're only valuable as sex objects, blah blah blah. And we need to be rescued.
You don't hear people saying that about the James Ellroys or the cops, though, do you? Because men are not victims, they are HEROES. They turn it around and do something PRODUCTIVE with their lives, right? But sex work . . . THAT'S not productive. No, but if I were to write books with pictures of dead swollen-headed mommies that would be okay -- not damaged at all! Talented . . . rich . . . respected and admired. You can respectably write stories which are made into movies featuring mutilated skin-flick actresses and you don't have women trying to adopt you out of your life of crime and rehabilitate you into a humble-but-DECENT job (ex. flipping burgers at McDonalds, helping at a daycare in an inner city, or maybe teaching if you're smart enough) the way they would if you were a sex worker. Funny how that works, eh?
*FurryGirl is going to be on Night Calls! I don't have an actual link to it, but here's a quote from her members-only area:
I've been invited to be a call-in guest on "I've been invited to be a call-in guest on Playboy Radio's Night Calls with Ginger Lynn and Christy Canyon. (If you have Sirius satellite radio, I hope you'll be able to tune in!) They'd like to talk to me about Veg Porn and the Veg Sex Shop for Earth Day, which is Friday the 20th. It's really cool to get that level of media attention for my sites, and I'm excited about it.
Follow-up analysis: See, for some reason I can't imagine anyone thinking that these people would be healthier or more productive if they were writing books about savage woman-killings instead of making porn. It just doesn't make sense to me.
Last night we went out for a movie and people seemed NICER than I usually perceive them to be. Everyone (the girl at the ticket booth, the boys at the popcorn stand, the managerial-types manning the ticket-taking stand) seemed so friendly and happy and somewhat sedated, as though they'd just finished eating a really satisfying meal. When I went to the bathroom and got a load of myself in the mirror I decided it was all because I was showing off about six inches of cleavage; people like looking at big titties, that's all there is to it. Or maybe all of the people working there were high, I don't know, but I've decided to attribute it to my boobs.
Overall I looked like a dumpy middle-aged broad who has "let herself go" -- pasty-faced, semi-haggard, wearing too-long-in-the-crotch unstylish sweat pants paired with a baby blue fleece jacket that looks EXACTLY like something a geriatric woman would wear to a bingo parlour. But in the middle of it all was that shining beacon of hope: deep cleavage pointing down to my tight pink tank top.
I have a sneaking suspicion that if I were a younger woman who looked like the total hot package that people wouldn't have been so nice, but you just can't resent a chesty lady who looks all worn out. I guess it's cute, in a way. Still, I was a little embarrassed about how much boob I was showing off so I zipped up my elder-wear when I realized I could almost be considered indecent.
My theory is that there's just something about blondes and big tits that catch people's attention; if you want people to look at you warmly, you should experiment with one or the other. People love that shit, men and women alike. Of course, I'm not *endorsing* superficiality, but you can't deny that there are certain characteristics in people that catch other people's eyes (and some of them more than others). All I'm saying is that blondeness and bustiness are two of those certain characteristics that rank WAY UP THERE along with "great smile" and "nude-in-public".
Speaking of superficiality, one of the reasons I loved Blades of Glory were the COSTUMES. The little princess in me didn't even GET the joke of Jon Heder's outfits; I thought his off-ice ensembles were SO fetching and sparkly that they made me feel all twinkly inside. It was refreshing to acknowledge there's a nine-year old inside me who wants to grow up to look AND ACT just like Jimmy MacElroy.
Wow -- we REALLY needed to take a day off today, so I haven't accomplished anything besides resting my weary old bones. We did just watch Talladega Nights, though. Does it surprise you to hear that I enjoyed it? I don't think the climactic kiss held a candle to the one in Baseketball, though.
We also watched the first episode of the new cycle of America's Next Top Model. I was *furious* that Kathleen was the first to go; I'm all for the plus-size models (well, model -- I'm rooting for Whitney but I think Diana should have been kicked off before Kathleen). What kind of message does it send to young girls telling them that models can be heavyweights but they can't be stupid? I was shocked, frankly.
