My name is Trixie (aka TastyTrixie). The Wandering WebWhore is my personal blog. I'm a 30-something indie pornographer whose journal covers a variety of topics: mundane daily life, work-related reflection, sex stuff, current events, and more.
My sister came over this weekend with our nephews to spend a couple of nights. I figured we'd still be able to get work done when they went out on Saturday for a community event, which of course I would NOT go to. Because work is SO much more important, sitting here in front of the computer, working while I can literally feel the muscles and skin and hold-it-together-stuff in my thighs and ass breaking down into gobs of useless jello while I workworkwork.
But when my three year old nephew looked at me and asked in that hopeful and slightly anxiety-riddled voice if I was coming WITH them to the fair, I COULD NOT SAY NO. Even though I got about four hours less sleep than I usually do, waking up at 6:30ish which is unheard of for me (yeah, I know, you're like, "cry me a river" but I also often stay up working until midnight, one, two am . . . anyway).
So I put some clothes on and we went and immediately I was glad I came with them when I heard the band warming up. A very filled-out community marching-type of band! We got there just in time and everything turned to magic for me, because it's all about the kids and the music and being able to walk around the people playing their instruments and look at them from all angles and point to all of it, naming the instruments and using my Excited Kindergarten Teacher Voice! I have one of those, believe it or not, that comes very naturally to me.
We got behind the band, next to the lady drummers, and I picked him up so he could see the conductor, and I marched and danced and swayed with him in my arms to Sousa marches and Blue Moon. They were old people and little kids and a bagpiper a block away and I remembered how much I love being around regular people making music, how vital it is to dance and make noise.
I love doing new or not-done-lately things that make my body make sense. There are lots of those things: running really fast when you're in decent shape and feeling yourself turn into an almost-flying machine, fucking, getting massages . . . and holding a baby or a child. Everything that's soft and loose and floppy about me makes perfect SENSE. I felt so grounded and connected, and so sad when Mr. Squishypants was too shy to try to hula hoop on the street in front of everyone, but because I was an auntie on an excursion with them I didn't exist the way I would have if we'd gone there alone, so *I* hooped and finally got to feel exactly how awesome those weighted hula hoops I've been coveting are.
Because I'm not used to picking up and holding anything heavier than the stupid ideas in my head, I went to bed last night with sore, cramping arms and a feeling in my torso like the rocking sensation when you get off a boat after a day of sailing; I could still feel baby Skywalker snuffling against and squirming and pawing at my chest, the embodiment of the word "dimples", like a round gelatinous ghost-bubble encasing the IDEA of grinning-baby-kicking-in-shallow-bath and cute-baby-kittens-at-play was against me.
On the same day as all the fun, we also had some crazy stuff happen. Our dog got all tangled up and stuck on her rope down the hill IN THE MIDDLE OF A YELLOW JACKET'S NEST. It was crazy-scary and I'm so glad it wasn't worse AND that my sister was here to help. Poor Mr. Squish was semi-traumatized by all the hubbub with us telling him to STAY INSIDE AND NOT MOVE while we ran around like crazy with the bees swarming in in clouds. It was horrifying seeing our dog trying to get away from them, not able to let her into the house while they stung and stung and stung her around the muzzle. I'm really surprised that Delia, who rescued the dog, didn't get it worse (amazingly, no stings on her face or neck, but her arm is swollen up and we won't be shooting pics of her ass until the stings she got there are gone).
Later, while we waited for a parade, a guy came down the street trying to get signatures for a petition (which I doubt will do any good) for the public insurance option. An asshole next to us got up in the guy's face about it, and my sister (who is a nurse) in turn got up in HIS face. So we spent about twenty minutes doing our civic duty, fighting with this stranger. While we ganged up on him, tears welled up in poor Mr. Squishypants' eyes just from watching the angry exchange.
It probably was all for nothing, but I hope we gave that guy something to think about.
For the record, even though I voted for him I never thought Obama would do anything to fix health care. I still don't, and suspect whatever half-assed efforts are made will only be counterproductive to eventually getting real universal health care in this country. And no, I don't want to have a big argument about it in the comments, thank you very much. But here's a news flash: EVERYONE NEEDS HEALTH CARE, and "insurance" isn't an effective way of taking care of people's basic health care needs. And personally? I believe EVERYBODY deserves quality health care and that it's inexcusable for a wealthy country like ours not to make sure EVERYBODY has it. A non-profit public insurance plan isn't my idea of the perfect solution, but I do think it's better than nothing. I don't think the way they're trying to go about it is equitable, but whatever.
As happy as I am to see my sister and the kids, I'm always relieved (though sad) to see them go.
We're now going back to normal, logging all our spycams back in (we pretty much only have our office cams up when they're here), turning the audio back on, and, as usual, wishing we all lived closer so I could get smaller doses of that on a more regular basis. I need to do some push-ups so I'm stronger next time, because our nephews are only going to get bigger and I want to be able to dance with them in my arms and pick them up and cuddle them as long as possible.
The other day I treated myself to a trip to the spa as a reward for being 33% of the way to my June 1st weight loss goal. I decided to get a body wrap for health reasons (it helps you detox) and out of curiosity since I'd never done it.
I knew going into it that I *might* really hate being wrapped up like a mummy and mostly-immobilized for forty minutes, but I also knew I *might* really enjoy it and, at the very least, could endure it without feeling as though I'd been placed in a straitjacket.
By the time my appointment rolled around at 4 pm I'd been soaking, sweating, reading, and steaming at the spa since 10 am (I should've made my body wrap & massage appointment beforehand but was afraid to in case I couldn't figure out how to pay for it or wanted to do something else instead so 4 pm was the earliest they could get me in) and was GIDDY with anticipation.
The girl explained what was in the mud (mugwort, seaweed and a bunch of other stuff I can't recall), instructed me to disrobe and sit on the massage table (on top of a sheet of plastic on top of a metallic emergency blanket on top of MORE blankets) with my back to her. She warned me to expect the mud to be fairly "warm" because it cools off so quickly, then she started slathering hot goop on my shoulders, back, and arms. She had me lie down after that so she could apply it to the rest of my body. Right before she smeared it on my boobs, she prepared me to anticipate the touch in a nursey-kindergarten voice: I'll just apply some to your breasts now . . . (circle, circle).
