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.
Wondering why there's been a deathly quiet here on my blog? It's because I'm revamping in a major way and don't want to post here and then have to manually import into the REVAMP.
I hope you won't have to wait much longer; I've promised myself not to wait until it's *perfect* to unveil it (partly because that won't actually be possible; there are some things I can't fix until it goes live), especially since we'll be launching DeliaTS.com around the same time (the other reason why things are quiet here - we're juggling multiple "projects" which is typical, but they're feeling very urgent right now and sweet jesus I can't even type about it, trying to convey the enormity of pressure, without starting to hyperventilate).
As usual, tons of things I *want* to blog about (like how Conan will never be the same anymore and I can't stand his new set -- really IMPORTANT things that make me cry myself to sleep or keep me up all night lamenting the passage of time and inevitability of change). Of course I'm still updating inside with porn for our members, but we have GOT to get this other shit done. So you can look at pretty fun things! I know you're sick of hearing me bitch & moan about how outdated our sites are and wonder what is TAKING so long for us to just fix them already! I really wish I were skilled enough to snap my fingers and have it be done and over.
Anyway, we are going to be gone (much longer than I *want* to be gone) this week trying to shoot a bunch of porno in the woods so looks like it will be mid-September before you can see some of our work come to fruition. And actually be entertaining or mildly amusing or more absorbing than posts like this one.
Thanks for sticking with me, friends, foes and fans! I hope you will like our new site designs better than I like Conan's new set with all those light blue backgrounds with all those distracting LINES.
I just *know* what goes around, COMES around and for every time I've shrieked at the tv screen about that annoying frosted section of plexiglass behind Conesy's head or those flimsy-looking wooden borders around his super mario bros. screen with their annoying verticality and stick-ness, there will be ten people who HATE the way I'm changing up my site. It's not soothing! It's too busy! IT IS DIFFERENT, THEREFORE BAD! And holy shit, it's totally not sexy at all! Poetic justice for all. Or at least for Trixie. ON THE WAY!
Oh dear GOD! THE LINES ARE NOT STRAIGHT! The lines behind Conan are not straight! They are not running perpendicular to the bottom of the frame!! Oh, Jesus KILL ME -- those motherfucking lines are not straight, or if they are for a moment I know it only takes the slightest movement for everything to be out of alignment once again!! And that wooden base! IT'S TOTALLY NOT RUNNING PARALLEL TO THE BOTTOM OF THE FRAME! THE HORROR!!!!
Yes, the thoughts in my brain are TOTALLY FUCKING ANNOYING. And now you have some idea of why it takes me forever to finish anything that involves building things that are supposed to have straight lines. I can't abide things being out of whack in relation to each other, yet I'm not smart or talented or patient enough to bring them INto alignment.
And that, my friends, is why I often have to lock myself in a dark room and bury myself under mounds of pillows to calm down.
Seriously, though; all of those lines are REALLY ill-advised for shooting any kind of moving pictures. And while I can actually tolerate them if I try, it's impossible for me to actually RELAX with that mess of crookediness happening on the television screen.
I used to have no beef with Tyra. Before we actually WATCHED her shows. I still think some people get crazy-mean criticizing her, but if they do, this is a perfect example of why. Her double standards and bullshit exploitation of young women is a gross freak show. You can't help wanting to knock her off her high horse. Some of the things I have seen and read about her doing to young women are despicable, mostly because she sees no problem with having malnourished girls get hypothermic modeling in pools of cold water or in violating codes by forcing inexperienced model-wannabes to live more-to-a-room with fewer beds than are allowed by hotel regulations or with promising contracts and money and work that never come through or just plain exploiting these young women's bodies, inexperience, stupidity, etc. BUT she somehow thinks porn is SO BAD while she's some kind of a fucking mother-hen angel rescuer.
Tyra's shows ARE porn. That article illustrates how manipulative, degrading, deceptive, brainwashing, irrational, insulting, and totally FUCKED UP mainstream media and moral standards are and how SHADY the game is of pointing the finger at the skin trade when the skin is the whole reason people are watching your charade. The hypocrisy is grotesque. They lie to guests, twist their words, misrepresent them, costume them in a misleading manner to try to prove their bullshit points and "seduce" audiences with their bullshit and subject people like Sasha who are smarter than Tyra to what amounts to an emotional stoning. That whole scene reminds me of the time a bible-based cult ganged up on me to try to convince me I was possessed by demons, going to hell, my mind was playing crafty tricks on me, etc. Seriously.
But I'm not here to JUDGE you, Tyra. I'm just here to ask you to CONSIDER fucking off and dying. YOU are a pimp, Tyra. YOU.
PS - starving yourself and wearing high heeled shoes that don't fit and falling off runways and crap are probably more unhealthy and more unnatural than buttfucking.
PPS - seduced by money? Bwahahahahahahahaha!!!!!!!
PPPS - after watching/reading that I can say I'm a now a Sasha Grey fan (VOD or DVD - yes, I'm pimping, too).
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.
A quick announcement for members and fans of our webcam shows: I moved Wednesday night's shows to Friday night. Why? Because I realized they were scheduled at the same time as the American Idol finale and with us on the west coast there could be people in our chatrooms who'd already watched it and I CANNOT ABIDE HEARING SPOILERS.
This is especially true with tv the past two or three months which has been exceptionally good to my fat American mind. Dollhouse, Gossip Girl, Top Model, Idol, Hell's Kitchen . . . I've been eating the cheese and acting like a sucker tearing up on command. The competition shows are so much better when you like all of the finalists. We might not be having a lot of sex, but who wants to watch us fucking on our spycams when you can watch me crying and squealing like a sissy-girl over CHUCK AND BLAIR and ADAM AND KRIS and ALLISON AND TEYONA!?! It's a more degrading scene than if I invited a gang of carnies over and gave their greasy unwashed asses enthusiastic rim jobs on cam with a needle half-full of junk sticking out of my arm. Now THAT'S entertainment! Oh Chuck those pink flowers and your green coat Blair and that dress and I worship and adore you and your stockings too yumyumyum I love it when you cry you're so beautiful when you weep and I love you TOOOOOO!
As if that wasn't enough, as a bonus for our voyeurs tonight I also cried watching Dolly Parton sing "Backroads Barbie" AND I cried earlier this afternoon when I finished reading The Westing Game (how did I miss that as a youngster? IT ROCKS!).
Being on a higher-estrogen birth control pill is so sweeeeeeeeeeeet. Sweet and salty with my tears, like a big bag of kettle korn.
Other than that I'm working on a simple (but time-consuming) revamp of the free area of TastyTrixie.com. So I can maybe hope to, you know, make some sales. So far this year has been full of optimism because I finally figured out how fucked up my endocrine system has been and how sick I was. It's frustrating, though, that even though I feel way better, my life didn't instantly become perfect once I started feeling better physically. It's like I have years worth of old work to do to get caught up let alone move forward. That's been pretty depressing on top of the economy (I know many of you are feeling my pain or worse in that department). I'm constantly making steps to improve, though, and feel massively blessed to have the awesomest girlfriend in the world and also feel the support of people who know me online, especially our members.
I still have a long way to go, but I am becoming a more patient person. More patient with myself and the world and everyone in it. You still wouldn't call me "patient", but I know I am MORE patient than I was a year ago. That's enough for me to be proud of today.
And even with all of that reading and tv watching and a good stretch this morning, I still worked eight concentrated hours and twenty-seven minutes. How do I know that? BECAUSE I AM KEEPING TRACK.
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?"
After having the worst sales day on Sunday I've ever seen, I changed our Directv package to the cheapest one (that's still not "cheap", but anyway). I also scaled back our Netflix from five discs out to three and got excited about a return to listening to This American Life and music more often. And maybe having the attention span to watch entire movies again -- something we've all but lost in the past couple of years of television immersion.
Some of the cable shows we love best are The First 48, Cold Case Files, Mad Men (swoon), Deadliest Catch, and Intervention -- apparently we aren't alone in being addicted to that show because I got a bunch of tweets in response to my announcement yesterday from people who couldn't stand to give up Intervention.
I first started watching Intervention alone and totally felt guilty and ashamed watching it, like only a sicko would watch an hour of a stranger's family's most private, horrifyingly personal, lowdown moments. I'd record them on our DVR and wait to watch them alone until once when my sister was over she saw it in the list of shows and was like, "oooh! Let's watch Intervention!!" The concept of all of us watching the show together embarrassed me, like it's something you should only watch in private (which of course isn't true).
It's not that I think the show is bad -- I think it's awesome, and since then Delia and I have watched it together many times -- it's just really intense and weird. I do think it's informative (I love that they focus on all kinds of addictions and sicknesses from gambling to OCD to Diabetes to eating disorders) and helps build empathy, but it still feels wrong to watch it for entertainment. But we do, I guess. One person tweeted to me that she thinks that show is depressing with a capital "D". And it's true, that's the embarrassing part -- why would we watch something totally depressing for FUN? I guess there are a million awkward answers to that question.
One of the first Interventions I watched was repeated last night and pissed me off in a giant way. The family seemed more concerned with Cristy's stripping than with her drug use, like the STRIPPING was THE sign she was way out of control (and what a great marketing hook, too!). Whenever I see that crap it disturbs the fuck out of me the way people alienate someone who already feels totally isolated and judged by being TOTALLY FUCKING STUPID about sex work. I'm not saying that the sick women on Intervention would choose sex work if they weren't in desperate situations, I'm just saying that their friends and families are usually so fucking retardedly focused on that part of it that they contribute to the problem and I've never seen that addressed in any healthy way on the show (though some of the families seem to have it in a more rational perspective).
