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.
Last night one of our long-time voyeurs emailed me about how hot Lady Gaga is and how he can't stop watching her Poker Face video and oh yeah, did you know "she has a pussy and a cock"?
No, actually I didn't know that Lady Gaga has a pussy and a cock. And I assumed the guy who told me that had just taking those hideous YouTube comments too seriously (the ones that say "she's a man", "she's a nigger", "she's ugly", "she has no talent" and/or "she's an ugly talentless nigger man"). Note: I don't understand why these record companies WON'T allow you to embed their videos but they'll let any jackass post whatever horrifying, distorted, insulting, ignorant shit they want in comments.
So our fan emailed me back with a recent post on Gawker with a video showing what looks like a flaccid unit between her legs. And apparently she's confirmed the rumors herself. It seems pretty unlikely, but who really knows how many intersex people there are out there? Why would I assume she ISN'T? And on a related note, just because someone looks all-white, doesn't mean they ARE "all" white. Not that I'm defending people hurling racial slurs at someone because that's the worst they can come up with in their unimaginative racist minds to disparage a successful young woman (along with being ugly, being man-like, trannyish, or whatever) -- I'm not defending that, just pointing out that coming back at those slurs with, "nuh-uh! Like, obviously she's TOTALLY WHITE!!" might not be the best response to that stupidity.
Whatever the case may be, I have more interest in her than ever before after watching this video. I assumed it was just a fake weiner/publicity stunt, but she sounds totally serious in this quotation (which I can't help suspecting is fake, too - everyone's quoting it, but no one is citing an original media source):
ďItís not something that Iím ashamed of, just isnít something that I go around telling everyone,Ē she said. ďYes. I have both male and female genitalia, but I consider myself a female. Itís just a little bit of a penis and really doesnít interfere much with my life.
ďThe reason I havenít talked about it is that itís not a big deal to me. Like come on. Itís not like we all go around talking about our vags. I think this is a great opportunity to make other multiple gendered people feel more comfortable with their bodies. Iím sexy, Iím hot. I have both a poon and a peener. Big fucking deal.Ē
Of course, Delia has known all about this forever now, I guess, because she's always surfing the "tranny" boards but it was news to me. Still can't say I love her music, but after this and her most recent performance on American Idol which indicated she DOES actually have musical talent in addition to being a showman, I guess I have a mini-crush . . . and I hope that she is, in fact, a black hermaphrodite so I can celebrate her breaking boundaries for all the other discofried black hermaphrodites waiting in the wings.
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.
If you don't watch it, go ahead and barf on my blog and move along. Otherwise, here are a few brief thoughts/feelings on the season so far.
My mom is so right that girls do NOT get a fair shake in these coed television competitions. The voting audience and judges definitely judge girls and boys by totally different standards. The standards the chicks have to live up to are WAY higher. So yeah, it's been pretty shitty but hardly a surprise to us watching Allison be in the bottom three so often and kicked off last week. I loved watching and listening to her sing -- she's the one that if *I* were a music mogul I'd want to make a record.
From the beginning we were rooting for Matt, Allison, and Alexis. Matt's whole piano bar experience and beautiful Elvis cheeks won me over, but when he did that Coldplay song, OMG -- I wrote him off as not having a clue what he's good at and how good at it he is. Still, I felt emotionally attached to him throughout the season and rooted for him to do well. I loved Alexis until she fucked up Jolene (one of my absolute favorite songs). Allison I loved pretty much every week even though I agreed that Cry Baby was a bad choice (and I especially hated her changes and that she smiled as she sang it -- that is my biggest Idol pet peeve aside from the lame hand gestures of pointing and come-hereing and counting on their fingers whenever a number is a song lyric, when these kids SMILE inappropriately during sad/pathetic songs like that boy who grinned as he sang Careless Whisper a while back). It was much better the next night when she was actually crying as she sang it. So sad . . . I really wanted her to win.
I enjoyed all of the contestants this year after a few shows EXCEPT Danny Gokey. I can't understand why he's a favorite with his complete lack of humility. He seems totally insincere and sociopathic to me, but maybe he really is just mourning his wife's death and what I'm reading is just him being shell-shocked. Whatever -- I think he's a total ass. I do think, however, that he was better than Lil who was totally overrated (except when she sang that Fourth of July song everyone ripped her apart for doing - I thought that was the best). Her bowing and scraping drove me apeshit and I do not understand why she didn't get called out more often for being "pitchy".
I even enjoyed the blind guy. A LOT, after awhile. He cracked good jokes and made good choices and I hope he makes a wonderful Christian music album. If forced to buy either a Scott MacIntyre album or a Danny Gokey album, I WOULD RELISH BUYING SCOTT'S INSTEAD.
Kris Allen pleasantly surprised me -- I get pissed when I hear stupid criticisms of him. He's by far the most mature contestant with the most diverse array of talents and widest/deepest music appreciation. I feel like he really understands music and loves every aspect of making it even if he's not the strongest singer. Not that he should win, but I imagine him having the skill to be a long-lasting success in other ways. It seems like he gets the meaning of every word in every song, unlike most American Idol contestants.