After she got it all over me except RIGHT between my legs, the soles of my feet and my face, she closed the plastic around me, then the reflective blanket, then the other blankets and towels until I was thoroughly cocooned with only my head sticking out. She asked if I wanted a pillow or for her to bring water or tea when she came back to check on me in ten minutes. Then she turned out the lights (as I requested) and left me alone in the dark, unable to move. AND TRAPPED WITH A TERRIBLE CD OF ROMANTIC/NEW-AGEY GUITAR MUSIC CRAP.
The first ten minutes were pleasant (except for the hideous music). I didn't even attempt to move, afraid I would make myself itchy and be unable to scratch myself. I could see how easily I could become panicked if the slightest carnival-ride twist had been added to it (it WAS April Fool's Day, after all). Like if she'd laughed maniacally before she left and I could hear the door being locked from the outside. Or if weird scrubby things began to descend from the ceiling towards me. Or if the walls just started shrinking inwards. I kept my eyes closed JUST IN CASE so I wouldn't have to see anything like that happening. Or if a man with a bunch of surgical tools were to simply walk in, bend over my face and start whispering at me you can't move you can't move you can't get away from me or my tools! and just put his hands heavily on my chest.
So yeah . . . this might help explain to you PART of why I'm not interested in being bound. Because it would be way too fucking easy for someone to scare me psycho. I can happily lie motionless for hours, but FORCE me to -- restrict my mobility -- and I might freak the fuck out. Part of me can appreciate the appeal, imagine experimenting with it under very specific conditions, and be tempted by the psychological challenge of it and another part of me just thinks the (psychological) risk is not at all worth the scariness. I feel the same way about LSD. It sounds really interesting but I think I might be a little too vulnerable to bad side effects. The body wrap at the women-only spa is about as far as I can go.
One time I did let someone bind my hands behind my back with his leather belt (a natural outgrowth to him of my spanking and man's-leather-belt fetish, but to me it was just not the direction I was interested in going once I was face down on his bed -- it was crazily exciting, but the fear of having my arms locked behind me that way and of him possibly being able to put his weight on me and smother me was just too fucking freaky for me and I begged for mercy so it didn't last long. I was far more interested in being whipped with the belt (but not to the point of bruising or bleeding), but he wasn't so much into that so that little experiment didn't last very long. I know that some of you are thinking I just didn't do it with the RIGHT person, someone I TRUST. But the point is a) my imagination doesn't trust ANYBODY, and b) testing my boundaries on this is NOT as important to me as preserving them. For a whole lot of reasons. Thinking about it is provocative, but I am (and always have been) more interested in having force applied to me in a psychological way (and even more so applying it to others) in ridiculous role plays. I like being bound by RULES and structure. I like things that happen inside my HEAD way more than things that happen to my body. Or maybe I'm just lazy. I don't know. Woops. Now that I've written this I can recall a few different instances where I've been bound in different ways and liked it. Hmmmm . . . still, not exactly my "thing".
Back to the spa.
The first time the girl came in to check on me she brought me tea with a straw that she lowered to my mouth. I wasn't prepared for it and giggled because THAT is totally hot to me, being treated like an invalid. I wasn't prepared and dribbled tea down the side of my face, then I got her to change the CD to a variety of new agey music I enjoy -- Shamanic Dreams or something like that. She asked if the level of heat was okay (yes - warm and cozy) and again if I wanted a pillow (this time? yes).
When she left I decided to try to sleep since I'd only gotten three hours the night before. And sleep I did, for a few minutes. Let me tell you, it was NOT pleasant waking up mummified, sweating like a pig in a strange dark room with weird pagan drum music going on. I decided not to go to sleep again and couldn't wait for her to come back. When she did I asked for the heat to be turned down. She did, and blotted the sweat from my forehead and cheeks with a cool cloth (yummmmm . . . more pampered-invalid feelings). I wanted to ask her if anybody had ever lost control of their bowels while getting a wrap but decided against it, fearing she'd think I was planning something disgusting. Still, the thought was entertaining. I know SOMEONE, somewhere has done that on accident or on purpose, and I'd really love to hear about it.
Note: I'm far more likely to experiment with and enjoy shitting in a warm, plastic-wrapped bed than with being tied up. Just an FYI. I don't PLAN on doing either, but a warm bed of crap seriously sounds more fun to me than letting someone tie me up. Maybe I'm just a loner with a short attention span, though, and wallowing in my own poop is an experience I could live fully in five to ten minutes by myself whereas the whole bondage scene requires time and at least one other person. I guess there are some things I could do to myself, but again, I'm too lazy and disinterested for that. Plus, scat is just a whole lot edgier than bondage and I like the idea of being able to make people think by gleefully confessing I've shat myself for the pure, HAMRLESS fun of it. It's stupid, but poop is so much more taboo (and illegal/obscene) than bondage these days. Again, I HAVE NO PLANS TO DO THAT. I'm just comparing/contrasting. For fun.
Anyway, I survived the last twenty minutes without losing my mind, going back and forth between feeling blissed-out and on-the-verge of screaming, "GET ME THE FUCK OUT OF HERE!!!" I kept reminding myself of what good "exercise" it was for me and how much healthier I'd be afterwards. I worried that I'd be so sick of lying there that I wouldn't enjoy my massage afterwards (but it actually worked the other way, made the massage seem longer and way better). Basically I endured the procedure a little bit more than I enjoyed it. If I get a body wrap again I will definitely bring my own cd with guided meditations or something so my mind won't wander to torture scenes.
Finally she came in to unwrap me and I went down the hall naked to the shower with the glass-door making my clean-up efforts visible to anyone who walked by. I decided to pee in the shower instead of wasting my massage time putting on a robe and traipsing down to the restroom, but I worried about it, wondering how many other people do/don't pee in the post-wrap shower, worrying that there'd be some way they'd know I did and would talk about that disgusting customer with the long toenails who peed in the shower. Silly fears, but still. I have them. Which goes to show you just how very VERY far away I am from ever pooping in a plastic-wrap cocoon.