It reminds me of a story I saw about a missing woman, maybe on America's Most Wanted, told mostly from the perspective of her "loving" parents who OVER and OVER said they knew she would NEVER have become a prostitute in Las Vegas of her own volition and that her evil boyfriend HAD to have MADE her do it and caused her to disappear. They said stupid shit over and over again about how they knew their darling daughter would never have chosen this life for herself and how badly they wanted her back so she could be her old innocent self again. Of course she was probably dead so it probably doesn't matter, but all I could think is that if this woman WAS alive and in a bad situation and saw her parents saying that shit, she'd probably rather whither up and accept her current lot than think she could ever live near them and their unaccepting ignorance again. People are so hyperfocused on how degrading they believe sex work always is that they can't fucking think straight, like these parents who seemed unable to recognize that their daughter willingly chose this boyfriend AND sex work in Vegas, and that the real sad and scary thing was that someone -- possibly the boyfriend -- probably killed her for it. Instead they went on tv, rejected her choices (that probably came from wanting to get away from their moronic idealized perception of her) and shat all over her.
This is why I need to stop watching TV. Because this crap HAUNTS me! And I haven't even said anything about the MOST DISTURBING episodes of Intervention and America's Most Wanted! Gah!
Yeah, well I *loved* her. Because I could relate to her so much. Her seriousness and convictions and reaching for the right words (but getting them all wrong) and insisting upon precision with her responses to questions and bewilderment over the rules of the interview at the end. I loved her voice and she was the kind of smarT I recognize as my own.
I hate myself for watching that show, but almost feel like it's my duty to know how we're being taught about our own and other people's value. If you have bad teeth, if you're mentally ill, if you're overweight, if you're an aspie (see above), if you're overweight AND wear tight or revealing clothing, if you're borderline retarded, you're fair game for the Idol freak show. All of America joins together not just to laugh at you, but to FEEL GOOD about laughing at you without compunction. It's a family show! Everybody's watching! It's okay to laugh in someone's face, punctuate every gaffe with sound effects, play songs like "Weird Science" when you walk into your audition if you're a nerd (two scores I'd personally be pleased with -- that song is googlyicious GOODNESS and that one nerd with bad teeth could have played Patrick Bateman's long lost hillbilly cousin!). You can laugh right in someone's face and still be considered kind as long as you chuckle "good lookin' out!" and say, "awwww, you should never sing again but I can tell you're a real sweetie!" as they exit.
They pretend American Idol is a competition only one person wins at the end, but the real reason it's popular is because we ALL get to be winners at home each and every time they show us another fucking loser. The same people who've been targets of cruelty and ostracism for centuries -- sissy boys with lisps, fat girls whose pants split, ugly people who dare to smile wide, and village idiots whose ears stick out and eyes are too close-set -- willingly subject themselves to torment. Compared to them, the rest of us come out so far ahead! We are smarter, prettier, stronger and more likely to fit in than THOSE Americans. We wouldn't make their stupid mistakes!
We just watched an episode (Yokel Chords) of The Simpsons that made fun of this phenomenon with Homer demonstrating exactly the behavior I'm talking about, pointing at the inbred hicks on tv, calling them stupid and feeling so good about himself in the process. I totally understand the appeal; in the internet porn industry I'm surrounded by people I subconsciously think of as easy targets (mostly my male "colleagues"); I feel like it's my duty to be mean and ream them out, but maybe I actually waste time around them on webmaster boards because I'm a small person who wants to pretend she's an advanced and sophisticated thinker. How petty and embarrassing is that?
It's taking me a long time to put it into practice, but I really want to stop doing that. Awhile back we heard a comedian on the radio asking why it's not okay to make fun of retarded people but people who are just plain STUPID are totally fair game. It kind of blew my mind because I like to think I'm one of those defenders of political correctness and sensitivity, but I totally have that double standard that I should be empathetic towards people who are developmentally delayed or have other identifiable REASONS for not being great intellectual thinkers, but it's not only acceptable to mock and hate on stupid people -- it's like I sometimes feel it's my fucking DUTY to be mean, angry and impatient with stupid and/or ignorant people. Like they have no excuse for being so dumb or lacking information. Granted, most of the time when I feel that way it's because they're acting like judgmental know-it-alls themselves or because they're idiots writing to me with offensive demands, but it doesn't really accomplish anything or make me a better person to behave the same way. I feel especially gross about it considering that under other circumstances -- if I were in a different role doing a different kind of job (teaching, for example) -- I would never allow myself to act that way and would be horrified by other people doing it. There are a bunch of ways I defend my behavior and even as I write this think it's the RIGHT thing to do in certain circumstances. What I want is to understand what *I* get emotionally out of being an asshole to stupid people and decide whether or not it can accomplish anything positive next time I feel like calling someone a moron. It's gotten so reflexive that nary a day goes by that I'm not screaming at someone for being a dumb-ass. Dumb fuck, dumb ass, crazy bitch, stupid shit, crazy SON-of-a-bitch, cocksucking moron . . . apparently they're everywhere I look and it doesn't really make me feel good to label people that way everywhere I look, even if I only do it in my head or muttering under my breath at the grocery store, "MOVE, you stupid shit-for-brains, MOVE!!"
I wonder why I've gotten worse about this as I've gotten older. Is it because I'm more socially isolated and feel less connected to other people? Is it because I'm more and more aware of my own limitations and am just projecting my own feelings of inferiority? Is it because I have some hormonal stuff going on that's making me more of an asshole than I really am? Is it because I know that I'm actually one of those stupid hillbilly nerds they make fun of on television? Whatever it is, I'm going to try to be less of a shithead and recognize that the only person I am in competition with is myself.
We woke up early to watch the Inauguration yesterday; I turned the television on as fast as I could and pretty much started crying immediately. I'm a sucker in general for ritualized ceremonies, but a lot of things made it extremely emotional for me. There's all the obvious stuff of watching a momentous, proud, hopeful, inspiring piece of history, but other stuff, too. Like remembering watching Reagan's Inauguration with my grandpa when I was a little girl. Like seeing two little girls who love their dad and thinking of my own dad and my sister and I when we were their ages. Seeing the former presidents and vice presidents and first ladies from my lifetime walking (or hobbling) in or not being there at all (like my dad and my grandpa) was like looking at a timeline with my own lifespan clearly marked on it. It's not a long line, even if I'm lucky and only a third of the way through it. I didn't think of it this way on a conscious level until hours later and realize that part of what I cried about was my own mortality.
Then I had a doctor appointment. That made me feel even more like a rusting machine getting ready to be dismissed from operation. It wasn't a good experience and by the end of last night with money stress, the emotions of the morning, sleep deprivation and all of the symptoms I went to the doctor for in the first place, I was really ready for a good night's sleep and too wound up to jump right into it.
Check out my Inauguration Day tweets if you want some more of my reactions to yesterday. Apparently I'm the only person who loved the poem. Other people thought it was robotic -- not a word I'd have chosen to describe it, but even if it was I totally love robots so maybe that's why I liked it. At first I thought her delivery was too contrived, but a few lines into it I just heard the words/saw the moments she captured and thought it was fucking brilliant and spot-on. I burst into tears when she said the last nine words of this chunk:
Say it plain, that many have died for this day. Sing the names of the dead who brought us here, who laid the train tracks, raised the bridges, picked the cotton and the lettuce, built brick by brick the glittering edifices they would then keep clean and work inside of.
I complained yesterday about not hearing anyone comment on the poem (and felt totally annoyed seeing people walking away from the ceremony before she even started; these must be the same assholes who go to watch fireworks displays but leave before the finale because they want to "beat the traffic" but maybe I'm being unkind and they all just have small bladders and/or diarrhea) but now I'm glad I didn't hear any chatter about it on CNN or online (I know it's out there, I just haven't looked for it or read it). I don't know anything about poetry, but I do know I love Walt Whitman and I do know he loved Lincoln and I do recognize nods to Whitman in yesterday's poem and that all of that fits into the deliciously morbid Lincoln-channeling going on with Obama being the first to use the Lincoln bible and doing all of those other following-in-Lincoln's-footsteps black-cat-crossing things.
We spent most of today shopping since we had to make the journey to suburbia for Delia's laser hair removal appointment. It was so much fun hearing people, especially kids, talking about Obama (kid pointing at books & magazines: "look, Mom! It's Barack Obama!"). I hate that I can't shake the feeling of impending doom, though. I know other people have to be feeling it, too. Still, everything's shimmery and sparkly right now . . . very storybook-like (even with the oath do-over). Watching the ceremony yesterday I did halfway feel like I was watching a pre-pre-pre-prequel to Star Trek Next Gen. Like everything good could really come true someday and all of the buildings and monuments were bad backdrop paintings of futuristic architecture.
I don't regularly fantasize about the White House as a super-glamorous place and never have felt like the people living there were royalty the way people felt about the Kennedy years. It's kind of exciting to experience that now; I can't help it, thinking about those girls moving in there and having slumber parties. I'm totally sucked into it. The allure of a lot of chick things (weddings) escapes me but stories involving orphans, boarding school, or preteen girls spending the night in museums or moving into the White House are always going to capture my imagination. It's almost as good as eating buckets of mashed potatoes and gravy, imagining Sasha and Malia safe and happy, the most famous little girls in the world ensconced in THE WHITE HOUSE with closets full of pink clothes and barbies and books and halls to run in and a prissy nanny who tells them stories and feeds them cucumber sandwiches.
I've got some Obama-themed pictures to post from my latest members-only gallery but haven't had a chance to make promos so it'll have to wait. In the meantime you can check out Delia's samples if you're not a member.
Another sad thought I had yesterday was for our friend whose mom just died. I imagined him and AmberLily dealing with their loss and this Inauguration going on at the same time. How weird it would be to feel like everyone in the world is paying attention to this ceremony while they're distanced from it by having a huge personal transition and ceremonies of their own to attend to. When big events coincide with personal crises it can be so isolating and bizarre. I haven't wanted to call them, but I'm definitely thinking of them and hoping for the best for them.
Note: I didn't see the show and am only going on the piece I linked to. Also, it's not that I don't think men -- particularly gay men -- are capable of being brilliant stylists and all of that, the part I hate is the whole "Ladies! COVER UP, will ya? Jesus, you fucking skanks -- no one wants to see that much of your old-ass bodies, okaaaaaaaaaay?" attitude. And seriously, if someone doesn't have style that sets them apart from the people they hang out with, do you really think that personal style is something you can THRUST upon them?