Adam? God, I just want to see him on his knees with a big thick cock in his ripe mouth and jizz splashed all over his gorgeous bloated face. And he and his partner both have to be wearing cartoon hair and untied high tops with tight pants. And their thick cocks jutting out like big meat-pink cylinders of gayness. At first I was so not a fan of his Rush-like vocal stylings, but I was won over when he did his Jeff Buckley impression. I'll be happy when he wins.
There you have it. My obnoxious Idol entry for this year. You can laugh if you want to. I do.
Feel free to ask me any urgent Idol questions you have like, "who is your favorite judge?" or "would you rather have sex with Anoop or Sanjaya?"
I started taking piano lessons when I was about nine years old. My teacher, Joan, didn't believe in using metronomes and always had long, fancy nails even though pianists aren't supposed to. At some point during the first year of lessons, she told me that music is really all about MATH.
No math = no music. A huge revelation for me as a kid. It's a big truth that's never left me. At first my feelings about it were a little conflicted; it was sort of stressful ("I'm so bad at fractions!"), but realizing that math is the foundation of music (or at least one doorway into building and understanding it) never sucked the romance or beauty out of it. It never made it dry to me. It can be invisible enough that you don't actually NEED to know it or think about it for it to be in there. That lesson primed me to notice as years went by that math and science are built into nature and art and our insides. That the basics of them are intuitive, like rhythm, but the more you know about the math and science of something, the better your music or art or appreciation of those things can be.
Knowing that art is really science has been a solace to me -- art isn't reserved only for a few people who are divinely inspired. It can be orderly: accessed and created systematically. With simple formulas. With a wide variety of tools mixed with individual perspective, personality and tastes to make it seem unique and magical, disguising the numbers in the craft of it.
I shot a set of pictures of Delia wearing some hot Hello Kitty shorts on Friday night and the photos are all jacked up. I'm a long way from understanding the science of photography; I *like* numbers, but they don't stick in my head very well so even though I've read about how cameras work and how OUR camera works I still don't have it committed to memory or know how to manipulate light and settings quickly to achieve what I want. I have to just walk around and fiddle with things until I mostly-accidentally happen onto something lovely. Most of the good pictures I take are the product of luck and shooting A LOT without fully comprehending what I'm doing. I recognize what looks good and beautiful and erotic to me (or at least halfway decent) and what looks bad to me and have a few basic practices for making the former (especially in the "halfway decent" category) and avoiding the latter, but my technical skills are pretty basic.
All of the pics looked dark to me so I bumped the ISO up to 1000 or 2500, I forget now (hence the graininess) and the speed down to 25 or 30 -- they still looked dark for some reason; I was letting the camera auto-focus (selecting the area to focus on myself with these little movable box thingies; I forget what Nikon calls that function but it didn't seem to be working well on this particular night) and adjust the aperture itself until I decided to do a closeup and switched everything to manual (because it balks when we ask it to autofocus macros); suddenly everything was WAY TOO BRIGHT and I had to change the shutter speed. The only thing I can think of is that the camera wasn't doing a good job of automatically adjusting the aperture and when I switched to manual and adjusted it myself then everything changed. It sucked because we wanted these pics to be bright.
The older I get, the more I see that MOST working artists -- writers, photographers, graphic designers, sculptors, painters, musicians, etc. -- are just people who've chosen to do that kind of work. That the only thing that sets them apart from the rest of us is the amount of time they put into their art and confidence they have in devoting themselves to it without worrying whether or not a jury of peers think they deserve to make money on it. Very few artists are people who actually possess something innate that the rest of us don't have; most of it is taking the time to learn and apply information that's available to everyone (or anyone with the resources to do a little research) and then investing money in the right tools and lots of time in practicing. Sometimes I think the most successful artists are the ones who are actually LESS gifted and too stupid/overconfident to recognize that there are other people (usually making zero dollars on their art) who are WAY more talented. Maybe the only way to be a successful "artist" is to NOT be great -- to not complicate shit with too much vision, originality, or diverse techniques and just work from simple formulas to make things that are easily recognizable and accessible to the masses. See also Adaptation. If your work brings other people pleasure does it really NEED to be super duper excellent?
The older I get, the happier I am with shooting for mediocrity. Even mediocrity requires a lot of hard work (for me, at least). Mediocrity is attainable without being a given; you can stand out and make a decent living in a field simply by being one of the relative few to 1) choose that field, 2) commit to it for a number of years, and 3) make yourself known. All the better if you're willing to take emotional and financial risks and make sacrifices for your work/"art". The happier you are with mediocrity the wider your success. I've slowly shifted my focus of "pride" away from "talent" and pinned it on "work"; you can't be proud of having good taste or being born with certain attributes making you better suited than most to doing one job or another. Those are only things you can be THANKFUL for. The things you can actually be PROUD of are hard work, dedication and defying convention to choose happiness. To call yourself an artist as soon as you choose to be one -- to make it your job -- rather than waiting until you imagine other people think you are good enough to deserve that label. Those are the people I admire more and more, the ones who are brave & devoted enough to create some form of art (even if it's just fair to middlin') and are savvy enough to make it a business.
