TastyTrixie.com

Archive for March, 2002

STUFF ME WITH THAT PICKLE!

The best tasting pickle is the Claussen Kosher Dill Spear. I’m in love with these pickles. So crisp and I could drink a whole tank of the pickle juice.

Apparently I’m not the only Claussen pickle lover in the world.

And by the way, size does matter but not like you think it does. There’s a place for every pickle.

Oh, and pickles taste good washed down with milk. So do cherry nibs.

BROKEN HEART FORTHCOMING

For your sake and mine I’ve avoided sharing any of the truly pathetic feelings I’ve been having over the past couple months regarding Apartment Boy #3. Gone from sight, but not forgotten it’s taken a lot of willpower and a daily dose of reminders that calling him or seeking him out would indeed be truly pathetic. I have to mentally slap myself every time my thoughts start wandering into that, “what did I do wrong?” stupid girly mode. I have to resist my wishful-thinking’s powerful attempts to persuade myself that maybe there’s been some misunderstanding and I just need to lay it all on the line and he’s just young and insecure and maybe he *wants* me to pursue!pursue!pursue!. I have cringed at myself on a daily basis, dragging myself away from the window at certain hours of the day and night when I know he’s due to leave for work or return from it and maybe I’ll see him driving or walking nearby. I have experienced pangs of fear whenever I can’t see any of his cars anywhere and think maybe he moved out and I’ll never see him again, followed by embarrassingly poignant feelings of relief when the comforting presence of his vehicles return. I have held the phone in my hand and stared down at it completely defeated, while his phone number and the simple statement, “I miss you” performed a mute dress rehearsal in my head. I have mourned during the moments when I’m happily close to someone else but acutely aware of how solidly my guts will not budge from a heavy still anchor that reaches way down into a depth of feeling and appreciation unprovoked by anyone except him.

But I have managed to keep silent about it. It’s been killing me, but I’ve been doing it. I haven’t talked to him or seen him since before my period of abstinence in December. Until tonight. He finally came over. Was it because nothing good was on tv? Was it because he has to attend and participate in a wedding (only the 2nd he’s been to in his young life) next week and maybe doesn’t have a date? Was it because he wanted to get laid? It couldn’t possibly be because he misses me as much as I miss him. I mean, I miss him to the point of such extreme sappiness that earlier today for instance, that goddamned song “Nothing Compares to You” even fucking reminded me of him when I heard it on the radio as I happened to be driving by the Wendy’s that we went to late at night once and was out of the “frozen dairy treats” that he had a hankering for.

Nobody hugs me as tight as he does nor do I want them to. I can’t tell you how happy it made me to see him tonight. And to hear him tell stories about people again. He has this perfect gift for using humour and sweetness and intuition to describe and imitate people that just fucking delights me.

It’s really too bad he’s going to break my fucking heart.

Oh yeah, I’m now two days behind on my noble women’s history month undertaking . . . Sunday I was busy enjoying the houseboy’s company and talented mouth on my oh-god-I’m-getting-excited-just-THINKING-about-it along with him strumming his guitar and singing folksy numbers such as, “freight train” (or something like that). Then today I . . . what did I accomplish? I don’t know.

Oh, well I did have a fun show on my new site, TastyTrixie.com with a very cool guy who made a very sexy confession to me about getting his dick sucked by a 19 year old daughter of a coworker. Anyway, I broke the links from my iFriends site to my journal so I won’t get in trouble for redirecting traffic . . . and now I’ll just send it towards my new site! Yayayayayayay!!!!!

TAFFY PULL PUSSY

I’m ovulating and it’s making me super horny and super goopy. I can’t stop thinking about Twat about to be here in an hour and how I’ll get to grind my pussy against his hand and his face (better be careful of his pre-cummy cock due to the ovulation thing though). And thinking about what one of my viewers said to me without knowing it was one of my most neglected fantasies, ” I love having a girl hold my cock when I pee, specially when it’s at half mast, she can feel it pulsing out of my cock — and it usually gets pretty hard after it all comes out.”