We lost power at our house for a couple of seconds today because of the wind; it almost seems freakier when the sun's out and it's blowing than if the skies were dark and ominous. Blue skies + windstorms = the pink goth of weather.
Though we live northwest of/near Seattle, the weather is totally different here with a lot less rain. We're lucky to have big windows facing south so in January and February we can sunbathe naked. Inside, unless you have fur:
I took these pictures in our backyard after going to the store where the power was out. According to the locals I heard talking, part of town was out of electricity because a transformer blew, a tree fell/knocked down lines, AND someone crashed a car into a pole. Our wind is a force to be reckoned with!
Next month we're planning to spend some time shooting closer to my hometown, in the area where (some of) Twin Peaks was filmed. I really wanted to commission someone to sew a waitress costume to mimic the ones they wore at the diner in the series, but I messed up the specs on the auction I created and didn't want to pay for something four months in advance of a time that would be too late for the look/time of year I wanted. Maybe next year. For now we'll try to capture a little of the vibe/local color without being crazily ambitious. Someday I would love to have the resources to get a bunch of our friends and fellow-Peaks-fans together for a couple of weeks to shoot some tribute porn. Someday.
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.
Earlier today I wasn't sure how much power this victory would have over me. I was sure I'd be relieved, but to feel THIS GOOD . . . I had no idea. I feel like we've been given a huge gift. I do feel like a huge weight has been lifted and I'm bathing myself clean in tears of joy and hope. It's so cheesy, but I feel psychically, spiritually renewed. I loved McCain's speech, loved seeing how deeply affected so many people are by this win, and loved listening with everyone else to a president elect who leads on so MANY levels.
I know not everybody feels this connected to each other and so reassured that there are truly good, morally and ethically upright people ready to step up and lead our country. You can read this and laugh, but there are a whole bunch of others of us who feel transformed by this and are looking forward to positive forward movement in an atmosphere of greater love, respect and empowerment.
I feel changed. Our country is changed.
My mom is coming over tomorrow and maybe my sister and nephew, too. This week I am getting many of my wishes granted.
I'm glad there's still no clear winner from yesterday's pick-me-a-blog-topic post because I don't have enough time to blog or masturbate or do anything enjoyable except snatch some tv while we're eating as therapy to recover from the stress of . . . not having enough time/having time sucked up by STUPID stuff. Uncreative, unsexy, uninspiring, frustrating, lame-ass, stupid stuff.
Specifically? Too many hours spent over three (not consecutive, phew!) days replacing our router. Summing it up in one sentence like that hardly seems fair to me and only makes ME look stupid. Like only a dumb fuck could lose days of work on what sounds like such a simple little task. But it wasn't simple (and even when it was, it was still excruciatingly time and money-consuming) and was connected to many other things. Being a camgirl/pornographer? So not fucking glamorous most of the time. And it's not just me: pretty much all of my fellow camgirl/pornographer friends are constantly battling the same obnoxious tech shit that interrupts the fun parts of our jobs and makes us all want to just go bathe in gravy-covered carbs. Tech problems are the ultimate turn-off.
Sometimes when my eyeballs feel like they're about to pop out of my head from the force of my frustration and I start hyperventilating and looking around for things to throw out the window (or AT the window while it's still closed so they'll both make satisfyingly loud shattering sounds), I try to calm down by asking myself, "what would I do if I were an Officer on the Starship Enterprise? I certainly wouldn't behave like this, even if WebWhore Headquarters were about to blow up in forty-five seconds!" Patience! Faith in one's own problem-solving abilities! Barely a sense of urgency: just a confident, one-step-at-a-time pursuit of a solution with nary a raise in my heart rate.
So far this technique hasn't worked for me. But maybe someday it will; it's dorky enough that it might do the trick when nothing else can. Or maybe I just shouldn't skip my Ritalin.
Tomorrow night we're going to *try* to trek to Ron's to do some shooting for IMakePorno. Hopefully I'll have gotten most of my "asshole" out of my system today, part of my tax return done (I *have* to get that done, like, yesterday), my hair colored (it's the color of faded, sun-dried feces from a malnourished cat right now) and have time to pack and plan before we get there.
I am a Starfleet Officer, though. I can do anything.
Actually, I'm like an unholy (and super-irritating) union between Barclay, O'Brien (cranky DS9, O'B) and Quark. Sprinkled with the annoyingly pompous, bossy, hypercritical, controlling, buttinsky loudness of Kira and Riker.
Yes, you *should* feel sorry for my friends and family.
*now that my partner identifies as a chick, does that make me a lesbian?
*what's the latest on our conception attempts?
*how I spent many hours on two days not having hot sexy porno sex, but troubleshooting our sluggish internet connection and buying/installing a solution (and how the tech support kid totally tried to find out how to see me naked)
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 . . .
When people make fun of The Golden Girls I always experience a wave of cognitive dissonance; they dismiss it as something "old" and irrelevantly feminine when I never did and WILL never perceive it that way at all. For me? The Golden Girls was a groundbreakingly progressive, hysterically funny, humanist show. Sitcom television at its very best next to a few others on my list: Laverne & Shirley, The Office, Married with Children and maybe a couple others. In terms of sitcoms having a major inspiring influence on me, The Golden Girls might actually be unparalleled (Laverne & Shirley would be a second, though).
I watched this show with my grandparents and at the time didn't even realize how dirty, biting and often macabre the jokes were. I watch this show NOW and am amazed by how edgy it STILL is. To me, a pornographer. Suicide Girls? NOT edgy. Sex and the City? Not really edgy. Golden Girls? YOU CAN'T TOUCH THEIR EDGINESS! You can always count on Rose for some naively delivered bestiality stories or to be fucking a midget or a dead guy. One of The Golden Girls fucks a new guy in every episode, but not in that hyperfocused SATC way.
I'm guessing people who mock The Golden Girls have never watched it. If so, the reasons they mock it are telling; it MUST be bad if it's about old people and ESPECIALLY bad if it's about old people who are WOMEN. I can't abide anyone who doesn't appreciate The Golden Girls or dismisses that show with a condescending chuckle. It's like a slap in the face from someone with really bad aim; it doesn't physically hurt, but it makes my blood boil.
When we went to see Sex and the City the movie we all discussed which girl we are or which one other people think we're most like. And you know what? I'D RATHER BE A FUCKING GOLDEN GIRL. And I don't mean that as a huge dis to SATC, I really mean The Golden Girls are my idols. I believe that show was more proactively feminist than anything on network television. EVER. When I grow up? I want to be a Golden Girl. I can barely think of a higher aspiration.
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.
I almost decided to boycott American Idol last night. The only time I've been so disgusted with a television show that I refused to watch it was in response to the Wayne's World skit on Saturday Night Live when they made fun of Chelsea Clinton when she was just a tween.
I know my refusal to watch something on television doesn't lead to positive change, but I reached my boiling point last night with Idol's continued sickening encouragement to viewers to be crazy fucking stalkers when they not only aired that disgusting phone call from some insane woman asking David Cook for a date, but presented it in their typical irresponsible, cutesyfied manner. I cringed watching him forced into the position where he had to act gracious and then they told her to stay on the line so they could get her contact information and make it happen.
I despise the way they display hysterical young people in the audience holding up signs with marriage proposals. The way they forced little twink angel David Archuleta to have physical contact with some random girl in the audience. The way they broadcasted some grabby freak snatching Jason and KISSING him; I'm sorry, that's not funny or cute -- it's assault. Presenting it as something charming, desirable, laughable, and/or welcome is sickeningly irresponsible especially when you know you have an audience of deluded young people. No wonder you find horrible people writing shit like this:
The first question of the evening was for David Cook, who was oh-so-busy wearing a smug expression. The caller entreated Cook to take her on a date, and because he thinks he’s a huge rock star he didn’t ever actually agree. It’s the woman’s birthday, jerk! And to that lady - sweets, you can do better.
Yeah. You must really have an inflated sense of self to not want to go out with a total fucking stranger who's developed an insanely shameless crush on you. Don't you know you owe all the women in the world a date on their birthdays and if you deny them you must be a pompous shitstain? FYI: the first celebrity stalker was a young woman. Oh giggle, titter, hahaha. It's all very cute and harmless until someone gets shot in the chest.
I'm also always left freaked out by the coverage of celebrity stalker cases like the recent crimes against Uma Thurman; they always seem to treat it less-than seriously, like it's all just a gossipy fun little personal tidbit to shove in the entertainment section, not a real crime exposing a peculiarly modern outlet for sickness. We're taught that celebrities have forfeited their humanity, privacy and personal time for fame and money; THEY BELONG TO *US*! They owe us!! Who do they think they are to reject us? Some people might perceive media coverage of this shit as "objective", but given how UNobjective, how obviously biased they are, in covering other stories their lack of overt concern or judgment in discussing celebrity stalkers feels like a chilling omission. Celebrities are presented as products we're never encouraged to empathize with. One of the few times the public is encouraged to sympathize with the severely mentally ill is when they target celebrities for abuse. What do the stars expect? They *asked* for people to love them, hahaha! Adding insult to injury, the stalkers are practically rewarded by getting to enjoy courtroom meetings with their victims. How fucking nasty is that?
My angry reaction to Idol last night might have been partially fueled by this nugget of sickening anti-pornography legislation from some asswipe congressman claiming he's "committed to protecting the constitutional rights of every American":
. . . designed to stem the sale of pornography on military installations. Broun’s legislation, the “Military Honor and Decency Act,” closes a loophole in current law that is allowing the sale of sexually explicit material on American military installations located both within the United States and around the world . . . . “Allowing the sale of pornography on military bases has harmed military men and women by: escalating the number of violent, sexual crimes; feeding a base addiction; eroding the family as the primary building block of society; and denigrating the moral standing of our troops both here and abroad. Our troops should not see their honor sullied so that the moguls behind magazines like Playboy and Penthouse can profit".