After the anxiety of the day BEFORE the spa and the super-extended stay I had there, I was in recovery mode all day yesterday, totally drained and exhausted and verging on a big fat headache. If you've never gotten body work, steamed, soaked, detoxed, etc. then you probably thing I sound like a fucking crybaby asshole, complaining about how TIRED I am after spending a day doing something that sounds like pure luxury to most Americans but that shit is MEDICINE. My throat and eyes burn after all the gunk inside me is dislodged and stirred up and swirled around and sucked out. It feels like preparation to go into hibernation, like the final step in this cleansing/healing process is to go into an induced coma for two days.
The spa experience is totally my cup of tea, though. The front desk lady seemed to think I was crazy for wanting to stay there for more than eight hours, but since I go so rarely it hardly seems excessive. It takes me awhile to really turn my brain off and melt into it, so that cuts down on the time I'm really benefiting from it, but it's exactly my idea of the perfect mini-vacation. Alone, not talking to anybody, with scads of naked ladies walking around, walking from one hot room to another, from one pool to another, being ministered to by talented, paid hands, smelling good things, and trying to become invisible to myself.
Yesterday we did a bunch of housecleaning with special attention on two of our most important rooms: our bedroom and the parlor where we do all of our indoor-exercising and sun-catching. After a week of smelling not-so-fresh places (the thrift stores, our van, the smokey-smelling motel room with the "no smoking" sign) it feels so good to be able to walk through our house and have it smell like lavender and other fresh things.
All I want to do is walk around in our house, picking stuff up, folding laundry, stretching, lighting candles, and daydreaming. That's not all I *have* done, but that's how I feel. Like right now I want to take a small container of polished rocks into bed and just pass them back and forth with Delia, inspecting their colors and feeling their contours, holding them up to lamplight, listening to dorky new age music.
I feel great. Maybe it's the four anti-inflammatories I took for my period cramps today. I don't know. But it's pretty fucking rad. Maybe it was the sunshine we had the past couple of days and the exercise we got with it shining on us. Maybe it was being able to get work done even while I had to spend time on hold with the phone company. Maybe it's all of the clarifying and focusing I've been doing lately.
If I didn't know any better, I'd think maybe I'd been hitting one of these sweet pussy pipes too hard. Or not. Since 40% of the few times I've smoked it's given me major anxiety attacks. Yes, few enough that I could count each of them and calculate the percentage. And right now I feel nothing but peace.
Bloggers and webwhores around the world are making "year in review" posts right now. I'm not very good at instantly recalling and ranking The Most Important Things That Happened Last Year (seriously, I'm not even capable of ordering food in a drive-through -- something every other moron in America is MORE than competent at). I do feel really excited about 2009, though. It's like the past four months have been a slow, gradual process of skill-building, cleaning-up, clarifying and prioritizing to prepare for a great new year/rest-of-my-life.
Before I sum up my too-personal stuff, here's a picture of me from way back in February of 2002, before my members-only area opened, right around the time I met "my houseboy" before she became Delia:
And photos from a couple of my favorite shoots this year:
Probably the most important thing that happened in 2008 was we both started going to twelve step meetings. If I just said, "the most important thing that happened in 2008 was Delia stopped drinking" it might make more sense to people, but that really isn't the most important thing that happened. The most important thing for me (and equally important for our relationship) is that when she stopped drinking this time AND started going to meetings, I had to start getting my OWN shit together instead of thinking things were just hard because of her alcoholism. I sort of thought everything was perfect before EXCEPT for her drinking, but the month after she stopped? It totally wasn't perfect, because I had a complete meltdown. Obviously I know *I* am not perfect and I know a lot of the ways I'm an asshole (and will continue to be no matter how hard I sometimes try to stop being), but I really didn't have a plan or consistently work towards or ask for any help being a better, happier, healthier, nicer person. Working and worrying about other people (what they're THINKING, what they're DOING, what they EXPECT from me, how I think they're so fucking WRONG/fucked up, etc.) were my top priorities. I didn't really accept that me being a crazy asshole was/is my absolute biggest problem.
They seem like a simple concepts to apply to life -- just worry about your OWN shit, don't try to control anyone/thing except yourself -- but no matter how much I know those things on a rational level, applying them on a daily basis is a struggle and going to meetings helps me with that in a way nothing else ever has before.
Getting back on Ritalin has helped a lot, too. Another thing that's helping is making exercising a priority -- on December 5th I moved "exercising" to the top of my to-do list. I've exercised 21 days out of the past 29 (walking, dancing, stretching, DDRing, pilates, etc.). I need to keep reminding myself that my health is a bigger priority than work -- that taking care of myself IS my job and the foundation of doing everything else better. And being less of a crazy asshole.
This year when I filed our 2007 taxes (late, in October) I also had to face that we didn't meet our money goals in 2008; like, our sales were almost exactly the same as in 2007 when my goal was to double it (not as insane as it sounds, especially given our growth rate in years past). It's not that I'm not thankful -- I know that lots of people made LESS money in 2008 than 2007 -- but there's really no excuse for us not to be making more money. Yes, it's hard. But it's at the point now where we really NEED to, and that challenge/brink-of-disaster is good for me because it focuses me. I've been pushing everything to the sidelines that is not an efficient way of meeting our sales goals and promising myself not to pick those things up again until our goals are met and I can *justify* doing all those extra things and have the *resources* to do them well.
We also tried harder in 2008 to take days off. We didn't succeed in doing that consistently/regularly, so I should make that a resolution for this year. In general 2008 taught me that I can do more work better by not trying to do so MUCH of it and by working on improving myself.
In between meetings, exercise, Ritalin, fewer goals in my field of vision/better priorities, I felt really good about taking down the 2008 calendar and hanging up 2009. Everything feels like it's falling into place and I feel more patient about the time that's taking than I ever have before, and massively excited about the way Delia's and my relationship with each other is evolving and deepening -- our need to spend non-work time with each other and making/hearing music, fucking, laughing, kissing, talking, cleaning house, playing games, etc. is another huge motivator to push other stuff off the table so we can just ENJOY each other.