The stuff that’s oozing out of me right now is that mid-month super-stretchy sperm-catching lube. I can’t wait to get it all over Twat’s face.

PAUNCH VS. TWAT

Oh yayayayayayay!!!! Tomorrow is houseboy day!!!! After my moonlit rendezvous with Paunch a few days ago, it’s hard for me to believe I used to think he gave the best handjobs. There is just no comparison to Twat.

Speaking of Twat, I have no idea what it is that we’re doing. The houseboy deal seems to be flying out the window. I should just be happy that we’re having fun and it feels good . . . but I’m confused about how to proceed. Oh well. The thought of “talking” about anything exhausts me . . . but I feel nervous and self-conscious about drifting away from the assigned roles . . . yet I am too lazy, satisfied, and just plain eager to please to continue playing mine. I’m going into that stupid traditional pleaser mode we women love, “what do I do to make him happy?” What’s up with that? It’s tricky, because my “role” was *supposed* to be completely focused on pleasing ME not HIM so I have this insecurity that caring about him will somehow be counterproductive. Obviously I just have no experience in this type of relationship.

A nice healthy challenging pleasant slightly uncomfortable growth opportunity for me. And . . . I like him. Wierd.

VICTORIA FOR PRESIDENT!!! (Women’s History Month Day Two):

If we’re so “forward” thinking and open-minded these days, how come I always feel like feminists from the “old days” were so much braver, stronger, and more idealistic than the “feminists” of today?

Take Victoria Woodhull for example. The first woman to campaign for president way back in 1872 (before we even had the right to vote) was so fucking ballsy she was a proponent not only of women’s suffrage, but for sexual equality and legalized prostitution. Everyone knew “Wicked Woodhull” wouldn’t win the presidency . . . but she went for it anyway and spoke out with spirit, bravely enduring criticism and villification (ex. she was arrested on obscenity charges, spent a night completely homeless because no one would rent to her, etc.).

How many modern bitches do you know with guts like that?

“…No woman that was not willing to be dragged through every kennel, and slopped into every dirty pail of water like an old mop, would ever consent to run as a [presidential] candidate. And what sort of brazen tramp of a woman would it be that could stand it and come out of it without being killed?” –Harriet Beecher Stowe

WOMEN’S HISTORY MONTH DAY ONE

Not to piss off all of the anti-minority-celebration folk, but in honor of women’s history month I’m dedicating a little time every day to unscholarly, highly opinionated, casual research and recognition of some women’s history that some of the feminists might be prone to marginalizing.

Where do women have the most potential to make more money than men?? In the sex industry. So why don’t more of us pursue the American Dream in the sex industry?? Good fucking question without enough good answers.

Being a webwhore has been the single most empowering experience I’ve had as a woman and a feminist. I mainly have men to thank for that, not most of my feminist “sisters”. Our tendency to dismiss sex work as degrading and judge sex workers as “victims” is just plain STUPID and does nothing but hurt women’s BEST chances to advance themselves. Sure, it’s unfortunate that we’re still knocking our heads against glass ceilings in the corporate world. Sure, the sex industry capitalizes on and reinforces gender stereotypes, myths about sexuality, etc. Oh well!! WE MAY AS WELL MAKE MONEY ON IT!!! Why should we live in the land of opportunity and turn our noses up at the best opportunities presented to us? Dumb, I’ll tell you. And why should we call our sex-workers vile names like, “opportunistic” and “whore”. What the hell is wrong with being opportunistic?? Isn’t that part of what our country is famous for? Sex working women have “sustained the American spirit” from the beginning under adversity and oppression.

The following is from Soiled Doves by Anne Seagraves:

Although the madams were among the early entrepreneurs, historians often fail to recognize their significant contributions to the Western economy. These enterprising women, who played an important role within their communities, were never invited to join or attend a commercial club. They were not accepted by society, and, in most cases, denied the protection of the law, due to their profession.