I used to think having to work hard at something or take a lot of time to make something acceptable was something to be ashamed and embarrassed of. If it wasn't easy it meant I wasn't good at it. Now I realize that's total bullshit (even if I still FEEL that way sometimes). The strategic choices and commitments you make to invest work in things that make you happy, better, more skilled, or even just capable of seeing you should make a different choice (I've always believed that quitting is something to be proud of; that whole "quitters never win" line is such a crock of shit). The time you spend allowing yourself to suck ass -- IMMERSING yourself in sucking ass and slowly filling in the void of your ignorance with knowledge -- just so you can become mediocre at something you love and then keep working to try to improve upon that. Beyond mediocrity there are so few people who are actually able to recognize the difference between mediocrity and greatness, there's no reason to beat yourself up if you're not capable of becoming that elite.
Being a "jack of all trades, master of none" ROCKS. It's fun, it's challenging, and I don't love any one thing enough to give up all the other stuff. So I really have to be satisfied with mediocrity, slow progress, and making balanced choices to devoting little bits of time here and there to different things I love. Like making flash cards to learn photography stuff. You're never too old for flash cards. I'm not, anyway.
I am mediocre at so many things, and have managed to balance (with great mediocrity) such a gigantic shitload of different kinds of work that I deserve to be quite proud of myself and my extraordinary mediocrity. I feel so blessed to be in a position to dabble so widely. Lucky lucky lucky, and proud of myself for creating a notable percentage that luck by my choices. For recognizing my luck and exploiting it to the best of my limited ability.
Some of us are able to do our work just because we're lucky enough to have the resources to buy tools, to live in an environment filled with inspiration and/or to be close to people who make beautiful subjects and do most of the art/work for you.
I love arranging forkfuls of food. Ones where I have the perfect ratio of one thing to the other(s). Mashed potatoes to gravy to meat. Raisins to flakes. Heavens to Betsy. It doesn't have to be fancy, the formula just has to be right. Everything pleasingly arranged in relation to each other. I will never be a good cook because I don't want to practice how to be; that's Delia's thing. It's my job just to love eating, every day, tasting and swallowing over and over and saying thank you, honey.. And to figure out how to arrange camera settings like food on a fork, adjusting hole-sizes, timing mechanisms, and digitally tweaking things in perfect relation to the kind of light shining on my girlfriend.
Last night we stayed up way too late, but it was worth it to catch up a little on something we haven't had enough of lately: SEX. Watching/listening to Daniel Lanois (see below) put me into a magic place, and reaching over to feel Delia's semi-hard cock made fucking her totally irresistible. I alternated between stroking her cock and feeling her swollen, growing boobs before I got on her and came two times to her one. The whole thing was super-intense, partly because it's been a couple of weeks but mostly just because it IS.
It's super windy here today with a projected snow storm rolling in; I think we lost power last night so most of our cams went (and stayed) down until we got up. Don't be surprised if it happens some more over the next week. I *hope* it won't interfere with the shows and chat we have scheduled this weekend, but if it does? You'll know weather is the reason.
Enjoy the full moon tonight, if you can. It will probably be clouded over here.
I'm going to make myself keep exercising because it's paying off after a week of being consistent; I feel a lot better already. I did fall off the wagon yesterday and tried to tell myself getting a massage was AS GOOD as getting exercise, but sex and backrubs really aren't all that aerobic so if I want to keep feeling good, I need to do some physical work tonight.
I have galleries to post for members, but honestly I don't like them enough to post them right now so I'll put something else up and we'll shoot something better.
Tonight's ending on a very positive note that could even be viewed as a metaphor for other things going on in our lives; we finally installed a second hard drive for storage on my main work machine so I'm moving big files off my weighted-down C drive. It feels like a fresh start! Right now I'm filling up some of that space by transferring non-work photos over to this machine so I can enjoy playing with shots we've taken for fun/to learn about our camera.
November 20th: a buck Delia spotted in our neighbor's backyard:
Our "new" camera (Nikon D300) has been therapeutic for me, making me stop and take time out to really LOOK and lose myself in details outside of myself. I'm not the kind of person who tries to capture EVERYTHING with a camera -- I definitely appreciate being in the moment with family, friends and on vacation -- but when we're at home (which is the same as being at work unless we make a really concerted effort for it not to be) doing the daily grind it's a big challenge for me to get out of my head. But now, when something mundane and beautiful captures my attention I feel justified in grabbing the camera, ostensibly to learn to take better photographs, and spending 5-20 minutes to really SEE and try to understand what I'm seeing: the light, the textures, the motion . . . challenging myself over what's real and not real because it can look so different viewed with my eyes compared to how it's captured by the camera. Immersing myself in all those different versions of truth and light and darkness and the stories we instantly create and details we insert after pulling them out of our asses when we think we're looking at our surroundings.