I am still going to be an asshole in 2009, but I will be a healthier asshole with a more flexible pucker. I know I won't STOP blowing hot, rank air but I will concentrate on cooling it down and remind myself to focus on cleaning myself up from the inside out to reduce my stench. I will be a more kissable asshole in 2009, and if all goes well perhaps I will be wiping myself with money by the time 2010 rolls around.
Let me toss some tgirl-on-tgirl porn at you before I get all personal and diary-ish(click for free pics & sample vid):
This is my favorite photo in the samples and in general that whole shoot was really hot to watch, plus I love that the resulting porn is both explicit and very sensual. I need to work on my skills as a photographer shooting people other than Delia, though. With Mandy and AmberLily I didn't do a good job of stopping them and asking them to hold "poses", so as a result there were lots of blurry and awkward shots -- good ones, too, but could've been better. We're still getting used to our new camera which is FAST, but since we don't shoot with a flash or a lot of light we still have to MODEL semi-slowly even though it's tempting when you hear the shutter flying along to dance fluidly along.
Life is good -- there are lots of things going on with me which are mostly connected with making a concerted effort to have LESS things going on and focus on a few high priority things. Right now my personal priorities are:
-exercising consistently (today will be five days in a row) -eating less sugar and starches -going to twelve step meetings & getting healthier emotionally and spiritually -cutting back on a few things to make room for a) making money more efficiently and b) doing more things that I love
The past couple of years my body has become more and more of a challenge for me to feel good about, mostly because I never got into the habit of taking care of it except for getting enough sleep. With the added pressure (and wake-up-calls) of trying to get pregnant but not being able to, it's gotten to the point where I feel really shitty with a litany of symptoms and complaints and hypochondriac fantasies. Long story short, I need to put myself and my health first before everything (and everybody) else.
A lot of times I sacrifice my own needs and desires to work which really is stupid because I can't *do* this kind of work very well when my body feels like shit and I don't provide myself with pleasure on all levels. I can barely stand to look at myself which is, ummm, pretty counterproductive for shooting porn (and editing/posting/selling it myself where I have to look at myself and love myself to do a good job). It's not that everything looks shitty, but seriously -- it's not only difficult for me to bend over to tie my shoes these days, it's PHYSICALLY PAINFUL. My guts fucking hurt.
Before people rush to simple judgments like, "duh! That's what happens when you sit on your ass all day", etc. let me offer a little perspective and extend some leniency to myself; there are definitely some hormonal problems contributing to my issues (all of the thyroid / infertility / depression / migraine / too-much-testosterone stuff and more all connected in a which-came-first/chicken-egg circle of insanity) plus the stuff we've been going through with alcoholism that no one has really been aware of or how it's been effecting us; *I* haven't even been aware of how much of my energy was going into trying to cope with it.
One of the unexpected bonuses of Delia getting sober is that I got to enter recovery too. Only I totally didn't anticipate how hard it would be or that I would totally fucking freak out (which I did, surprisingly, really fall-the-fuck apart the first month and couldn't really understand why when I thought I would just feel relieved and everything would be bliss and perfection). Now that Delia is sober and I'm not constantly thinking about her and trying to control her drinking, I'm left with the way bigger, scarier challenge and problem of mySELF and my own fucked-upedness. Patterns of behavior and sickness that I had before Delia and I ever even met.
I feel really optimistic, excited and fortunate right now, but I also feel like I need a lot of space and time and patience to get healthy in more ways than one. It takes more than a week or a month or three months or a year to feel relief, to figure out what to change (and what IS changing whether you want it to or not), to adapt, and to grow into new ways of doing things. I'm kind of tired and have a lot of stuff to process and let go of so just mending my body, our relationship and going to meetings right now is enough to keep me very occupied. I'd say that I'm sorry I don't have more left over to spread around and to keep doing all the things I was trying to do, but I'm not sorry. I'm happy to be focused on what's important.
Note: I'm leaving comments open for people who want to remark on the Delia & Mandy shoot or those who have their own personal sharing/relating on the subjects I talked about, but I usually do not feel helped by comments containing unsolicited advice, analysis of me/us/our lives and/or criticism even when I know they're well-intentioned.
After having family stay with us for a few days, I usually feel like I need a day off to myself to recover from the energy kicked up from so many people around me. During this visit, however, I kept retreating to WebWhore Headquarters (that's what I call my home office) for a couple hours here and there, allowing myself to WORK to relax.
Instead of picking work that I really *need* to do that's high priority for making money, I allowed myself to work on low-priority stuff that's fun and not complex or stressful (except for feeling guilty for not doing more important things) and requires no interaction with other people. Stuff that's compact, like blogging and posting one-pagers on domains I've had for a long time that have been sitting, completely BLANK. My thought is that anything I accomplish is a bonus since I should be taking time off from work while family is here for our late-Thanksgiving so I should do something totally relaxing instead of tangling with bigger projects.
Here are some of the one-pagers I've made over the past week or two:
It's soothing to play with fonts and colors and inspiring to remind myself of concepts and ideas that interest me. Only a couple of those were frivolous, actually, with no immediate application, but I still feel conflicted all the time and defensive about the choices I make with my time. Like if I enjoy it and other people might not understand where it fits in the puzzle, then I should feel badly about it. There are a lot of things I'm choosing to NOT do, and I constantly imagine a crowd of people criticizing my choices, saying "what, she's not doing X so she can do Y and Z?? THAT is stupid! She hasn't earned the right to waste time doing that -- I want X! I want X! Y and Z are useless! She would be so much better off doing X; a bigger commitment to doing X would solve all of her problems, can't she see that?"
One of my goals is to stop worrying so much about the critics, both external critics and my own internal asshole voices who can ALWAYS find some way to make me feel like I'm not doing good enough. I need to focus on what I'm doing right (and right NOW), not what I'm doing wrong (or not doing at the moment). Unfortunately I'm often painfully aware that every choice I make to do one thing means not doing ten billion others. It's depressing and I have to knock that shit off. Being on Ritalin does help a lot because I can sit down and focus on something without intrusive thoughts and ideas continually popping into my head of all the other things I can/should be doing which then make me totally anxious, overwhelmed, afraid to proceed with the task at hand, and hopeless because of my limitations and lack of giant progress.