We were also stunned by the loss of AJ from American Idol. We love Sanjaya and everything, but I truly believe there are some Indian hackers out there fucking with the votes. Aside: I don't normally go for skinny young men, but I find Sanjaya extremely attractive. Plus, you know, he's local! We're still rooting our hardest for Blake (though "rooting" doesn't actually involve voting since we don't normally watch the show until after the lines have closed).
My least favorite AI contestants are Jordin Sparks and Phil Stacey. I like french toast better than waffles. I fantasize about being the meat in a Blake Lewis and Chris Sligh sandwich. Most annoying Idol behavior: SMILING during sad songs -- you should not have a shit-eating grin on your face while singing "Careless Whisper".
The night before the game we decided to watch Invincible. Overall I enjoyed it more than I enjoyed Dreamgirls, but it was difficult for me to root for the guy. Not two minutes into the movie HE LITTERS!!!! How can I root for someone WHO LITTERS??? I thought this movie was supposed to be wholesome and Disneyfied! Whatever.
I can't get behind a movie built around a character who's not allowed to cuss but is depicted LITTERING with impunity!! Then we see him unable to manage his anger, vandalizing his own apartment!!!! Vandalism and littering, those are two behaviors I just canNOT abide. To top it all off he and his buddies are total retards, playing neighborhood tackle football with full contact and no protection. How am I supposed to cheer for such an idiot? How can Disney glorify such incredible stupidity? What a poor POOR example this character sets for children and impressionable dumb men everywhere.
Oh, and don't even let me get started on the way he balked at trying out for the team -- what a dumbass. You'll take the risk of having your body battered with serious injuries to impress your moron buddies, but you won't risk being rejected at a tryout? Lame!! That shit is WAY worse than porn, and Disney peddles it as a heart-warmer. DESPICABLE!! Let me tell you, I would never tolerate a littering vandal of a lunkhead for a boyfriend if he went so far as to risk life and limb playing tackle football with a bunch of angry, repressed, unemployed, bitter and resentful fartknockers in Philadelphia. I'd totally break up with him (but not the way his wife did, just because he got fired and stuff). And I totally wouldn't write that mean note to him, but at the point where he wouldn't try out for the team? I'd have pinned him to the wall, gotten in his face, and started hissing, "listen here you stupid shithead; if you like football enough to risk hurting yourself when we don't have insurance, you better like it enough to get your pussy ass down there and TRY OUT, you senseless intolerable nitwit! And if you don't go and I ever hear you touched a football again with your buddies I'm going to throw your shit into the street, piss all over it, and change the locks on the doors!" Yeah, that's the way you handle that!! Too bad doing that might be construed as littering and vandalism, but I'd have had damn good REASON, see?
Anyway, it was an okay movie. We enjoyed it.
Confession: I totally didn't get why they named the movie "Invincible" until the moment I typed it in this blog entry. NOW look who's the stupid lunkhead, right?
I doubt we'd have even finished watching the game if it weren't for being in the chatroom and talking about it (and other things) with a few voyeurs. Prince was fantastic at half-time, and so daringly gender-defiant with his Aunt Jemima do-rag; we were thrilled by his performance and talent, as usual. It's about time they picked someone suitable for the halftime performance. I loved that the only thing naughty about it was that lovely phallic silhouette of his guitar jutting away from his shadow-body.
After the game I spent a lot of time on the phone with Ron and my wanker (not at the same time), and also had a couple of long phone calls today. It's unusual for me to spend so much time on the phone, but they were all good chats so it was worth it. FYI voyeurs: the reason the audio on WebWhoreHQ Cam went on and off today and last night was because of those phone conversations and the need to keep some topics of discussion private. Sorry about that.
I have been *dying* to see Dreamgirls so tonight we watched it before it slipped out of our local theatre. I honestly despised most of the movie and could barely WAIT for it to be over because I cannot stand musicals.
You're probably wondering why in the world I wanted to see it so much then; how about because I totally didn't realize it was a musical? It's true . . . totally true. I didn't read anything about it so I didn't know it was based on a show nor did I stop to consider after seeing the preview that it might be a musical. Of course I knew there would be music and performances in it, just not that they'd be using songs as dialogue. All I saw in the preview was BEYONCE. That's it. She's the whole reason I wanted to see it so much. Since then of course I've noticed headlines about this Jennifer Hudson chick stealing the show and awards being won, blah blah blah. But I didn't care to read the whole story on it because I just wanted to see/hear BEYONCE.