Looking out our window a few hours ago:
We actually bought three 500 GB hard drives months ago for three different machines and up until today, had only installed ONE of them because of little nuisances like not having Dell's annoying little drive "caddies", not having serial ATA cables with the 90 to 180 degree corner jobbies so the case will close properly, me despising crawling around on the floor fucking with all the cables and cords tangled around dust bunnies, etc. If you heard me screaming last night it was when I bashed my elbow into the corner of my desk during that process. Anyway, we finally took care of it and I ordered everything we need to install a couple more on other machines.
The past couple of days I had the alarm set for 8:30 in the morning to try to get us back into a groove of semi-normalcy; at least I *thought* I set the alarm for 8:30. Turns out I forgot to adjust the ipod when the time changed so we were actually being woken up at 7:30 which just didn't feel right. We'll try again tomorrow. Maybe I'll even start my day by going outside with the camera.
*Last night I enjoyed a conversation with my wanker in which I wasted lots of time raving about this Teddy Thompson fellow and a performance we saw on Later with Jools Holland. Here it is, and it slays me:
I've only downloaded one of his songs (a cover of "She Thinks I Still Care", one of my all-time faves) because there's no way I can narrow it down so I'm trying to hold out to be able to buy some of his albums, though I will probably download his cover of Leonard Cohen's "Tonight Will Be Fine":
Guess what gets the most play on our satellite? It's the XM channel called Audio Visions playing new age music. We have it on almost all of the time; our dog LOVES it, curls up right next to the speakers and trances out. During the day they sometimes play annoying cheesy crap, but at night they start up with "Night Visions" and this creepy woman with a vampire accent practically whispers interjections like, "in the TOETull dahknessss of nighyyt you sseeeee nahthing but ah beeelliyawn starssss . . . NAHthing but peeeeeeeeace, sweeet peeeeeeeeeissssssse. This is oddyo veezhuns, and you haf nighyyt veezhuns."
So yeah, we totally love it and daily mimic her pronunciation of Audio Visions, like when we see the longing look in the dog's eyes and ask, "awwww, do you want your awwjoveezhuns?"
Audio Visions rocks at night when they play spookier, spacier new age music, including delicious programs from Hearts of Space (note: only new age nerds would be oblivious enough to the world to waste an excellent three-letter domain like hos.com on music that once had such a limited audience it could only find space on public radio, but I digress). I've bought a lot of new age mp3's based on play they've gotten on Audio Visions that I never would have heard otherwise.
Because Audio Visions, Night Visions and Hearts of Space have been cheap auditory therapy for our household I'm pretty fucking attached to the channel which is why I'm freaking out today upon seeing the channel name has changed to read, "Spa (replaces Audio Visions)". Does this mean no more Hearts of Space? No more vampires reading poetry accompanied by the sounds of trickling streams, heartbeats and twittering birds?
Of course, it's possible that it won't change, or that if it DOES change it will be for the better, though I doubt it if their recent broadcast of a muzak-styled saccharine rendition of a sickly sweet piano tinkling the precious Beatles' melody "In My Life" layered over ocean waves is any indication of what's to come. Apparently there's some kind of Sirius / XM merger going on which I haven't taken the time to read about but is fucking up almost all of the music we've been enjoying via Directv.
This is even more upsetting to me than when Court TV changed their channel name to the criminally deceptive "TruTV" and amped up their programming with even more super-dramatized crime and disaster "documentaries" with titles like, "Most Shocking" cops and robbers high speed chases with fake sound effects dubbed in. I pray for media literacy to be taught in this country, but I don't hold my breath. Don't get me wrong, I love watching all of that shit, but it pisses me off when mainstream media gets away with passing skewed misrepresentations of real events as "truth" without disclosing how they've distorted it with artifice, bias, and added "production value".
"TRU" my ass! Maybe they think the stupid spelling is enough to act as a disclaimer: TRU! Not true in any boring conventional sense of the word. TRU! Because you don't have time to squeeze in all of those letters, much less all the pesky facts! TRU! As much truth as we can squeeze in between ads from our sponsors! TRU! For people who don't believe in accuracy of reporting OR spelling! I know, I shouldn't take the misuse of words like "reality" so seriously. I guess I'm just old-fashioned that way, especially when I suffer from the double standards that allow television giants to distort and shit all over essential words in our vocabulary while I am threatened with federal obscenity prosecution and having my payment processing taken away if I dare to tell the TRUTH about my body (that blood comes out of my pussy and that's totally healthy and I can and should be able to have sex with myself and others while that's happening). Instead I am forced to misrepresent myself, women's bodies and sexuality by hiding my period on my porn sites.
Seriously, is my bloody cunt more dangerous than using words like "truth" so loosely? How irresponsible is it to degrade the meaning of words that are supposed to be the cornerstones of civilized ethics? I do not trust that all people will intuitively recognize the difference between "TRU" and "true", "reality show" and "reality", or porn pussy and real pussy.
How did this post arrive here? This is why most of my blog entries wallow in draft mode. I'm going to have to start advertising myself as The Naked Non Sequitur. Except it's not really true that I'm naked right now or even most of the time just because I'm a webwhore, but I guess it's TRU enough.
Tonight while Delia was at her AA meeting I really wanted to play piano and sing, but as usual having the audio on the cams makes me feel totally self-conscious. I know I shouldn't be, that even if I suck ass it's entertaining, but that doesn't matter; I want to be alone.