I know a lot of people struggle with similar feelings, so I share this for a couple reasons: because I know other people can relate and it always feels good to know you're not the only one with these kinds of challenges, and because it helps ME to type out my fears and remind myself I don't want to carry them around. I want to be happy with what I *can* do and what I *want* to do right now at this moment. I want to look at what I've done and feel a sense of accomplishment and pride, not guilt and maudlin hyper-criticism.
Anyway, the family is gone now, our spycams are back up, and Delia's warming up some of her delicious turkey & stuffing leftovers. Life is good.
Tonight's ending on a very positive note that could even be viewed as a metaphor for other things going on in our lives; we finally installed a second hard drive for storage on my main work machine so I'm moving big files off my weighted-down C drive. It feels like a fresh start! Right now I'm filling up some of that space by transferring non-work photos over to this machine so I can enjoy playing with shots we've taken for fun/to learn about our camera.
November 20th: a buck Delia spotted in our neighbor's backyard:
Our "new" camera (Nikon D300) has been therapeutic for me, making me stop and take time out to really LOOK and lose myself in details outside of myself. I'm not the kind of person who tries to capture EVERYTHING with a camera -- I definitely appreciate being in the moment with family, friends and on vacation -- but when we're at home (which is the same as being at work unless we make a really concerted effort for it not to be) doing the daily grind it's a big challenge for me to get out of my head. But now, when something mundane and beautiful captures my attention I feel justified in grabbing the camera, ostensibly to learn to take better photographs, and spending 5-20 minutes to really SEE and try to understand what I'm seeing: the light, the textures, the motion . . . challenging myself over what's real and not real because it can look so different viewed with my eyes compared to how it's captured by the camera. Immersing myself in all those different versions of truth and light and darkness and the stories we instantly create and details we insert after pulling them out of our asses when we think we're looking at our surroundings.
Looking out our window a few hours ago:
We actually bought three 500 GB hard drives months ago for three different machines and up until today, had only installed ONE of them because of little nuisances like not having Dell's annoying little drive "caddies", not having serial ATA cables with the 90 to 180 degree corner jobbies so the case will close properly, me despising crawling around on the floor fucking with all the cables and cords tangled around dust bunnies, etc. If you heard me screaming last night it was when I bashed my elbow into the corner of my desk during that process. Anyway, we finally took care of it and I ordered everything we need to install a couple more on other machines.
The past couple of days I had the alarm set for 8:30 in the morning to try to get us back into a groove of semi-normalcy; at least I *thought* I set the alarm for 8:30. Turns out I forgot to adjust the ipod when the time changed so we were actually being woken up at 7:30 which just didn't feel right. We'll try again tomorrow. Maybe I'll even start my day by going outside with the camera.
*Last night I enjoyed a conversation with my wanker in which I wasted lots of time raving about this Teddy Thompson fellow and a performance we saw on Later with Jools Holland. Here it is, and it slays me:
I've only downloaded one of his songs (a cover of "She Thinks I Still Care", one of my all-time faves) because there's no way I can narrow it down so I'm trying to hold out to be able to buy some of his albums, though I will probably download his cover of Leonard Cohen's "Tonight Will Be Fine":
I don't know why I assumed my dad would be buried with his Masonic ring since I knew it was a family heirloom that had been passed down to him from his dad, so it was both a blessing AND a surprise when my aunt, mom and sister all agreed I should have it. Normally I keep it on my "altar" with other trinkets and items of greater and lesser power. Here it is (upside down; sorry):
I have no idea what the monetary value is of this ring (nothing extraordinary), but it was the fanciest piece of jewelry anyone had in my family and the only diamond I ever felt familiar with. It was ALWAYS present on my dad's hand and seemed imbued with secret, mystical powers.
It's totally against the rules for me to wear it since I'm not a Mason and not a man, but sometimes I do it anyway to have my dad present. I wore it on a chain to my sister's wedding, and sometimes I wear it on my finger when I want to have him near me. I've put it on at times when I needed to be reminded of the depth of his values, patience, kindness and boundless love for others. His vehement opposition to hatred and distaste for petty anger, mean-spirited criticism and silly conflicts. When I need a reminder to be a better person and my dad isn't here to do it for me, I put on his ring. I should do it more often.
I wear it pointed at me so I can look at it the way I saw it on his finger, pointed out because he was a past Master. I'm wearing it today because I know how excited and happy he would have been to vote for Obama. I know how he would celebrate the progress being made and be proud to be part of these positive steps forward in history. One of the things that bothered my dad about Masonry was the segregation (white lodges and black lodges) and the really ugly, racist history and associations a lot of Masonic groups and individuals have.
During my dad's life they'd at least gotten to the point where they recognized each other's lodges and visited each other, but it was still really . . . ummmm . . . old-fashioned. When my dad was still mobile he took to visiting a black lodge in Seattle regularly and petitioned for membership there -- the first white guy to do that (how welcome that idea was to the Prince Hall Masons I don't know; if they were opposed to it my dad was totally oblivious to that). It was our state's white Masons, though, who made up some bullshit to block him having a dual membership (I can't remember the details and only happened upon them when I was going through his papers; if I remember correctly they lied and said he wasn't a member in good standing with the state; of course there may have been a lot more to it behind the scenes that I don't know about). My dad just contented himself with his honorary membership and waved off my protestations as stupid politics when I asked him "what the fuck??"
My dad is the one I went with the first time I voted for a president. We were SO excited about Clinton and I was SO young and optimistic I really felt hope in the marrow of my bones. I was positively WIGGY with optimism! Like a lot of people, I've naturally lost that feeling as I've gotten older and seen how even the good guys, when they're ALLOWED to do their jobs, aren't really all for progress and the last two presidential elections have been enough to seal me permanently in cynicism. I'm not even sure I will be able to feel anything more exciting than RELIEF if/when Obama wins. Not relief that everything or even most things will get better, but just a small assurance that I'm not living in a country dominated by the hopelessly brainwashed and criminally selfish. Relief that we can at least be proud of doing SOMETHING right.
I wish my dad could be here for this because his enthusiasm wouldn't be tempered by my black-spirited pessimism. I really wish my whole family were together for this and there would be hugs all around and crying and hysterical joy that we would always remember sharing together. Maybe we can get together on Inauguration Day. But today, tonight, and tomorrow I'm wearing my dad's ring and inviting him to be present when Delia and I celebrate here at home together. I hope.