Yeah, there's no greater way to honor a soldier than by telling him he's a sick dickless fuck who's too fucking stupid and morally retarded to decide for himself what kinds of pictures he's grown-up enough look at. And GOD FORBID those sleazy moguls should PROFIT from a war! How funny is that when both Playboy and Penthouse have been in dire financial straits for years while the defense contractors and other war profiteers make obscene amounts of money that make Hef's and Flynt's bank accounts look infinitesimally tiny.
I know these laws and regulations are nothing new and there've always been similar restrictions on the military, but lately they seem to be making it even worse, writing new laws against visiting sex workers in foreign countries, etc. It's so contemptibly insane the way these shitheels don't care about killing soldiers or making them kill others, but they're really concerned about how even the tamest jack-off fodder is going to destroy their vulnerable little minds.
My brain never stops being boggled by people defining for us what is decent and what is obscene who throw celebratory parades when real atrocities are committed. And the crazy contention that sex crimes and violence never happened before mass-distributed pornography came along? What the fuck ever. When are people going to see how irrational it is to make porn the scapegoat for men's dick-driven crimes? When are we going to be able to WEIGH indecency in a rational manner?
I feel safer knowing there are heaping loads of bukkake porn on the internet and more women every day getting paid to take gobs of cum on their eyeballs than I do in knowing that millions of children are watching American Idol which teaches them to be so distanced from reality that they could be personally rewarded for stalking someone they see on television. They're *both* dehumanizing but one is intended for ADULTS and features people who were PAID to get cum on their faces; the other is marketed to children and histrionic adolescents who are being enculturated that it's not only acceptable but DESIRABLE to selfishly and unrealistically harass, stalk, and violate anyone they want who's in the public eye.
These kids sign on to be singers and American Idol turns them into their unwitting whores, pimping them out to all the deranged fanatical, hormone-riddled viewers. Give the lady a kiss, David! Isn't that cute? Oh David, don't worry; we'll set up your Philadelphia date for you . . . we'll arrange *everything*! Is it in their contracts that they should expect to be physically mauled and publicly humiliated by total strangers? David Archuleta is underage, but it's okay for Fox to push him into the arms of "adoring" fans. God, can you imagine if it were Joe Francis instead of Ryan Seacrest doing that?
Here's one of my favorite pictures that we shot over the past two days:
We rented a room in town for a couple of nights to shoot in, but wound up coming home to sleep both nights. We like being in our own bed at home with our dog, plus we are addicted to stupid shows like American Idol and America's Next Top Model. I feel a little anxious about getting rooms in town for shoots because people are naturally curious why we would get a room when we LIVE here. It makes me even more nervous when we aren't actually there all night; I'm afraid we'll arouse suspicion and wind up on some kind of small-town blacklist. Not that we're doing anything BAD by hauling lights into their rooms and taking nudey pics of each other, but you never know what people will think (they *have* to wonder why we have so many giant pieces of luggage; it probably looks like we're going to cut up a body or something).
This morning we actually had to set the alarm in order to wake up early enough to have sex, since I may have ovulated last night and we still had to go pick up our luggage from the hotel this morning and take the dog to the vet. I actually got to stay in bed and stew in the sex juice while Delia took care of all of that. Now? I'm editing a gallery of pictures (represented by the above picture) for members and listening to PJ Harvey.
Right now I'm just pondering how much sex work is specifically about NOT fucking. What's the percentage, I wonder? I'm talking about situations where getting the money relies upon NOT putting out, but the interactions are still all about sex because they're all about not GETTING sex (sometimes by the customer's request and sometimes not).
Some of you won't know what I'm talking about. Others will know precisely and dozens of examples will spring to mind.
I've been very motivated and happily, busily doing my own bunches of happy, busy little things. I've been less-than ambitious, though, when it comes to accomplishing certain other things (exercise, housecleaning, personal hygiene). In other words, I'm doing some things well these days and other things not at all. I'm out of balance, but whatever. Tomorrow is my show day so I'll get all pretty for that, then on Sunday we'll watch the football game AND hang out in our chatroom the whole time so if you've been missing me in chat? Sunday during the game is your chance!
*REVIVE PODCAST & DO MORE VIDEO BLOGGING One of many reasons (all rooted in bizarre insecurities) I dropped off the podcast map before I really got started (but AFTER I'd been happily making informal phone posts since before podcasting became popular) was sorta because vlogging picked up at the same time and suddenly there seemed to be so many different tools and ways of doing what I'd BEEN doing (informally) over the phone without much thought. I started getting performance anxiety about it and feel overwhelmed by the need to research all of the different tools and techniques and platforms and places to syndicate and worrying that everyone would lose interest in audio without video. At the same time the service I'd been using to make phoneposts died and the service I switched to (hipcast) requires me to remember a lot more numbers and codes to make a post.
Whatever. I got a new microphone and am going to let go of my worries and just ramble the way I used to (okay, with maybe a little more focus) and start posting more video, too.
*WATCH LESS TELEVISION I've gained a lot of weight and we have a lot less sex since we got Directv. I don't want to give up television altogether (even though I was perfectly happy without it for years) and I don't feel a morsel of regret or shame over watching every episode of "Flavor of Love", so it's not really that I want to watch less tv (in fact, I fully intend to catch up on "A Shot at Love with Tila Tequila" which looks to be GROUNDBREAKING), it's that I want to do more of the other things I love (dancing, listening to music, fucking, reading, etc.). I think voyeurs will appreciate seeing us paying more attention to each other than the small screen.
In order to motivate myself to watch less television I've decided that before each time we turn it on, I'll figure out something I really want to do that's enjoyable (dance around the living room listening to Traveling Wilburys Vol. 3, for example, or exchanging foot baths with Delia), and keep that in mind, promising myself to do it after the show we're watching is over. A lot of times I'll lie in bed watching SITCOM after SITCOM, groaning to myself that I need to get up, I have so much WORK to do, and I realize that vague whipsnaps of gigantic piles of WORK are not enough to get me enthusiastic about getting up out of bed. If I'm going to make myself stop watching tv to do work, then I need to promise myself to do something very specific that I've been looking forward to (a blog entry on a specific subject, for example - something manageable that I enjoy doing yet is more productive than rotting my brain).
Speaking of resolutions, Seska was(is?) looking for sexual resolutions. I guess the less tv is indirectly a resolution to have more sex, but I don't know think it SOUNDS sexy. And I don't want to (nor have I ever, as far as I can recall) make any New Year's sexual resolutions; I'd love to resolve to get pregnant, but that's clearly not how it works, at least not for me.
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.
I love that most of my outfit was given to me by cool women. My sister bought the pants for me after getting sick of seeing me wear the same pair of jeans for five years, and the strapon dildo and harness were keepers from the filming of Dacia's movie, The Bi Apple (if you're only interested in seeing our scene and want to do it now, check here; our scene together is two, and Tucker's scene with Antonio is three; of course, if you do that you'll miss out on the "behind the scenes" stuff on the dvd which I think are really embarrassing to watch, but I WAS heralded the "star of the BTS" so you might want to check it if you're interested).
Every so often I do get feedback from people who happen across one of my live shows and recognize me enough to ask if I was in The Bi Apple or Sin Cities. It's bizarre to have people ask if I'm REALLY that chick they saw on TV, but considering the roles in question as poorly-acted zombie-wives and ass-licker/fuckers I can only respond with the utmost in humility. You can't let yourself get a swelled head over this stuff, you know? Even though some of the choicest bits were left on the cutting room floor . . .
The weather is now gloriously cooler and damper than when we shot these pics, which are my last bonafide summer photos for 2007:
So, what have I been up to?
*Tweeting instead of blogging (though I've actually been laboring for a week over a blog entry involving scary pussy pics; I'll post it one of these days, but both the writing and the topic are near-tragic)
*Setting up our cool new schedule for fans of our shows and spycams; it's a google calendar and a much better way to communicate exactly where and when we'll be "performing" since we appear on more than ten different sites regularly (three spycam sites, three cam show networks, and an assortment of venues for private shows and phone sex).
*Fucking (we are still trying to get pregnant, and it's consuming a sort of big area of my attention especially since it's connected to Delia's transition; she/we had her last therapy appointment to get the go-ahead for a report to an endocrinologist recommending her for hormones; if we don't get pregnant now, or even if we do, we also want to have some of her sperm frozen which is a whole project in itself requiring money, research, and determining what her sperm count is in the first place). I'll write more about that in other blogs and post links when I do.
*Doing fun camshows and chat sessions while also suffering a moderately nasty weekend headache which I've decided to blame on Celestial Seasonings Roastaroma tea, which I LOVE but inexplicably (and perhaps only coincidentally) winds up with me having a migraine the day after I drink a cup.
*Housecleaning (a soul-sucking yet mildly gratifying labor after you invest enough hours into it and stay focused on one thing at a time); we have fresh flannels on our bed, a clean mossy-green wet-autumn-colored comforter, and my nightstand crumbs and piles have been dispersed. The television is dusted and windexed, ready to shine the light of fall programming on our stupefied faces; I've not been this "into" television since I was ten years old and plotted my life around the tv guide when I stayed over at my grandparents' house. I just happened to pick up one of my favorite crap magazines with ads and descriptions of all the new shows popping up on the networks so I decided to try something new (because I seriously have never ever done this in my entire life): I want to watch all of the pilots, even the dumb ones that I really don't want to see. Okay, I've already failed because I'm *not* going to watch that new Frasiery newscaster show, but I am totally looking forward to Kid Nation and Dirty Sexy Money. Does anyone have any guesses as to whether the Geico caveman show is going to suck or be great? I'm one of the apparent millions who loves those commercials and am hoping they aren't just ruining a good thing making a whole series out of it. I'm very curious about how the copyrights and stuff work for that (but not curious enough to google it and actually find out who paid who what to make it happen).