It's not that hard to turn the audio off on the cams, but I feel guilty about it and worry that people just joining for the first time will check the cams, not hear anything, and think I lied about broadcasting audio. On the other hand, I feel guilty about not doing something I enjoy and value (making music for the sheer pleasure of it AND to practice/improve) so I think I'm going to start setting that time aside when Delia's at her meetings for alone time at the piano and just turn the audio off on the cams. I might even log in a special silent cam since I don't mind people WATCHING from a voyeuristic angle, I just don't want to be heard, critiqued, etc.
Maybe if I keep that up we'll start having monthly or weekly "performances" or something so the mystery can be revealed and to motivate me to focus on doing more than just noodling around.
I'm feeling really blessed to have good friends that I love after spending a few days totally spoiled with good company: Kris Madison and Amberlily drove all the way out to our remote locale so we could have a Sex and the City slumber party (Amberlily's fun idea). Seeing the movie was entertaining, but the best part was just spending time together and having the chance to talk. Half the time we were off cam (in other rooms or out of the house) or had the audio off so we could speak freely, so it might not have been a big treat for the voyeurs, but for ME? It was heavenly. I actually feel *rejuvinated*.
We did spend a lot of last night in bed talking (with the audio *on*) which was probably pretty entertaining for voyeurs to listen to (or not, depending on their perspectives); we had insanely heated arguments (I almost lost my voice/damaged my own hearing with my own high pitched protestations) about really inconsequential shit (which is the best kind of thing to debate). Does Holly Madison "deserve" better than Hugh Hefner who tells her she's not photogenic enough to be a centerfold? Do Tim Harrington's (of Les Savy Fav) performances insult/make fun of his audiences or are they a layered casserole of joy? Those two questions, their characters' milieus, and the surrounding issues were the basis of HOURS of delightful discussions.
For once I don't feel like I need a day off to recuperate after socializing (just a little catch-up on sleep), so before bed tonight I'm going to try to plan a couple of good shoots for tomorrow and get them out to my members as soon as possible.
Connie Francis Sings the All Time International Hits
When I was little I used to play a particular Connie Francis album (like, an actual vinyl record; they had those when I was growing up) over and over again which I've not been able to find, nor can I found on cd most of the songs that were on it which BREAKS my heart. But OH, youtube, you have allowed me to hear these songs again:
"What Now, My Love? (ET MAINTENANT)
I wish I could find a picture of the album cover because I *worshiped* her (along with the "Whipped Cream and Other Delights" girl). Just one picture of Connie Francis, a column of majestic, sensual, unsmiling beauty.
Name one contemporary pop singer who holds a CANDLE to this woman! Oh my god. And her presentation: women are not admired anymore for being regal and occupying an ageless space that doesn't smack of jailbait.
Wait! The photo from the album is displayed in the 25th second of this one (wish it was in color like on the album; her dress was pink):
"And I Love Him"
The muted trumpet in here drives me MAD with its ballsy drama:
I desperately wish this guy posted all of the songs, because there are some great ones missing. Still, I'm so jazzed to hear that voice singing these songs again. I know I LEARNED things from listening to that album, from listening to her and looking at that photograph of her.
Oh dear, here's another one that EXCITED me:
Oooh, I found the picture even if it is undersized:
Okay, sex with Jimi Hendrix is definitely the stuff fantasies are made of so I'm definitely curious about seeing his purported sex tape with two chicks. Looking at the preview video, I'm not convinced it's him (the face the guy's making looks like someone doing a comedy skit) but as a chick the mere IDEA or suggestion of fucking Jimi Hendrix is enough to send me into a groovy orgasmic hallucination. I'm almost afraid to watch it and have the fantasy ruined; I'm not the only person to feel that way, either.
I also have mixed feelings about the women in the video who are not identified and if the film *is* authentic/wasn't staged (which I doubt), it's kind of gross that the women apparently haven't been identified meaning they're likely to still be alive but they haven't given consent and won't be compensated, and we in the porn industry will be making money off of them since they're the ones front and center in the video, with "Jimi" only making brief appearances. While their anonymity facilitates fantasizing about sex with him, it makes me uncomfortable the way they're being discusses by the press as non-entities.
Living in Western Washington my whole life, there are basically three Elvises: Elvis (duh), Jimi Hendrix and Kurt Cobain. And two of them are the stuff of sex dreams.
Hmmm. . . maybe an Elvis & Jimi threesome? Or would that be too much . . .
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).
Because the appearance of modesty STRIPPED appeals to many, here I am wearing a dress and flats I used to wear to church:
Plus the conservative classic, pantyhose (snagged, of course) over white panties:
And, finally, nude, pure and pale as the driven snow:
There are 138 pictures in this series available to my members.
I am now getting ready for a musical chat session (also with members); I'll be uploading new songs to my neglected "radio" station, ripping songs from cd's, and taking suggestions from members regarding music to explore and add.