I'm betting people are curious how my psychiatrist appointment went, so here's a post that's JUST about that:
It was a relief to see him; I was amazed how much he remembered after more than five years, and that was without even having the benefit of reviewing my old records since he moves them from his office to his garage if inactive and older than five years.
Hmmm . . . now that I'm trying to write this I'm not sure how much of it I feel like sharing, not because any of it was bad or even that personal, it's just the kind of thing that requires a lot of context and background information to be accurate and I know people have a tendency to be judgmental about prescription drugs, people who are diagnosed with new labels, etc. On the other hand, I know that for every person who reads this stuff and thinks, "what a crock of shit/loony bird/lazy, oversensitive drug-seeker" there's another person who can relate.
Long story short, I'm really glad I went. It's always so cool to have positive, meaningful experiences with health care professionals where you are helped in a way that also makes you feel respected, empowered and cared for by people who are extremely knowledgeable and gifted. I wish everybody could afford to get the care they need from people who deliver it at such a high and loving level.
Aside from the intangible benefits of going, I came away with my generic 10 mg Ritalin prescription and an assortment of other samples and scripts to try since I live too far away to come often (four hour round trip), my insurance isn't paying for it so it's too expensive for me to come often, and I said I can't afford to try anything new after my bad experiences with Adderall (it made me feel really depressed and hopeless) I'm reluctant to stray from what I know works for me.
I've only filled the prescription for the Ritalin, but also have Focalin, Concerta and Vyvanse sample scripts. For a couple of weeks I'm just going to enjoy my old standby, though. I took some last night before I went to sleep (yes, I know that's contraindicated but it often *helps* me get more relaxed, satisfying sleep) and it was just a huge fucking relief.
Another big relief is that he gave me a sample kit for Lamictal (a mood stabilizer). I don't feel like getting into a discussion at the moment about whether or not I'm bipolar, but either way it sounds like a safe drug (even if you're trying to get pregnant or are pregnant) that's worth trying. I'm not sure whether or not I *will* try it, but I can't describe what a huge relief it is to have it here and to know that if things get any worse I have something that will probably make it better. I'm going to wait and see if I continue to have dramatically fucked-up mood swings (example: getting one of my "brilliant ideas" and getting so worked-up/hyper-enthusiastic/crazily-driven that I'm pacing uncontrollably for a few hours then plummet into a state of horrifying self-loathing and hopeless depression lasting twice as long as the crazy-high; apparently "they" are expanding how they diagnose bipolar disorder so it's not just limited to people who cycle slowly from one extreme to the other). I'm still going to see an endocrinologist to find out if there's a hormonal problem fucking with my head, and I know lack of exercise and stress are other big factors that can make people crazy but sometimes meds can work miracles, even if you just try them to learn how it feels to be different or are reminded that things can be better.
I just have to say HUGE RELIEF again. That's what it is. To know you have options and boosts. To know that if things get worse there is help to be had (and that things don't HAVE to get worse before you seek it out).
This will be a very boring entry to read if you aren't interested in health issues:
Today I *had* to cancel my shows because I woke up with a headache that developed into a full-fledged, obvious migraine. I've done shows before in spite of them and just kept the lights down low and abstained from masturbating to keep all that blood flow in and out of my head consistent, but that wasn't an option today as I had diarrhea and was almost puking my brains out.
Of course, I thought I'd been very good lately about avoiding triggers like bananas, peanut butter, caffeine, etc. but then we realized that yesterday? I ate smoked salmon, bacon and avocados -- all yummy things on the food trigger list. And for some reason I just thought turkey bacon would be exempt from what makes bacon be on that list, but I was SO wrong. On top of that the entire past week I've been very light sensitive with sun spots, etc. and have had a metal taste in my mouth often and other weird flavors on the roof of my mouth; I think I've been teetering on the brink. Today before I got nauseated I was standing in the bathroom and suddenly smelled an overpowering scent of bread mold for a few seconds and then it was gone; it was an olfactory hallucination which I do not think I've ever had before, but apparently is a less-common type of aura preceding migraines.
I was diagnosed with classic migraines as a kid but they were much worse back then with guaranteed puke-fests and a very distinct tunnel-vision and other weird feelings warning me they were coming. As an adult I've been sort of dismissive of them because they're different and less severe than they were as a kid and teenager when they were absolutely incapacitating. The thing is, they were a lot more RARE when I was younger, too. They might not be as bad now and I might be able to avoid barfing my brains out, but they're more frequent and last a lot longer (maybe because I'm not puking?) so I don't know why I just keep trying to pretend they're not a big giant deal.
Low and behold, I discovered today when frantically googling that migraines can also be caused by thyroid problems. It will be such a relief if that's the reason for a bunch of symptoms on my mounting list of health complaints. I feel like I'm wasting so much time in my life trying to figure out what the fuck is wrong with me. I used to think I was the picture of health, not in an athletic way, but in an indestructible-nerd way. Quirks like attention deficit disorder weren't things I saw as vulnerabilities or symptoms of poor construction, they were what made me SPECIAL and amazing! Now I feel like a whining puddle of annoying health problems from my lactose intolerance to my allergies to animals to my inability to conceive to my insane levels of PMS to my anxiety to my sensitivities to every little morsel of stimulation to my inability to hold conversations on cell phones. Yes, I still find it very hard to believe other people are able to separate the noises on the phone and the road from the voice and then actually piece the sounds together into words that are strung into sentences intended to convey meaning. If I were a character on a video game with a full life counter who had to talk (and listen) for three minutes on a cell phone, you would see my juice depleted to almost nothing in that amount of time.
Anyhoo, we're getting up early tomorrow to trek to Tacoma for an appointment with my brilliant and wonderful psychiatrist. I haven't seen him in at least five years and am looking forward to being re-assessed by him and getting a Ritalin scrip. I will definitely talk to him about my other brain stuff like the migraines, potential thyroid issues, etc. That is the benefit of going to a really good psychiatrist rather than just a psychologist; they are DOCTORS who know lots of interesting shit.