*Stressing out a little about money since our extension to file our taxes expires next month. On a positive note, I feel myself gearing up for a cycle of productivity and happy hard work. I feel like I'm just coming out of a period of slack time. It's been great to feel less driven and consumed by work; I needed to slow down a little and have more lazy time. I feel ready to step up and put my nose back down to the grindstone, though. It's dysfunctional, but I do feel more excited and motivated when I'm on the brink of financial ruin (like maybe not being able to pay our 2006 taxes while I'm still making payments on 2005). I know, I know, some of you nervous nellies are aghast that we're considering creating our own small human under such dire circumstances, but seriously; the worst case scenarios are really not all that bad. And I'm not genuinely concerned "the worst" or even anything all that bad will happen. Call me crazy, but just do it in your own bubble and not in the comments because I don't want to hear it. I already know I'm insane. We don't need to discuss it.
I have a "thing" for gloves. And men wearing suspenders. And Russian dancers. So last night? I *squealed* watching Pasha doing his solo on So You Think You Can Dance. It's not on YouTube yet that I can find, so here's his mannequin dance with Lacey:
After suffering the heartbreakingly predictable loss of Pasha coupled with his hot goodbye number, we wound up fucking. It was sweet and jolly as much of our procreative sex has been. Very wholesome. Then we watched the Supernanny and I hated on the stupid bitch mom while lusting after the Supernanny because she is SO FUCKING HOT. I think Jo may be the sexiest chick on television with her multi-faceted well-rounded hotness. She's very gal-next-door, ageless, wicked role-play fodder, in-charge (yet warm), and just gorgeous. I want to wrestle lazily with her in a pool full of pudding and play with her bouncy curls.
Here are a couple of blog entries I posted with more on "what Trixie thinks is hot":
After ranting about the need to protect my identity with a stage name, I just discovered I accidentally used the real name of a guy I fooled around with. Here is the beginning of the story, with his name consistently changed (in the story I used a fake name 75% of the time, but his real name the other 25%):
All of the girls in our dorm creamed their white Christian panties over Treat, the Hawaiian guy who lived on my floor. Hell, all of the girls OUTside of our dorm creamed their white Christian panties over him. I thought he was an idiot, but as time went on I confess to creaming my panties over him too. I distinctly remember staring at the bump under his white towel as he roamed our floor after a shower, and wanting some of whatever he had under there. Wanting to get a load of it, both figuratively and literally speaking.
Once my friend and I spent a casual evening in her room with Treat, interrogating him as to WHY IN THE WORLD so many girls seemed powerless to his charms. What was his secret? How did he weave his cheesy spell over them? After feigning modesty for awhile (part of his signature appeal), he revealed with intense seriousness that he learned everything from his favorite television show in junior high: Beauty and the Beast, starring Linda Hamilton as the beauty and Ron Perlman as the Beast. Yes, you read the plot description correctly: "The adventures and romance of a sensitive and cultured lion-man and a crusading District Attorney assistant".
I woke up this morning to an email with an interview request from Bonnie Ruberg of The Village Voice. We're going to talk tomorrow on the phone, and in the meantime I thought I should browse around and get to know a wee bit more about her.
After reading this lovely newbie guide to getting a sexy Second Life and her woeful tale of having an ugly avatar, I decided to give it a brief trial. The software is downloading now. My name is Trixie Offcourse. If I become addicted I'll no doubt create an alternate male persona who will be a horrid cad with a very large swollen member he tries to stick into everything.
Our dog has another tumor. Delia just spotted it today and our vet has no openings until tomorrow so we're just trying to keep her from worrying it too much; she's already got a couple of spots of bloody pus where she may have a couple little punctures. We hope it's just some benign old-dog fatty-tumour thing they'll be able to remove easily.
My sister, brother-in-law, and nephew are spending the night tonight before they go off on a hike. Voyeurs: some of our cams may be down or obscured or without audio during that time, for example in our bedroom if we decide to all climb into bed so we can introduce them to the splendid show, Ice Road Truckers. I didn't know the TV people could possibly come up with another "documentary" featuring people who'd feel even more familiar to me than the guys on The Deadliest Catch, but here they've done it! In case you didn't know, my stepdad was a long-haul truck driver.
*One full moon, visible and shining high-beam onto your bed.
*An attempt at reading a favorite book, The Mists of Avalon, again. You fail to dive in deeply but only because you feel deliciously sleepy.
*A realization that even though you're deliciously sleepy, you're not SO deliciously sleepy you can't feel the lure of the eroscillator (a clit-stimulating sex toy). In the full moonlight, you masturbate yourself to two super-fantastic orgasms.
*After being asleep for fifteen minutes, your transgendered girlfriend calls you up from a local bar to get her ride home so you put on pj pants, pick her up, and go to the store and buy some junk food. The store employees say bizarre things to one another over the intercom. Everything inside and outside the store and on the drive there and back home is surreal and wide open.
*When you get home and into bed with your junk food, your girlfriend wants to fuck. You're sleepy and only into junk food at the moment, but say that she's welcome to fuck you as long as you can just lay there and not do anything. She agrees to your proposal, you grab some lube, and not six strokes into the endeavor you realize it feels way too good to just lay there and not do anything. So you do things. A lot of things. You are on top, your girlfriend has a huge orgasm and the excitement of watching and hearing her orgasm plus the feeling of her cum sloshing around in your pussy makes YOU climax too. You remark that apparently you were in the mood after all, and a good thing too because those early orgasms with the eroscillator? They didn't do jack for your g-spot, but this fuck session totally hit the spot and rounded out the evening. To be topped only by the following:
*Your girlfriend falls asleep as you press play on a recorded episode of your favorite television show, COPS. You have the fritos, bean dip, little schoolboys (cookies!), and diet Coke all to yourself. And COPS. Plus a full moon and spooge-filled cooch. You are positively gleeful.
The ingredients for a perfect night don't necessarily carry over well into the morning. Since I didn't go to sleep until four, I didn't get enough sleep since I had to wake up early for a show. We also had some (fun) shopping to do first for some plants for a photo shoot and the yard. By the time my show was over and we started eating lunch, I had the warning signs of a migraine with major visual disturbances, so I blocked out as much light from the room and swilled down a couple of pills and more caffeine to try to ward it off. I took a nap for two hours but the left side of my head is not too happy.
I'm not sure what to blame for it (the beginning of the moon's waning phase?), but the processed salty foods, sugar and diet coke seem likely culprits. We've never been big on drinking pop, but lately have been heeding the siren song of diet Coke and now I understand why that shit is so addictive. It's truly bubbly evil in a can.
Fortunately I don't feel the urge to vomit, so things are not too bad.
While napping, I dreamt I was student teaching and also holding another straight job, but was getting all of my porn email at the school/work. I was scared because everyone was on the verge of finding out my dirty secret. My co-workers and students seemed uncomfortable around me and the principal eyed me as though a big talk was coming.
Later I was living in a cold city. My wardrobe was not appropriate for the weather, and the icy puddles were treacherous to try to cross wearing my tractionless ballet slippers. Still, I had fun sliding around on the ice in the park. I wondered to myself why I'd never been to Cleveland, and then I realized that this cold city I was in was Cincinnati, and it would be very simple for me to visit Cleveland from there. The trees were bare and the sky a thick, unmitigated grey.
I'm here, just feeling the pull to be away from the computer (or at least not communicating through it).
Honestly, the only thing I feel like blogging about is So You Think You Can Dance and my big-ass crush on Faina. Fans who want to know my "type"? All I can say is that both her and her brother, Stanislav, from last year are HOT. I know, you think I don't like skinny girls. I know, I don't usually like blondes (re: Stan). But these two give me SHIVERS. I could watch them all night.
Everyone said this little number was horrid, and it does look stupider when you can't see her hot pointy little facial features with her hair whipping around in her face, but I could watch her doing this over and over and over all night long. Might be my long sock fetish feeding into it, but I just think she's SO hot, especially doing these moves that are sort of awkward with her long skinny limbs. FUCKING HOT:
I imagine there's something about her and Stanislav's personalities that the type of people who love them aren't the type of people who sit around all night casting cell phone votes for them. I love their icy steamy hotness (but we never vote). Yum, yum, YUM. Here they are dancing together:
I could watch her mouth and legs moving around for a whole month and never get bored.
I knew it would be funny, but having never seen Sin Cities on television I didn't realize the potential for our fifteen minutes of potential tv infamy to mock us so deliciously. And aren't those chopsticks on my boobs HILARIOUS?
I've heard that the whole episode is due to air in April sometime so check your local listings if you're in the UK or one of the many other countries with access to Sin Cities.
Ashley Hames gives serious direction to me and Tucker.
I strip for the vicar.
I think I'm Ricky Gervais' long lost cousin! Seriously, don't I resemble him or am I flattering myself?
FYI: Ashley squirts my face with cum during the making of the "movie" and the always-appreciated Jackhammer Jesus dildo features prominently in the graveyard scene.
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".
I may be the luckiest girl in the world. My boyfriend brings me flowers after *I* have been an asshole. It's bass ackwards and I love it.
Normally I hate honkers.
Last week we drove separate vehicles home from the mechanic's, tension relieved by good news of a quick fix that cost nothing. I followed behind his pickup for a few miles before he pulled off to get gas and I kept going past him to the bank. As he waited to make his turn and I passed him, he honked. Two quick honks. See you soon, honey. Love you. Meet you back at home. I couldn't see his face as I passed him. I don't know if other drivers were distracted or angered by this interruption; it didn't cross my mind until days later when I heard someone else honking in long, frustrated tones, and then I smiled again.
Two short honks between us that everyone else could hear; mundane code for "I love you".
We had "it's the middle of the night and I can't sleep" sex last night. It was dark, but I wonder if any of our voyeurs heard us? I could barely hear us myself, listening instead to a naughty phrase that repeated in my head a few times: daddy and all his friends . . . daddy and all his friends until I came and collapsed on top of him.
I put a couple of chat sessions on the schedule for Valentine's Day and will add more stuff during the week as soon as I find out when we'll be gone visiting family this week, if at all. I'm also changing my show days from Friday and Saturday to Monday and Tuesday so I won't be doing more shows until next week. Doing six one-hour shows in five days is too much for me and my pussy to hack. Delia is sticking with Sunday, though, so she'll be putting on a show today and entertaining private viewers after that.