Painful as it was to endure the entire long-ass movie, it was actually worth it to hear THREE of the songs. Actually, it would have been worth it for just that one heart-wrenching "And I Am Telling You I'm Not Going" gut-grinding performance of Jennifer Hudson's. Okay, and it was also splendid seeing Beyonce's tits and ass presented in different garments; I was particularly fond of seeing her boobs in those sling-like contraptions at the end.
FYI: I haven't responded to any emails in a good long while unless they were about technical problems, but I'm going to try to get a jump on those tomorrow. Realistically I doubt I'll be able to properly respond to more than a handful of them, though, since the most pressing ones require action of some kind or another.
Cams: I'm ready to strangle, kill, and mutilate the idiots who foisted substandard resource-sucking spycam software upon us months ago and haven't bothered to fix any of the problems in spite of my repeated nagging. Apparently today all but one of our cams were down and I had no idea because all of the thumbnail previews were still up and because the thumbnails don't refresh/show an accurate preview I wouldn't have known unless I clicked on them that they were actually not broadcasting. PERFECT. Anyway, thank you to Vette for emailing me to let me know about the problem.
Chat: I am going to schedule chat sessions for Tuesday evening, Wednesday morning, and Thursday afternoon plus my shows will be back to normal on Friday and Saturday. As soon as we get back from a walk I'll post the times on the spycam site's schedule.
BLACK 'PUS Last night I dreamt of a beautiful giant black octopus. He was so big he lived on top of a building being renovated by an oil rig company and was employed by them as a sort of mascot. He frightened the neighbors until they realized what a sensitive, intelligent creature he was. He became quite depressed when no one would interact with him. He was gigantic velvet-y black with perfectly contrasting pink undersides -- incredibly beautiful, and watching him move was mesmerizing.
I suppose I had this dream because of watching Pirates yesterday, but I have always loved the octopus (and the owl and the bat and the snake).
There's a perfect gentle rain falling outside my open window, the kind that provides a layer of noise to new agey music.
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 just uploaded a couple of embarrassing updates to my members-only area. One of them being a non-pornographic only SLIGHTLY risque gallery featuring my massage therapist and I. The less porn-intentioned something is, the more intimate it seems to be, and the better it lends itself to naughty real-life sorts of fantasies. I really love the photos Tucker took, the colors, the light and my freckled pink skin.
Speaking of massages, Tucker and I exchanged some last night and then he gave me a really good handjob and we had really yummy sex. Then we turned on American Psycho and I fell asleep to the sounds of Patrick Bateman's anxiety.
I had to wake up early to do some work that had to be done (selecting photos for promotional purposes takes me A VERY LONG TIME -- wading through tons of pictures trying to find the perfect ones to best represent you, second-guessing everything, wondering if it really will fit their layout or needs, etc.) so I lost some sleep and had to take a nap later. I wound up having some intense sex dreams and orgasms -- my clit was SO engorged it was blue-tinged and much larger than usual. I strummed it furiously, and also bent over to lick and kiss it (oh the sweetness of defying physical limitations in dreams). One of my stepbrothers was also involved; I was lucid enough to somewhat guiltlessly indulge in the taboo and enjoyed the hell out of it. Needless to say, my pussy was really wet when I woke up.
Tomorrow (Tuesday) we'll be moving all of our cams and computers to the new house, so they (the cams) will be down while I'm waiting for the cable guy. I hope the transition will be smooth and nearly-seamless for our members, but chances are there could be some hangups. I anticipate it will take a month to establish most of the cams in their perfect new locations and get new cables, mics and other equipment as the situation demands. The new computer won't come until next week so we may be short two or three cams in the meantime since we won't have the reach we have here; with one computer on one side of this house, and one on the other, we can stretch into pretty much every room. In the new house both of our computers will be in one corner of the house, with living and sleeping spaces in extreme other corners so we'll need to have more stations to cover it all.