Collectively, their businesses employed the largest group of women on the frontier. They supplied a home for thousands of females who would have otherwise have been forced to live on the streets.

The majority of the madams owned their own real estate, and all provided a considerable amount of revenue to their city or town. They paid property, school and county taxes, license fees and filled the pockets of corrupt officials and police officers. The society that did not respect these businesswomen, nonetheless expected them to donate generously to churches and local charities. Merchants, who profited off the ladies, overcharged them for liquor, food and personal goods. In order to run a successful business, with a substantial return, the western madam had to have a great deal of patience and more than the usual amount of business acumen.

Put that in your pipe and smoke it.

GAMBLE ON PORN

My mom and I were in line at the grocery store today while Washington State Lotto workers were walking through the lines, handing out “$1 off Lotto” coupons, and explaining how easy it is to buy lottery tickets right at the checkstand now with these newfangled machines.

My mom and I jumped down the guy’s throat with a myriad of obnoxious responses. When I later told my mom that I almost told the guy, “Oh yeah? I’ll give you a dollar off of internet porn! How’dya like *that*?” she told me it would have been so funny she would have paid for my groceries if I would have done it.

Really, what a tremendously nonsensical set of morals we have in this fucking country. People can harass you to GAMBLE while you’re in a fucking grocery store check-out line and everyone thinks they’re getting some kind of a sweet deal, but do internet porn for work and you’re considered some kind of moral terrorist??

I’m not trying to criticize the lottery (although there are some pretty legitimate concerns and objections regarding it’s use) — I’m just saying that something is awry in society when hundreds of women lose their lives because of our laws that force sex workers underground into an unsafe unregulated market . . . but it’s okay to go around pressuring people to gamble (a far more addictive, consuming, family havoc-wreaking activity than regulated sex-for-money). WHATEVER!

So I guess it’s quite alright to make gambling a part of our daily routines, but if someone wants to watch me pee on camera that’s grounds for legal action to be taken against me. WHATEVER!

It doesn’t make a lick of sense.

70 AND KICKING

Warning Fuzzy and Zancro: vomit ahead

My dad just turned seventy years old today — quite miraculous all things considered. I didn’t make it out to see him today though since I was recovering from spending hours this morning with nausea, bowel content liquification, and finally a purging barffest. I don’t know if it was the garlic cheese spuds at Tatanka Take-out last night, swallowing a huge mouthful of Paunch’s cum shortly after our meal, or my recent tendency to use large quantities of Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups as meal supplements, but I found myself quite ill this morning. In my weakened dehydrated state I decided a birthday journey to Carnation wasn’t in the cards.

I did call him though — twice. And mentioned Robert Service to him . . . so my daddy recited a poem called “The Ice Worm” (not a Service poem) for me. I felt very blessed to be hearing my dad rattling off some obscure old-fart entertainment here in his 70th year when he almost died four years ago. I feel very very lucky he’s still here.

I also feel very blessed every time some kind of story or song is shared between people without the aid of too much technology. The live voice of my dad dramatizing rhyme, four hands at the piano (girl down the hallway and I played some piano duets today), a guitar played for me over the phone by a viewer last night . . . how long has it been since you sang out loud without a stereo accompaniment?

ROBERT SERVICE

I wish I knew who visited my website after visiting a site with Robert Service poems. Unfortunately my stats tracking package is a piece of shit so I have no clues about this visitor and I want to talk to him/her. Or maybe not. Once my crazy uncle made me sit on his lap while he recited the entire “Cremation of Sam McGee”. I’m always grateful for that experience though (hard to explain why). Eventually that uncle of mine chased his wife and two sons around with a butcher knife, then dosed himself on rat poison. All four of them made it out of that experience alive, amazingly enough, although my uncle finally expired of more natural causes. So anyway, hope the Robert Service fan lets me know who he/she is.