If you heard me burst into tears suddenly last night after someone on tv proclaimed, "I am a lesbian and I will not hide" (or something like that), well, it was more moving than it sounded. Make fun of me if you like, but I am a sucker for this Secret Lives of Women show. Last night I watched "Late in Life Lesbians" and one woman in one the couples they profiled didn't want to show her face, so they blurred and shadowed it during the entire show. At first it was like, "oh come ON! Show your face! What's the big deal?" until they revealed the reason why; she was a veteran and didn't want to lose her benefits. At the very end of the show they displayed that family of two women and three children in a melodramatic pose, lesbian Marine in the foreground with her face blurred out. And then suddenly they unblurred her face and she made that statement. YOU WOULD HAVE BURST INTO TEARS TOO!! Well done, WE entertainment, WELL DONE.
Tonight, the CW network will air an episode of Veronica Mars that is based on misleading right-wing claims about contraception. The show is about a young woman named Veronica Mars, who is both a college student and a part-time private investigator. This week, Veronica is hired by Bonnie, “a promiscuous classmate, to find out who secretly slipped her the morning after pill, causing her to have a miscarriage“
PLAN B IS DESIGNED TO *****PREVENT***** PREGNANCY, not to terminate it. It's simple, yet there is (and has been for years) widespread intentional ignorance perpetuated on what should be a very simple matter. VERY. SIMPLE.
Subtly lying to people about how emergency contraception works is yet another piece of seriously dangerous propaganda floating free on the boob tube that I think is WAY worse than internet porn in terms of our obligation as a society to regulate and "crack down" on irresponsible media. So let's crack down on them!
"Veronica Mars is extremely popular among young women, the very women who need accurate health information. E-mail Paul Hewitt, CW’s Director of Publicity, and tell him that CW needs to correct its information on emergency contraception."
I had to spend a couple of hours getting my hair colored this morning so it feels like I haven't been home much, and certainly haven't gotten any "work" done at the computer (lots of emails stacking up, I confess).
We did manage to waste a lot of time last night catching up on those American Idol auditions -- I *hate* watching those mean-spirited things, and hate myself FOR watching them, and hate people in general for guffawing at poor unfortunates, and hate myself for being duped into thinking that any of it is for real, and hate myself for guffawing along with the rest of America. HATE it.
It was strange to see the Seattle Idol auditions and recognize some of the people. Not in a specific way, but just a general way, like the sweet girl in the pink fishnet from Snohomish and the Bothell beatbox boy's dad -- those are the kinds of people I grew up with. Oh, I grew up around pretty people, too, but the people who really felt like locals -- the people who really belonged to the town in the same way generations of my family belonged to it -- those people (my people) are kind of hicks. It's shocking to realize how different we look from other people in this country, people from urban areas (the people we see on television most often). It's shocking to see how much more we resemble Appalachian hillbillies than, say, New Yorkers. The jolt of seeing our kind-mannered ugliness on television shocked me into realizing how hidden we usually are, we poor, white, unfashionable folk.
The culture and identity of my state seems so washed-out and unidentifiable to most people, but the older I get the more finely-tuned I've become to the small towns and city (Tacoma) where I've lived; they have made me into a certain person that other places couldn't have created. I am from "The West", and it's a real place not just some watered-down amalgam of other places or some expensive place to live that just appeared out of thin air when Microsoft, Pearl Jam, and Starbucks put us on the map. I am oddly proud to have grown up in a town with enough personality, poverty and pathos that people still have sex with farm animals.
Oh, and I should mention that I don't recognize Taylor Hicks AT ALL as one of my kind, despite the way his name sounds; he is a moron who didn't even know the words to "Country Roads" (among other things) and that sickens me to the core. Sex with farm animals also sickens me to the core, but not as much. I just felt like making sure you know that I don't ENDORSE such bestial acts, nor do I ENDORSE Taylor Hicks. Both Taylor Hicks and bestiality should be avoided. Unless this provides him the release he needs, sparing some poor woman from being soul patrolled.
So far my favorites during the auditions are the Indian brother and sister and the girl who sang "Somewhere Over the Rainbow" (retch!) and reminded me of Inara. Of course I'll be rooting hardest for the human beatbox from Bothell - I hope he makes it.
I really should take a nap before we go pick our van (a simple loose connection with the ignition, but also holes in the radiator) and run errands.
If any of you voyeurs saw me looking flushed while I slouched in my chair and/or heard the sound of buzzing and wondered what I might have been watching while I masturbated with my magic wand, it was a video of Tucker jacking off that I was editing for his update tonight.
Then again, you probably didn't see or hear it because it only lasted for about four minutes and I didn't take off any clothes or start moaning or anything. Wand over pants watching cockstroking = quick orgasm for Trixie.
When we started watching the Seahawks vs. Bears football game this morning I honestly didn't think we'd be watching long, assuming Chicago would take an early and pronounced lead and we'd just turn off the rest of a boring game. If you watched it, though, you know it didn't turn out that way. It was an entertaining waste of time and I thoroughly enjoyed it.
Watching Matt Hasselbeck (Seattle's quarterback aka "the guy who throws the ball", I should tell you, since this isn't a sports blog) doubled over in pain from his broken fingers while he kept on playing made me wonder how people would respond if I as a webwhore/camgirl, for instance, did a masturbation show with broken fingers and kept wincing in pain, and then had an announcer reminding everyone in the viewing audience of all of the injuries I'd suffered while doing explicit sex shows and masturbation.
Trixie's back today and it looks like she's still favoring her right ankle; no one really knew last month that she sprained that ankle when she twisted it wearing five inch fetish heels because she kept her game face on and kept doing her show but wound up having to stay off her feet and on her back for the past three weeks to give that time to mend, really REDUCING her versatility on the playing field. She looks to be in fine form tonight, though, with no traces of that rectal tear giving her any problem, but I wouldn't be surprised if we saw that ripped asshole FLARE UP in the second half.
Wouldn't the anti-porn, anti-whore people be mortified? And wouldn't they be even MORE mortified if a whore suffered those kinds of injuries and actually got paid as much as a pro football player?
Yeah, that's what I thought. You know what I'm talking about.
Righteous rant develops in this entry; it may be worth slogging through the boring bits if you like hearing me bitch about the bullshit ways pornographers and sex workers are judged by violently harsher standards than mainstream entertainers and business-people.
I wish this didn't look so much like The Blog Boring, but every time I have something provocative and interesting (or at least "sexy" or topical) to write I can't seem to justify spending an hour or more doing it justice so those entries mostly just sit, half-formed, in drafts format.
More boring stuff: I've been patiently (but eagerly) waiting for Hipcast to become compatible with the new Googly Blogger so I can finally add post labels / categories to help people separate the wheat from the chaff in my blog. Today I discovered that Hipcast and the new Blogger are now working together! I even tested the compatibility by making a new gmail and blogger account (not wanting to switch over and -- again -- lose the ability to make phone posts which I consider vital to keeping members informed of schedule changes, outages, etc.) and was all set to make the transition . . . but found out that fucking BLOGGER won't let me switch because some of my blogs (this one) have more than a thousand posts and they just aren't ready for my massive weight. What the fuck ever. I'm happy to wait, I just wish they would communicate those things and wouldn't have been shoving Blogger Beta down my throat with a billion links to "switch now!" for months if I don't even qualify BECAUSE I'VE USED BLOGGER TOO MUCH, apparently. I mean -- I do understand and appreciate that it's better to wait than have a glitch in the transition; I realize I'm not being singled out or punished, I just don't understand why I haven't read about this problem before in their lovely oversimplified tours of Beta that don't alert you to incompatibilities or problems with large blogs not being ready to transition.
I find it interesting that massive entities like Google and Blogger and mainstream sites like Hipcast can't do a better job of communicating with their users. How is it that I, a lowly webwhore, am so concerned about making sure that my members know every single time my power is going to go out or there's a chance one of my shows will be late, and yet these mainstream sites SUCK FUCKING ASS about taking two minutes to post similar messages in their status / news blogs just to reassure people that they are working on their bugs or to convey to people what those bugs are before they waste time (or totally fuck up their blogs) to try out their new tools? Is it that no one with any sense of accountability or customer service has access to post in their news areas? Or is it because blogger/hipcast users aren't paying $20 a month the way members do to my site so blogger/google/hipcast/fill_in_the_blank don't feel obligated to their users? It's really ironic that Blogger cannot keep its own blog updated with any sort of frequency or relevance. Maybe they're just so big they don't NEED to communicate to keep their ship afloat whereas I am afraid the people who support me will perceive me as uncaring, irresponsible, or just too lazy if I don't offer explanations when things go awry on my site or prepare them when there is a schedule change.
This train of thought reminds me that my kind of blog is less about being hugely entertaining or highly topical, and more about keeping in touch with my customers and, you know, reminding them that I actually give a shit about keeping them posted and letting them know I'm alive. Even if you don't have good news or exciting new enhancements to your site or a thrilling story to tell, if you're running a business and you have a blog you should FUCKING USE IT to let people know what to expect when they use your product. Even if you just post to say, "sorry that bug's still not fixed; we know you've been waiting for months to use the new Blogger but . . . ".
It truly cracks me up (in a depressing way) that honest business-people like myself get such a bad rap simply because we sell sex, yet we often operate our businesses with greater integrity, customer service, and respect for our consumers than mainstream business-people. Why is it that we sex workers are all considered morally bankrupt by society while so many mainstream businesses behave as complete sociopaths but are never leveled with the same kind of criticisms sex workers field in such broad, sweeping hyper-generalized ways?? I'm not saying the Blogger/Google people are sociopaths, I'm just saying that I can't imagine the kind of hate mail I'd get if I acted as careless and incommunicative towards my consumers as mainstream businesses do. But *I* as a dirty filthy pornographer am the one who has to pay higher payment processing fees and abide by stricter chargeback guidelines than mainstream businesses. As a pornographer you don't even get a chance to prove your integrity or business ethics -- it's automatically assumed that you're devoid of principles and operate with no moral compass and you're treated as such by the credit card companies and the government. Internet porn is "high risk". I'll bet Hipcast isn't considered a "high risk" enterprise, but they are the ones who'll probably get massive amounts of chargebacks simply because they failed for months to post any news for their customers about their progress on becoming compatible with Blogger.