I know that's totally boring information, but I hate it when some people don't understand that there are logistical issues to consider with the whole spycam setup. All I really want people to know is that it's more complicated than some people imagine and I'm sensitive, have performance anxiety and I *so* desire to do a good job that it just makes me very uptight when some people think I'm not doing all I can to give *the best* far-reaching coverage of our home. I become very insecure and overwhelmed during moving-stress because I'm essentially USELESS during the process and feel completely incompetent. Thanks for your patience. Tucker is taking care of it/me and I will be back to semi-normal soon.
I'm exhausted by last night's nightmares, the most vivid a variation on a recurring theme of me having to stab someone to death.
I was a black woman with a child, and a black ex-cop was teaching me how to protect myself from rape and/or murder. I didn't trust him; he seemed misguided. He demonstrated how to hitchhike safely. A semi pulled over for us in the dark where my car broke down and the cop told us to wait and make the driver get out of the cab to approach us, rather than immediately climbing into the cab ourselves.
The driver welcomed us and I got in the truck, leaving the cop behind and as soon as the door slammed I knew I was in trouble. The driver looked like Chris Cooper's character, John LaRoche, in Adaptation. He had a son in the sleeper. As soon as we started rolling, the driver started talking about filthy niggers and coons, looking at me all the time to see how I would respond, making sure I was adequately frightened. By this time I think my own child had disappeared, and I was more aware of the driver's son, disturbed the man would speak this way in front of his child.
The driver made it clear he hated anyone who wasn't white and was driving me somewhere to rid the planet of my presence. We wound up somewhere desolate, he pulled out a knife and came at me. We fought, he stabbed me, but the really violent freaky parts in dreams like this are when I gain a little advantage and I know I have to kill the person. It is EXTREMELY VIVID. I got his knife and stabbed him. Repeatedly. He just wouldn't die, so (as usual in these dreams) I just kept reminding myself to press on, not quit, to try not to be bothered by the feeling of forcing the blade through bone, cartilage, flesh, etc. To keep pulling the sucking resistant stuck-tight steel from his ribs, and plunge it in again and again, aiming for the space behind his back, thrusting deep, imagining thrusting past him to do the most harm. To do as much damage as possible, to slash at his throat even if it spattered me and if the blade snagged and ripped his skin from his neck. To stab his eyeballs, to not give him a moment to harm me.
I can't describe how freaky these nightmares are to me, how vivid and un-movie-like they are. How real they feel even when I am lucid enough to know my life is not really in danger because I'm dreaming; I still feel that my life depends on overcoming any qualms I have about destroying this person's tissues. I have to kill this person because he's trying to kill and rape and stab and torture ME.
On that happy note, I have a show a 2 pm Pacific. There will be no knives.
I'm not sure I ever knew that Herve Villechaize killed himself. As a little girl I loved watching Fantasy Island; it was sexy, sinister, and of course totally fantastic. I got to watch all kinds of television shows as a kid at my grandparent's house that my mom would never have permitted me to watch at home; we had a tv in our bedroom there and I was a little night owl even then, so I'd stay up all night to see if any boobs would be on public television and to watch seventies horror flicks. One of my favorite movies was Asylum.
Why does it seem like the seventies and eighties embraced the forlorn, the melancholy, and the macabre so much more than the nineties and the present suck-ass century full of silicone-bloat, young-country "music", and criminally-insane levels of "Christianity" and "patriotism"?
If I remember correctly, there were a lot more scary clowns and freaky ventriloquist dummies back in the seventies and eighties. My first erotic dreams were about me and a grown-up man clown.
Last night I dreamt about a stripper named Lichen. She insisted people spell it "Liken" (or maybe "Likin'", I didn't quite get the ending as she spelled it out).
Tonight there will be massage and hanky panky on the spycams. Yesterday I spent way too much time masturbating -- did anyone else notice that?
I am on a theremin kick after watching/hearing The Machinist with it's beautiful eerie score reminiscent of Bernard Herrmann's score for Vertigo. I've decided I'd like to be a theremin-playing webwhore. What could possibly be more erotic than an instrument described this way:
Besides looking like no other instrument, the theremin is unique in that it is played without being touched. Two antennas protrude from the theremin - one controlling pitch, and the other controlling volume. As a hand approaches the vertical antenna, the pitch gets higher. Approaching the horizontal antenna makes the volume softer. Because there is no physical contact with the instrument, playing the theremin requires precise skill and perfect pitch.
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.