We saw/heard these guys perform "Patty Lee" last night on Conan and can't stop replaying it over and over again; the sound and performance are SMASHING, embodying everything I would like my porn to be:
I haven't been this excited about hearing something new (to me) in a long time, and I'm SERIOUS that it inspires me as a pornographer/entertainer. I love hearing something so beautiful and defiant and seeing someone portray the most committed expressions of sensuality and felt belief in a way that's so funny and human and TRUE. I watch that guy dance and hear that Big Country-ish guitar and the THRILLING neener of a song like "Been Caught Stealing" and I FEEL the agonizingly hysterically-funny beautiful truth of it; I can totally relate. I'm in love.
4. Use your graphics programme of choice to throw them together, and post the result.
I would LOVE to own mine (but would HATE to know any of my band's fans):
You know the drummer is very handy with the brushes and wears thick black-framed glasses, while the bass player's beret stinks of dandruff and ashes. Nary a coherent sentence passes between any of them. The best part is that Angelo Badalamenti has taken a very special interest in them, and it shows on this album.
I own Sheila E.'s "Glamorous Life" cd and it's one of those discs that every so often I NEED to hear. I must have been about eleven when that video came out and on top of being fantastic just because the song was cool and everything about it was so Princely, it was influential to me because of Sheila E. and the way she "performs" in it:
I'm not talking about that one drumstick in her hand for show, I'm talking about her posture and commanding demeanor. The way she kicks that cymbal. Her snappy confidence and the tight execution of every move she makes (again, I know it's a whole Prince choreography thing, but still). And the knowledge that she actually IS a drummer, a good drummer, that was/is a big thing. That video and song aroused so many different kinds of excitement in me, I'm not sure I could number them. So now when we watch her on The Next Great American Band (go Clark Brothers!) I still have so much respect for her that I don't even bat an eyelash at her Christian evangelism.
We happened to turn on a PBS great performance thingy JUST IN TIME to see/hear Jeff Beck playing with a female bass player who looked about fourteen years old, her perky titty bouncing and framed by the curve of her instrument. In spite of that distraction it was obvious SHE IS MASSIVELY TALENTED and extraordinary (and, in fact, over 21). Her name is Tal Wilkenfeld and I am in love. This YouTube video doesn't do the sound/performance justice, but it gives you an idea of what made us stop everything and just drink her in, happy we were so lucky to change the channel just in time:
I love seeing talented women make mean, ugly faces while performing BRILLIANTLY.
It's too bad that when most people refer to something about a woman that's "tight", they aren't usually referring to her sharply, perfectly executed prodigious talent It's too bad that I couldn't stop looking at her booby. Or maybe it's just too bad that the combination of talent, voice, and physical provocation are such a challenge for many of us to process and comfortably accept in one package.
Anyway, I can't think of any recent female pop artist presenting herself the way Sheila E. did or does. Can you?
Going to stop now before I start posting buttloads of awesome "girl"-drummer vids.
Last week we revived our backyard spycam for members. We don't have it on the highest-quality spycam site so it's not as pretty as before, but you can still see the time of day and weather we're experiencing in our world and even the moon (a circle of white in a field of darkness accompanied by a reflection of the light from the webcam in the window; note: photo above is NOT from our spycam).
Last night we spent some time in bed together holding hands with the lights off and the curtains open, just staring up at the clouds and fog passing between us and the moon and listening to a soundtrack of spacey new age music (I'll give a link to my iMix when I get it), breathing deeply and eventually falling asleep. We have a pretty fucking awesome view from our bed, I must say.
I've been off the pill for about four months now; am I imagining that my body hair is thicker and more expansive than before? Seriously, my pits, pubes and facial hair seem a whole lot thicker and spread farther afield than while I was on birth control. Does anybody know if that is a normal thing to have happen when you stop taking the pill?
Hormones and gender are on my mind a lot these days because of Delia being in the process of transition and about to go on female hormones herself. It's made me think more about my own gender identity and question things I might otherwise take for granted, like the simple process of my own hair growth. I'm not a very hairy person, but I am quite a bit hairier than my mom and sister. My facial hair isn't dark or noticeable, but I have a lot of blonde fuzz on my face, to the point where it shocks people when the light hits it just right and they see how much of it there is. It makes me wonder how much of my differences from my mom and sister is a different mix of genetic traits and how much of it is a different blend of hormones.
Speaking of hormones, I'm in the midst of my third whirl with PMS since going off the pill (so no, we're not yet pregnant). I *really* miss my steady diet of hormones and am having a relatively difficult time without them. I don't just suffer for a week -- no, my mood swings, depression, and murderous impulses dog me for (what feels like) weeks in an exhaustingly unpredictable manner. I can reassure you that it's not every moment of every day (hence the unpredictability) and life is sweet and peachy in so many ways, but overall I'm having a pretty hard time. It could be worse, I know, but I'd like it to be better. An example of my out-of-whack emotions: my eyes filled with tears last night when the clouds thickened enough to completely blot out our view of the moonlight. I would have started sobbing uncontrollably if not for worrying that Delia and our voyeurs would think I was crazy.
Tomorrow (Tuesday) morning I'm going to be in the chatroom if you feel like keeping each other company. Here's our schedule if you want more details.