To be fair there *are* a lot of porn paysite owners who have really helped us earn such a bad reputation, but I honestly think even if we could prove those people are a minority of, say, 1% that THEY would still be the standard by which the rest of us are judged.
Tonight we had bacon and eggs tonight while we watched one of my favorite TV shows, The First 48. It's on A&E, and I can't help wondering how bloody, dead and bloated murder-victim corpses represent "arts and entertainment". I mean, yeah -- it IS totally entertaining -- but so is my bloody cunt but I'm not allowed to get paid for using it for entertainment purposes (and certainly NOT on television during daytime hours, no less!) and it's actually attached to a living person who's not (yet) the victim of a brutal violent crime! I DON'T FUCKING GET IT.
LATEST SEX DREAM Which one of these people from Curb Your Enthusiasm do you think I had a wet sex dream about last night?
I doubt it will come as a shock to those of you who know me, but it was that "fat fuck" Jeff.
While I tend to get hot over chubby guys, I don't think I've ever consciously acknowledged my lust for Jeff. But last night I had a few sex dreams (one of them also involved Nathan Fillion after a very long slide down a spaceship/spacestation slide, red black and metal, miles of sliding on a tube) and the most fulfilling and enchanting had to do with Jeff.
Panties. I had many pairs of my favorite panties in hand, ones that I'd already worn a bit so some already had that good pussy smell on them. I also had an assortment of whore friends and I wanted to throw a little panty party with strange middle-aged men I randomly picked up and invited over, knowing they would appreciate the sexual nature of my play without actually pushing for SEX. Jeff was one of the attendees. I kissed him and kissed him and kissed him while he smiled, but alas, we never got to the panty part due to my dream taking an anxiety-riddled turn into car accidents. But I woke up wanting JEFF.
Where does a lust for this guy come from? Is it the way he's always so clean and tidy and fetchingly-clothed in Curb? Is it his submissive nature in the show? He's never grotesquely submissive in an attention-whoring squirmy manipulative way, but he's just so laid back even when Suzy is screaming that he's a fat fuck. Maybe that's what makes me so hot for him. Or maybe it's that someone who's THAT heavy probably isn't going to have the energy to fuck YOU, instead he'll just lay back and let you fuck HIM with a smile on his face. No pain, no ruthless pounding, complete control. At least, maybe that's the way I envision it in my horny subconscious mind.
Mmmmm . . . perhaps that more youthful pic reveals more of the attraction. Plus there's something about his voice I like, maybe there are traces of his Chicago history in it, or maybe it's just the slightly-wheezy squeezed voice of a fat fuck. I don't know. It makes me hot. I have a couple of other fat fuck crushes I've been meaning to blog about, so maybe it will all fall into place when I do that.
Note: if my use of the term "fat fuck" is offensive to you, allow me to point out its part of the show, Curb Your Enthusiasm (and if you haven't watched it, you damn well should). I was never a big Seinfeld fan, but Larry David of Curb? FAN I AM.
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 . . .
1. I don't like those blue m&m's. I liked the old seventies colors. Red looked so pretty with the two colors of brown. Blue is ALL WRONG.
2. I believe that space colonization will save humankind -- that ONLY space colonization CAN save us. It's not something I think about often so it's not like I'm revealing some bizarre secret of mine. Or wait, maybe I am. This is something I've believed for a long time, maybe because the space station was such a big deal when I was a kid. Still, it wasn't something I had any detailed exposure to -- it just slid into my belief system.
Why does this nugget of belief appeal to me? I don't know -- probably because science barely-fiction captured my imagination somehow from an early age. I'm not very literate in the sci-fi genre in general, but my dad bought enough graphic sci-fi stuff (a huge Buck Rogers collection in giant-book form which I never read, but leafed through every so often, a couple of captivating books with spaceship blueprints, and a subscription to Omni) that it wiggled into my consciousness as something real. Star Wars was the first movie I remember seeing, and that in a drive-in theater with my dad after a fight with my mom so it made a big impression on me. I didn't study or immerse myself in science, science fiction, or technology but I saw and read enough that was so beautiful, believable, provocative and richly detailed that it planted seeds in my brain.
Maybe that's why I didn't like Star Trek: not very beautiful, believable, or richly detailed. My first exposure to Star Trek was the original series during reruns and I was too little to understand its provocative content, only to recognize its visual inferiority to Star Wars and the other pictures I saw. The only thing I liked about the original series were the short dresses on the hot chicks. Of course, in the past couple of years I've become a Next Gen fan but it didn't contribute to the formation of my belief system, only reinforced it.
I think space colonization is part of my faith; I have faith that a few smart, persistent, creative people will save us and we will endure thanks to scientists and technology. When I say "we" I don't mean "I" since I believe this will happen after I'm dead and gone, but not by much. The idea of space colonization comforts me even though it's completely irrelevant to my life and even though it will be fraught with tragedies and scary things.
I suppose I like knowing that the struggle will go on and that there are new frontiers to explore. Or maybe it comforts me to imagine that people in general won't become too much more advanced than I had a chance to be any time soon. I can't believe Firefly only lasted one motherfucking season because that show perfectly captured what I think a lot of us imagine as the not-so-distant future of humankind.
Honestly, I don't spend a lot of time specifically thinking about space colonization as a cornerstone of my belief system. I have, however, spent quite a bit of time over the past few years reflecting on science fiction in general as the best contemporary vehicle for exploring spiritual, moral, and ethical issues. Science fiction is one of the most authentic ways I feel like I can "get religion". It's not fixed or as dogmatic as science itself so there is still room for faith (and when I say "faith" I mean faith in something -- ANYTHING -- wiggly and uncertain, not faith in any of the gods of religions we're so familiar with today), and it's not completely insane or irrational (again, like so many of the religions we're familiar with today). There's room for soaring idealism in science fiction, and for bitter cynical social commentary. I love it.
Anyway, even though I don't give daily deep thought to space colonization, I guess I do feel pretty anxious about this planet and sad about what we're doing to it. The amount of destruction I've seen in my short life, and the carelessness people have towards the "environment" leads me to believe (another part of my faith) that we aren't going to be able to live here naturally much longer without lots of artificial intervention. Much of what is most beautiful will be utterly fucking destroyed -- any of it that's saved will be via small-scale Jurassic Park type measures.
I didn't grow up in a city. Many days I actually got to wade in creeks, see big trees, smell clean air, enjoy darkness at night, have complete privacy/solitude . . . things like that. I've spent all of my thirty three years loving ferns and moss and the smell of rotting wood.
I didn't grow up in a city, but I grew up close enough to the city of Seattle to see major MAJOR changes in western Washington every single year for the past thirty-three. It's nothing against cities, because I love those too, but we are mowing good things down and paving over it so fast and furiously and on such grand scale that you have to have your head stuffed straight up your cornucopian ass to not recognize that we're shitting all over the planet; it cannot sustain these levels of "growth" and resource-rape. I wasn't raised to be an "environmentalist"; my grandpa was a logger and most people I knew were pretty conservative and hostile towards "tree-huggers". Really, my sentiments are fueled only by the gift of sight -- you have to be fucking blind to not see the destruction and life out of balance.
So. I guess I comfort myself with the fact that science will create new wonders, preserve and transplant some old ones, and life will go on. It really breaks my heart, though, imagining the world introduced to my nephew (or my own children if I ever have any) and trying to show them as many things as possible before they're bulldozed down. If my own lifetime has been marred by observable decimation of natural resources and beauty I can only imagine how depressingly ugly and destructive the world will become over the next three generations. And hey, it's not all about "nature" -- privacy and solitude are becoming relics of the past (or at least luxuries only the very richest of the rich can afford). If I ever have grandchildren I'm pretty certain their notion of these concepts (privacy and solitude) will be reduced to tiny fragments of what they should be.
It makes me fucking shudder, but I thank my lucky fucking stars to be alive in this time and place rather than somewhere else, or sometime long ago, or sometime in the near future. That brings me back to faith; who or what should I "thank"? Science fiction hasn't answered that question for me yet so sometimes I fall back on the old-fashioned stuff because really, I do need to give thanks even if it's primitive, superstitious and nonsensical.
We're leaving this afternoon for a two night shooting spree in a local hotel. Sadly, it's not wired for internet access, so you won't be seeing much excitement on our cams for the next couple of days. Maybe you'll catch the dog doing something interesting or spot us checking on her or our email during frequent trips home to let her go pee, etc.
I hope to write more pithy blog entries upon our return now that I am completely saturated with television. I had a nasty dream about Flava Flav last night involving his teeth which were actually three elaborate sets of dentures. Everyone was playing basketball at some rapper's house when Flav decided to show me his teeth since I accidentally pitched a ball at his face, potentially harming his "teeth".
The first row was an intimidating row of predatorial metal jaws which he was able to lift out to reveal a startling inch-thick set of thick white falsies (sort of like game tiles or white dominos). Upon removal of the white ones there was a hideous rotten brown forest of brown stumps and decay like wet cardboard.
Watching MTV (and most specifically MTV Cribs) brought this sordid nightmare upon me and I think I need to pull myself away from the tube if I'm to avoid my brain being invaded by these grotesque visions. So. More good blogging, less tv-watching.
DIVERSIONS Tucker hooked up our television antenna today so we could watch the Superbowl (and so I could supply myself with new and disgusting bits of pop culture to mortify, shock and offend my own old-fashioned ideals). What the fuck is up with that disgusting Jessica Simpson Pizza Slut popper commercial where she suggestively "pops" the adolescent boy? What the fuck!?! Would they make a commercial like that featuring an adult male "popping" a twelve year old girl? It really got me in a lather.