After that we're meeting up with Delia's ex-girlfriend and her partner for dinner, then spending the night with our friend Ron; all of these people are creative-thinkers so it's fun to brainstorm with them, not boring "regular" socializing. On Tuesday we have to do some shopping (our threadbare flannel sheets bit the dust and are ripping on my side of the bed and my good hot water bottle is so thin it's about to burst) and meet up with my mom to give her a birthday present (which I also have not picked out yet).
FYI: if you've gotten an email from me in the past three months, you are one of about a dozen people who can say that. I'm just mentioning it so everyone else will know that it's not just YOU who hasn't heard from me personally, I'm just having a hard time getting it all done. My computer time is prioritized to be eaten up doing stuff that's meant to be consumed by more than one person at a time. It sucks, but there's not a whole lot I can do about it unless I want to stop sleeping and give myself more migraines.
Here's an email I got the other day from someone trying to decide whether or not to join my site:
Hey, sexy, I am thinking about joining your site. How many nice videos do you have in there? Do you do any fart video?
Out of all the emails I get that deserve responses, choosing to spend time replying to this one PROBABLY wasn't wise or fair, but I did write back to say this:
Hi there! I don't have any fart videos (well actually I have one, but it's such a small and insignificant fart, it barely warrants mentioning). What I do have are spycams upon which patient voyeurs with audio enabled can sometimes hear me farting or even see me lifting my cheek to do so. No guarantees of when or how often or that you would catch it, though.
I don't know how many videos I have at this point, and I'm not sure how many you would consider to be "nice" since that is a highly subjective term. Most people who join my site are into the whole "package" that I offer, both as a strange and wonderful human being AND as a porn site proprietress, and statistics barely enter into their decision of whether or not to join.
Good luck in making yours!
It's not that I think his questions aren't legit, I'm just reluctant to hand out quantified guarantees of satisfaction to people who are reluctant to join without them since I doubt they will be happy with my site (especially in this case when I don't have content to make a die-hard fart fetishist happy, even though I probably have MORE to offer him than other non-fart-focused porn sites).
Mostly I answer emails like this one because it's so freeing to be flip, especially when the person expects me to do everything I can to convince him to buy and I'm just not going to. It's so much easier to communicate with people I *know* I can't make happy than it is to write back to the people who really want to hear from me and whose opinions I genuinely care about. I feel guilty for it, but there it is.
I have a lot (even more than usual) of maintenance, (re)design, and promo work to do on a lot of our sites so that's where I'm focusing most of my computer time. We have an appointment with Delia's therapist on Tuesday to talk about coming out to her family about her transition so that will probably be our day off for the week since we have to traverse a few counties to get there/won't be home most of the day.
Next week we've rented a room to shoot fancier photo sets with hosiery, etc. than we've been doing lately. I'm excited because the walls are PURPLE! You have no idea how much of my webwhore happiness depends on shooting in colorful locations. In the first two weeks of August we'll need to focus on shooting a lot, too, so we won't be posting galleries shot in the same exact place for two months straight.
I have a couple of really exciting things to blog about but just wanted to post something quickly today to stay in touch and let you know where we're focusing. Twitter's been down a lot so I haven't been able to do it there reliably (and am worried Twitter's downtime is effecting the way our members see our members-only area since it won't load the rest of the page until it tries to load our tweets). I should redesign that, too, so twitter is the last thing to load, but it would so fuck up the balance. Sigh . . . I wish the twitter fuckers would monetize it already so they could afford to make it WORK.
Not much time to blog, so here's the rundown of events:
Yesterday we went to Delia's therapist for the first time (and kind of mine, too, since we're doing a lot of it as a couple, so I guess she is OUR therapist, which is very cool). I'm really excited about her and looking forward to Delia's next appointment next week. The biggest coolest thing about Dr. P is her sex positivity, and her positivity in general; she doesn't approach things in a "let's figure out what's wrong and broken with you and try to fix it" but more of a "let's figure out what you want to celebrate about yourselves and in life and make that happen". That's a cheesy and shallow sounding summary, but I'm really happy to be seeing her and EXTREMELY RELIEVED that she's not only okay with sex work, but seems to think it's fucking awesome. She's a little unconventional as a counselor in her willingness to express congratulations and "good for you" messages, but that coachy/mentor vibe is something I really like. I came away from the first visit with lots of blog fodder, so I hope to follow up on a few of those ideas later.
After the appointment with Dr. P we brought a jar of change to a store with a Coinstar machine that does a straight no-fee exchange if you get an Amazon gift certificate instead of cash (thanks, Matisse, for letting your readers know about that; fyi everyone: not every coinstar machine has that capability so you should look it up on their site before you get too excited). We got exactly enough money to buy exactly what we need: an electric water kettle (and thanks to MY readers who tipped me off that such things exist and are splendid). Now that Delia stopped drinking coffee and switched to green tea it will benefit both of us. Anyway, I had WAY too much fun feeding the coins into the machine and listening to them being sorted in its guts. It felt like Christmas with the best new toy in the world -- I totally love shit like that.
Today we went to Delia's first laser hair removal appointment and did a little bit of book shopping. We've been cleaning house since we got home and really enjoying it; we are gradually improving our housekeeping habits and I'm starting to love it. The washer and dryer help a lot, and tonight the coolest part about cleaning up has been using it as a time to really look at and appreciate the things we have. Since we're not in a hurry for visitors to come over and are just tidying for fun, I am really SEEING the things I'm touching, and I'm feeling blessed noticing how much cool stuff I have. I have pretty socks and pretty dresses and pretty colors and pretty books and interesting magazines and pretty jewelry and things that smell good and pretty shiny things. In a tiny red box we have our wedding rings from our previous marriages nestled next to each other. They are pretty and special.
Anyway, it's been a long couple of days with a lot of time spent on the road so we're going to watch some television and have some quiet time before I come back into my office to work on my update for members.
The topic of drugs came up while I was talking to Ron and my wanker the other night. It was one of the main reasons I muted the spycam audio; I don't want people to get the wrong idea about me and drugs, so I don't want them to hear me speaking about them in a casual way.