My "radio" station has a new song selection on shuffle play; it's been about six months since I fooled around with it so it's long overdue.
I definitely have a different mix of music on there than I play, say, during my cam shows. While I love my show music, it seems that the people who favorite-list my radio station DO NOT like it when I inject songs like Mr. Crowley into my playlists. I can't imagine what they would do if I dared to play Bon Jovi. Guess I'll have to find out one of these days.
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.
When I say that having my pussy eaten is my LEAST favorite sex act, it surprises people. I love giving head (to men, to women, to the androgynous butthole), but getting it? I usually prefer to fuck or get a hand job.
BUT. There is something about the sound of Explosions in the Sky that makes me want to be licked all over between my legs, so the other night as soon as we popped in "All of A Sudden I Miss Everyone" I REQUESTED head from Tucker. That music IS the sound of really really REALLY good oral applied with loving enthusiasm from a girl's asscrack up to her clit and swirling all around and heading back down. Seriously, it is EXQUISITE. That music sounds exactly like good head feels to a chick, like fireworks and chicks kissing and whimpering because it feels so incredible. The dynamics of those songs, the percussive buildups, the repetition, the reverberations, the subtle (but grand) transitions from one great sensation to another, from one area of stimulation (the perineum, let's say) to another (clit-sucking, for example) -- oh my.
Since Tucker loves to immerse his face in pussy I think he'll be really really happy about the addition of these cd's to our music collection because it inspires an achingly urgent desire in me to have him give me "oral pleasure".
I got an early birthday present from someone with very good taste so we'll be listening to those two Explosions in the Sky CDs and fucking (I've been looking forward to fucking to this music for a long time and the night is finally here)!
Anyway, I'm taking a bath first and then we'll begin luxuriating in bed and, you know, DOING "it" so check it out on the spycams.
"We Built this City (On Rock and Roll)" - Jefferson Starship I love eighties music -- as long as it doesn't have nasty nasal harmonies and showstopping optimism (see also, "Everybody Have Fun Tonight (Everybody Wang Chung Tonight)"). I remember one of my best friends loving "We Built this City" when we were probably still in elementary school, and it seriously made me reconsider our entire friendship when she embraced this piece of shit, along with another song I despise, "Life in a Northern Town" - The Dream Academy. My friend sang these songs enthusiastically with a tributary raised fist and eyes squeezed shut. "Ah heya, ma!Ma!MA!" She also seemed to know all the words to, "Say, Say, Say", one of those bizarre duets Paul McCartney and Michael Jackson did. Now that I think of it, that's kind of a cool song but at the time I thought it bore testament to her odd enjoyment of gross music by middle-agers-in-comeback. She was really "knee deep in the hoopla".
"Change the World" - Eric Clapton, Wynona GAHHHHH!!!! I feel a diarrhea explosion coming on whenever this song pops up (all. too. often). It's nothing against cheesy Eric Clapton since I absolutely adore "Wonderful Tonight". I mean I *love* that song! That and Lay Down Sally are fantastic little ditties. But you really can't be trusted to change the world when you're noodling around with those pukey-jazz chords. I wouldn't even let him be in charge of changing a light bulb.
"Runaway Train" - Soul Asylum I had access to MTV when this song came out, and the sights and sounds of this video made me want to retch. Normally you can count on me to love any song with the word "train" in it (assuming it's referring to the trains that travel on tracks as opposed to a gang bang situation), but not this one. No way. Oh, and while I was trying to figure out who performed this song, I ran across another barfy band credited with a great many hateworthy songs: Collective Soul.
"Fields of Gold" and "All this Time" - Sting This is not an "I hate all contemporary adult music" thing, because I love so many of his songs. I think "Nothing Like the Sun" is a near-perfect album. Grown-up radio stations love following "Change the World" with "Fields of Gold", have you noticed that? Or the latest giant-mouthed major chords from Annie (see below).
"Walking on Broken Glass" - Annie Lennox Your stemware (and feet) will be safer, Annie, if you stop that god-awful screeching. Remember "Who's that Girl"? Yum. Where have the minor keys of the eighties gone? Oh that's right, we're walking through the golden fields of our golden years now. How uplifting, bold and triumphant of us!
"Beautiful Day" - U2 They've really lost their edge, so to speak. And they won an award for this crap?? Again, I love lots of U2, but nothing makes me feel more like shit is falling from the sky than hearing this song bursting whinily from the radio. And by the way, I don't think it's appropriate to curse during an awards show, you pompous ass! Cursing in your blog = acceptable. Cursing on live television = crass and self-indulgent. It's bad form.
"Name" - Goo Goo Dolls From an album called, "A Boy Named Goo". I don't get it, I never will, and it sounds like stir-fried shit.
"You've got a Friend" - James Taylor A delusional song from a loony-bird. It's no wonder he spent time in a mental institution with these crazy notions. The lyrics are positively INSANE, yet folks everywhere celebrate this song and dedicate it to one another. "I promise to read your mind, to rescue you, to hear your anguished thoughts in spite of miles between us." It's a lovely SOUNDING song, but it's so unhealthy. This is not about friendship, it's about co-dependence and obsession. See also, "Don't Let Me be Lonely Tonight". If any of you have a lover who admires these songs greatly, I advise seeking a restraining order immediately.