The hypocrisy in our culture sickens me; it's totally okay when a mainstream corporation colludes with broadcasters to air sexually suggestive advertisements on a Sunday afternoon depicting pedo relationships between goody-two-shoes Republican whores and little boys, but the FBI and Department of Justice censor, destroy and criminalize businesses that clearly label the same fantasies (even presented only in text format) as pornography. Every time I turn on the television I am bombarded with whores of all types peddling their wares and exposed to all kinds of pornography, and yet it's only the honest whores and smut peddlers like myself who call a spade a spade who are considered criminals.
I felt a little guilty watching football today and couldn't stop thinking about what Noam Chomsky says about sports. That they are served up to us to fill our heads with irrelevant bullshit and divert our attention from absorbing and processing news and information that really MATTER in life-altering ways. I also can't help wondering how these whores on the field, these men who are destroying their bodies doing nothing of more (or even equal) genuine import than a janitor or a garbage man or a paralegal or a streetwalker does -- these athletes are presented to us as virtuous noblemen, celebrities (people to be "celebrated"), patriots, heroes, icons, and role models. Some of these men do not even choose (or know how) to put their baseball caps on straight!! But we've all helped create (or consented to the creation of) this $213 billion sports industry elevating these completely inane games to epic proportions.
Think about it: the sports industry is worth "far more than twice the size of the U.S. auto industry and seven times the size of the movie industry." Just the sports INJURY industry alone is worth over ten billion dollars!!! We pay to watch them get hurt, and then the doctors get paid to fix them. Go go gladiators!! Tell me again how prostitution is illegal for the protection of women. If we're so concerned about people's bodies, why are sports legal if they result in these kinds of injuries? If we can mass-consume sports injuries (and yes, I love watching a man writhing in pain on the field or punch-drunk in the boxing ring) and heroize the players for taking the battering ram like men, it seems like we could legalize prostitution (which would only make it SAFER for us). The obvious answer is that we really don't give a flying FUCK about women's bodies OR men's bodies; when it comes to good clean sportin' entertainment and fuel for our SUV's we're more than happy to let the body parts fall where they may. We keep prostitution illegal because we'd rather see scores of whores killed than actually allow that women should be able to safely charge access fees to their bodies and be protected in doing so the way any other low skill capitalist athlete is allowed to do. It's so funny the way sports programs are seen as brilliant opportunities for underprivileged youth and how the boys who make it out of the ghetto to go onto BIG SPORTS INJURIES (or exciting military careers and possible death!) are jolly success stories; I'm not suggesting after-school streetwalking programs, but there's definitely a weird double standard.
I don't like agreeing with theories that say we're a bunch of mind-numbed pawns in some enormous brainwashing conspiracy, but when I look at those statistics that say that even the STORIES we want to be told on film are of less importance than sports I have to agree that the powers that be are undoubtedly very VERY happy we are so busy consuming, both financially and intellectually, these ridiculously trivial GAMES.
Another thing that gets my goat is the culture theft. The way that the football people can buy off Dr. Seuss' money-grubbing traitorous widow into letting them turn one of his stories into a pro-Super Bowl poem read by fucking Harrison Ford, but they won't let bars advertise "Super Bowl" parties because the NFL doesn't want to tarnish their image (or let anyone capitalize off of their game who doesn't PAY for the privilege of uttering the sanctified game name). Seriously, the NFL has sent people cease and desist letters for violating their copyright (thanks Doc Holly for the tip on that).
It INFURIATES me when corporations infiltrate our lives and weave themselves into the thread of our culture and then try to govern and control and profit off of every single mention of their precious fucking names. Either you want to be embraced by society or you don't. Either you want free advertising or you don't. We shouldn't have to PAY you a licensing fee for barging into our lives and making us like you, even if we then make money off of the way you've foisted yourselves into our homes and businesses.
Speaking of culture theft, if you care about this issue at all or are simply curious, check out WillfulInfringement.com.
On a more personal level, I resent seeing athletes portrayed as noble heroes and role models when they are just well paid whores who get the best surgeries possible when their pimps push them to blow out their knees, rip their groins, and dislocate their limbs. It's not that I resent the athletes themselves or that I am "jealous" of them or that I don't think they deserve good treatment, I just think it's really "funny" that real whores aren't allowed even a trifling of that kind of respect and we're really doing extremely similar jobs, we whores and athletes. In truth, the athletes are the ones who are participating in a much more evil scheme that doesn't even bother to meet any basic needs the way prostitutes do (and if you listen to Noam Chomsky, sports actually suppresses our drive and ability to take care of ourselves and act human because it's not participatory; we're only passively WATCHING the competition rather than engaging in it).
I hate demonizing an entire industry and everyone in it -- I really am NOT trying to say that I want athletes to be paid less. I am NOT trying to say that I think Paul Allen is part of a plot to make all of us stupid sports-watching zombies via his ownership of the Seahawks. I'm not trying to say that. I'm just saying that if the sports industry can have all of that, why can't sex workers and pornographers have ANYTHING? And if mainstream media can shove violence and sex down everyone's throats on television to sell everything from pesticides to war to hormone-riddled milk to burgers made of cow eyeballs to gas-guzzling suburban tanks to alcohol, why can't I sell my own motherfucking body if I want to? I don't understand how all the sweet Mommies in our country think *I* am the enemy and thief of their children's innocence with my porn website, but twelve beer commercials (plus more subtle advertisements like their Daddy drinking and driving the family home from the stadium) during a football game are a matter of American pride. Again, it's not exactly that I think all alcohol commercials should be pulled (and it's certainly not that I think pornography should be advertised during a football game). I'm just sick of the scapegoating and the overall stupidity.
But hey, I'm part of it too. I drank beer, I ate chips, and I wasted about five hours waiting for "my" team to lose. And I felt angry at the referees and full of certainty that they were against "us". And I understand how that is so much easier for a country to swallow than thinking about the bad calls our "president" has made and how he and his cronies are buttfucking almost all of us as hard as they can.
I'm 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.
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Actually I guess it's hard to see those long, soft, downy brown hairs that adorn my asscrack unless you actually join my site for the high-res views.
Part of me feels compelled to stop publishing explicit nudes (like the one above) in free areas of my websites. But MOST of me feels compelled to keep it out there, mostly because I DO NOT THINK IT IS OBSCENE or damaging for anyone to see it. If you're a long time reader you may remember that I have very little concern for respecting people's "work safe" boundaries because if it's okay for an employee to be wasting time reading blogs, it should be okay to see my hairy fucking crack (my point being that it's WASTING TIME at work that should be the issue, not HOW you're wasting it).
Another reason I resist posting only censored or non-nude stuff in my free areas is that when I look at one picture at a time, I don't necessarily see them as pornographic. Even that picture of the guy licking his own cockhead. Frankly, they all have more redeeming and artistic value than most of the images I see in mainstream media.
Don't get me wrong, I do not have an entirely liberal view of what should be broadcast on tv and on the airwaves. I actually have very conservative standards for what should be seen and heard on tv: I for one thought the WHOLE infamous Janet Jackson superbowl display was obscenely inappropriate and the nipple expose was just the frosting on the inappropriate cake. There are standards on television that we have grown up with and they deliberately chose to flout those standards. It's not that I think the sight of a bare breast is "damaging" to children (or anybody); I don't. The preceding Kid Rock song was inappropriate and I just think it's unacceptable for people to choreograph a dance with a theme of sexual victimization and forced exposure, then bare a breast, all with the knowledge of a) the accepted standards on television which do not permit nudity, and b) the mid-day family audience viewing the superbowl. My problem is not with breasts, it's with the flagrant disregard for accepted standards and the audience of families. It wasn't just a titty, it was the context and the WAY it was exposed (ripping off her clothes in a rape-like scenario).
The other day we watched the third season finale of Alias (warning: spoiler ahead). I've enjoyed the show a ton in spite of the fact that almost all of the women in the series play the role of the stereotypical deceptive, traitorous, duplicitous Eve but with this finale, I fucking lost it. Vaughan, the male love interest and one of the main protagonists in the series, is advised by Jack (another prominent male protagonist) to KILL HIS WIFE to "get closure" after it turns out she's a double agent for the bad guys. Vaughan takes Jack's advise, hunts down his wife, hangs her by her wrists in a warehouse where she begs, cries, and pleads for her life, while he details his plans to "erase" her with hydrochloric acid.
This is a show on network television, okay? I think they have it rated PG-14 or some wacky tv thing like that. There are a lot of things on the show I object to (the characterization of women, the preoccupation with marital fidelity/monogamy, etc.) and it's EXCESSIVELY violent (a torture scene in practically every episode) but hey, I've enjoyed the hell out of it anyway but this just took it WAY too far. For me, the episode I'm talking about above was more offensive to me than porn, even humiliation porn. If it's okay for a 14 year old to watch that scene, frankly I don't know how anyone can bitch about the same kid seeing a plumbing shot on the web.
I guess what it boils down to is that I recognize there are (and should be) different standards for television and the internet, as there are different standards for mainstream entertainment and porn. There are different expectations for what you will encounter, there are different levels of belief and disbelief that viewers or surfers bring to the experience, and there are different tools for tailoring your experience to your own comfort level. What *I* see is that television and radio trespass on people's expectations and mow over standards of decency much more often than the internet does. Maybe I'm getting too abstract for anyone to follow me now and too tired to make a persuasive argument for my opinions so I'll just leave it at that; my opinion is that my and my boyfriend's naked bods on the internet are appropriate as presented, while much of what I see in mainstream media is dangerously INappropriate. That reminds me, did anyone see that Dianne Sawyer (sp) special on women in prison??? Talk about pornography!!! Talk about exploitation!!! Sheesh!! Oh, I did love every minute of it, but as long as a little warning after the commercial break about "graphic language ahead" is sufficient on television (which does NOTHING to warn people who are channel surfing), then I think my sites' warnings are sufficient (although I'll soon be labelling all of them to insure people using filters will never see them if they don't want to).
Again, maybe my problem is just that I am too old (see Justin Timberlake entry from earlier today) and am applying my old-fashioned standards to the media. Not sure.