While I'm all for decriminalization of some drugs and drug activities, and all for legalizing marijuana, I'm pretty straight myself and relatively inexperienced with most mind-altering substances. I also tend to be fairly judgemental (compared to other liberal folks) of other people's drug use (including caffeine and alcohol) so I worry that other similarly judgemental people will get a bad impression of me if I openly discuss my RARE drug use or dreamily describe my drugs of choice. I would just hate for that to be a surfer's or member's first impression of me.
How nervous am I about coming across as a drug-addled loser? Nervous enough that when I take totally innocent pills on cam I'm paranoid our voyeurs imagine I'm using schedule I drugs for fun. Nervous enough that when I brainstormed a list of labels/categories for this blog I hesitated to make a "drug" label. Nervous enough that I wanted to make this entry, sort of the definitive "Trixie on Drugs: it's not what you think!" post. So here you go:
PILLS I TAKE ON A REGULAR BASIS:
Vitamin B Complex I usually take this in the morning with my tea and it is a LIFESAVER for my brain, my chapped lips, and who knows what else.
Birth Control I usually take this at night. It's so I don't get pregnant AND to regulate my hormones so I don't alternate between wanting to kill other people and wanting to kill myself.
Naproxen Sodium If I have any aches or pains, this anti-inflammatory is what I take. It's my preferred over-the-counter fixit pill (I'm not a tylenol or ibuprofen gal). My loyalty to this particular med started when I was in junior high and I could only get it as Anaprox with a prescription. I took the double-strength variety. Once when I was eighteen or nineteen and suffering from terrible cramps I actually had to go to the doctor during a bad bout with them and I got scolded for admitting to taking more than the recommended dosage. Then he prescribed some other painkiller to me. Thanks, GP! Anyway, the OTC stuff seems to be enough for me these days.
I'll also take some Aleve sometimes if I've gotten some exercise and feel sore. My sister tells me I'm ruining the whole muscle-building effects of exercise by doing that, but I honestly don't care. Feeling pain ruins the positive effects of exercise for me, so there. I do avoid going hog wild with Naproxen Sodium because it's hard on your stomach. I don't worry too much about the other side effects (increased blood pressure) since I have really low bp.
PILLS I USED TO TAKE ON A REGULAR BASIS:
Ritalin I am SO GLAD I tried it! I'll try not to make this a big entry on Attention Deficit Disorder, but just say that while therapy and my eventual ADD diagnosis in my mid-twenties gave me a whole new (and mostly-positive) perspective on myself, trying Ritalin taught me what being normal could feel like. I took my first dose under super-controlled circumstances (at home alone with no distractions, on vacation) so I could observe myself and my reactions, and when the speed kicked in my first overwhelming observation was that THE FLOOR STOPPED MOVING. The jangled blur of chaos I was used to was stilled.
It was an almost-perfect duplication of the time someone at my data-entry job pressed some mini-thins on me when I was sleepy (back when mini-thins were just pure ephedrine) and I was elated to discover that I could alternate my gaze from the monitor to the data on my copy-stand WITHOUT SEEING ANYTHING BUT THOSE TWO AREAS OF FOCUS. I could look back and forth without anything else distracting me! Miraculous!
On Ritalin I could play piano and actually HEAR myself for WHOLE ENTIRE SONGS rather than plunking along and, three measures into a piece, be immersed in daydreams and consuming trains of thought that blocked out concentration and made practice completely futile except as something to do with my hands while, you know, daydreaming. On Ritalin I actually got BETTER as I practiced instead of getting worse.
On Ritalin when someone was talking to me, I actually heard them for the whole conversation. Someone could even tap me or start talking behind me and I would barely even register the feeling or sound; I remained totally focused on the primary conversation and I DIDN'T EVEN *WANT* TO INTERRUPT THEM.
On Ritalin, if I was trying to find something (my keys in my full backpack, for example) I would FIND them straight away instead of forgetting what I was doing and finally pulling out some random object hoping it would jog my memory or just so people near me wouldn't think I was batty, rummaging aimlessly in my backpack for ten minutes. On Ritalin, when I walked into another room to get something I wouldn't find myself in that room (or some other room) wondering what in the fuck I was doing there a mere 15 seconds after I began my task.
On Ritalin, I experienced blissful sleep. I'd set my alarm for an hour before I wanted to wake up, take my first pill of the day, and fall back into the most amazingly restful sleep EVER. It didn't last long (25-45 minutes), but it was fucking fantastic and made getting up pleasurable instead of a cranky nightmare. I would also dose myself before I'd get a massage and those massages were the most blissed-out, relaxing, meditative, beautiful things EVER. Sometimes I fell asleep. It was these experiences of relaxation that convinced me that ADD and speed's paradoxical effects on people with ADD/ADHD were real. Or at least real enough to be of significant use to me.
On the flip side of all of the positive effects (too many to list here), I did experience pretty bad rebound at the end of the evening when my last dose wore off. I would start freaking out, getting really explosively hair-rippingly angry, sensitive and frustrated, without realizing what was going on until my husband would look at me and tell me to go to bed, that my pill wore off.
At work I also got negative feedback from friends who said I was acting like a zombie, I was boring, etc. I also developed a really bizarre compulsion to whisper instead of speaking normally (I think that was the only side effect or symptom I described to my psychiatrist that he'd never heard of in connection with stimulant use -- in fact, he didn't seem to have ever heard of that compulsion at all).
I'd also lost quite a few pounds during therapy (before I was prescribed Ritalin) simply because I felt happier, so when I started taking the Ritalin I wound up losing more on top of that (no way around its appetite-suppressing effect). I don't know how much I weighed then -- maybe 103 (a good healthy weight for me in spite of it sounding underweight because of those retarded BMI charts). Then my dad got really sick and almost died a few months later.
While he was hospitalized and then transitioning to possibly dying at home, I eventually realized I had to stop taking the Ritalin since the combination of it and major stress (and not having TIME to eat much) pretty much destroyed my appetite and I sunk down to around 93 pounds, if I remember correctly. At the end of my first full day back at work I couldn't figure out why my ass hurt until I realized it was because I HAD NO FAT LEFT ON IT.
That was the end of my love affair with Ritalin.
This is getting way too long so I'll post Drugs: Part II later.