"Soak up the Sun" and "Anything but Down" - Sheryl Crow Okay, I don't actually hate "Anything but Down". In fact, I like it. Except for one small technical difficulty; apples DO NOT grow on vines, Sheryl. This song was the turning point in my "relationship" with Sheryl Crow. She had gotten too popular, and this stupid lyrical mistake made me start believing rumours I'd heard that Sheryl was actually really dumb and had stolen tunes from some guy and gave him no credit. I don't know the whole story or if it's the least bit credible, but since she does not know that apples grow on TREES, I can now believe any bad thing I hear about Sheryl Crow. The release of "Soak up the Sun" clinched it.
Where did you REALLY get that apple, Sheryl, because I know it wasn't from no fucking VINE. And you think *I* bring *YOU* down?? Bitch, you are a liar and I KNEW I couldn't trust you. Next thing you're going to be telling me you got that cubic zirconia all the way from a diamond mine in Africa. Seriously, if I had a girlfriend who told me she brought me apples from the vine I would break up with her post-haste.
Incidentally, wouldn't everything be different if Eve had taken the apple from the VINE of the knowledge of good and evil?
Know what I hate even worse than these songs? That it's hard for me to remember off the cuff which songs I hate, even though there is a sordid huge lot of them. I had to consult with Tucker a few times to figure out which songs I was thinking of. What's the name of that song by Dream something . . . about a place, a town, maybe in Minnesota, going to some place . . . "Life in a Northern Town?" Tucker is a genius! What's the name of that song and there was a video and the guy had long stringy hair and was dating Winona Ryder and the word "train" is in it . . . you know what I'm talking about? "Runaway Train?" Oh Tucker you are my HERO!! He also was able to name the Michael Jackson and Paul McCartney duets, even treating me to his own rendition of "The Girl is Mine".
I am a great hater of songs, a bitch who emphatically shouts, "I fucking hate this song! Why do they keep playing this shit??" before turning to stare sulkily out the car window with arms crossed until the channel is changed. I am a stabber of radio buttons. But seriously, I'm not a music snob. I have nothing against pop music per se, and don't think something is necessarily shit because lots of people like it. I just think there are so many people with musical talent in this world, but we choose to showcase so FEW of them. There is NO EXCUSE for playing so much crap in heavy rotation, and for over-producing music that would actually be good if it wasn't so . . . hollow and studio-fied. Sterilized music, synthetic body parts . . . yuck.
I also hate that I've never really mastered the rules for capitalization in titles, so my apologies for the scattiness above. Should have just capitalized the titles in their entirity to avoid this problem. Lectures in comments appreciated.
Note: I've been meaning to compile some favorite-song lists -- you know, focus on the positive -- but I couldn't ignore the immediacy of the siren call of Really Annoying Songs.
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.
SONGS TO COME BY I had three sharp, poignant orgasms during my show today; after each climax it was almost painful trying to withdraw my dildo from my cunt's little death grip. They were intensified by a full bladder, and beautiful auditory stimulation.
The first song I came to was Bruce Springsteen's "Downbound Train". Aside from him being dead sexy, that particular song has great buildup right here::
I rushed through the yard I burst through the front door, my head pounding hard Up the stairs I climbed The room was dark, our bed was empty Then I heard that long whistle whine And I dropped to my knees, hung my head and cried
I know, I said I would never quote song lyrics in my blog, since I fucking hate it when other people do that. But if you know the song, and you know the crescendo of tension and tearful climax, here I think you can see its orgasmic potential, in spite of (or because of, in my case) its melancholy.
My second orgasm broke during Rasputina's cover of "Bad Moon Rising". It's deliciously dramatic, and made me feel like Lucy in the throes of vampiric lust (in Bram Stoker's Dracula, the movie).
My third was like bursting into tears, listening to the romantic sweetness of Dire Straits' "Romeo and Juliet". All in all, they were super-girly orgasms and I adored each one.
MMMMM . . . GOODNIGHT! I am going to bed, happy happy happy! For one thing, my members' update is posted, including the trashy set of photos I mentioned in my last post:
Full Gallery appearing now in my Members-Only area. JOIN NOW for access to ALL of my pics (full size) & vids!
Also, I enjoyed spending some time in the chatroom this evening, had a chance to do some stretching . . . then lit candles in the bedroom and played some Portishead and Morphine while we had sleepy, smiling, fantastic sex. It was vital to me that we fuck tonight because I have a gynecologist appointment a week from tomorrow and you're supposed to avoid having things bumping against your cervix beforehand as it can fuck up the results of your pap smear. Pap smear -- god, that sounds so pulpy, sticky, and slimy. Wet mount. Whatever . . . anyway, I want my results to be as accurate as possible as I've had "bad paps" in the past.
Upcoming Events for Members: SHOWERCAM & CHAT Monday 11 am - 1 pm Pacific Time. Click on the SpyOnYou link on Members-Only page. JOIN NOW for access.