TastyTrixie.com

Archive for July, 2006

EXCITED INSOMNIAC
Can’t sleep so I thought I’d blog.

I had a great orgasm today during my show with the aid of my magic wand, some anal stimulation, and the rhythmic use of my own muscles. I had another great orgasm a couple of hours ago when Tucker and I fucked.

My mind is on other things now, though. The cheeseburger eggrolls we’ll have in New York next week. The robins I saw courting and mating at dusk on a picket fence. The proof I got today that our sites have the potential to do more than barely sustain us and that the past almost-six years are damn well going to pay off someday, not only with the intrinsic rewards I’ve been reaping just by enjoying what I do, but in tangible financial terms as well – maybe even before I’m forty! I am so hopeful that we just might be able to pay off our sizable debts over the next six months and I’m actually proud of HAVING those debts because I got them by believing in my business. I could stay up all night fantasizing about ways to make our sites better, and after today it feels less like fantasizing and more like planning — I love it! Ahhhh . . . and looking at my stats I see a partial explanation for our good day: a Fleshbot mention pretty much guarantees a lovely, lovely day. Thanks Jefferson!

Today I added some behind-the-scenes footage from a photo shoot to our SpyOnUs members-only area. SOU is mostly an umbrella site for all of our other sites, but we also want to provide some stuff that’s exclusive to it that people can’t get just by joining one of our individual sites. Right now that is access to HouseCamz and the beginning of behind-the-scenes stuff. We’ll probably shoot quite a bit of that while we’re in New York (though probably not much, if anything, on the actual set of Dacia’s movie so don’t get your hopes up on that score — we don’t want to be invasive or distracting).

I should put some of my 3 am energy to use by responding to emails but I’m too giddy to be articulate. I feel like success moved out of the realm of possibility and into the reach of probability today. I’m probably making a mountain out of a molehill, but whatever — it works for me. I am fueled and fulfilled by pipe dreams so much that it’s sort of jarring and bizarre when I get hints that some of them might not be so pipey after all.

WHEN SHOPPING IS GOOD, IT IS VERY VERY GOOD . . .
. . . but when shopping is bad, it is HORRID.

Our shopping trip was brief (and not at all horrid) due to my sister’s fear of springing milky breast leaks, but I *did* buy a pair of shoes. Nordstrom is pretty much the only store that caters to odd-sized and small-sized feet, and they were having their anniversary sale. There were many beautiful women in the shoe department, and I wished I could have stared at one sassy short-haired beauty who strutted past me in shorts and spunky motorcycle-cowboy boots. When we left she was surrounded by dozens of strappy heels, and I hated walking away from her while she was slipping her suckable tan toes into a pair.

Ten years ago I would have felt SO insecure and unhappy in a busy Nordstrom, especially considering how positively shitty and hillbilly I looked in contrast to the career shoppers zooming about. I would have felt resentful and disgusted with those other women.

Now? I still feel a little insecure and unhappy under those circumstances, but other feelings have crowded in; I actually enjoy looking at the women more than I feel pressured to try to be like them. I enjoy looking at the clothes and shoes on display even if I don’t have money to buy much. I can’t say that I totally don’t care at all that I’m out of place at Nordstrom so much as that I’m RESIGNED to who I am and relieved to give myself permission to be comfortable instead of trying to be attractive. I have realized that there are too many pretty things I want to enjoy looking at that I don’t want to waste my time worrying that I’m not pretty enough or imagining that people are sneering and judging when they look at me. In a way I think I feel so distant from those glossy shopping women that it doesn’t matter that *I* am out of my element (and look it) because they’re kind of like animals in a zoo to me, except that I don’t feel depressed for those ladies (the way I do for animals in zoos) since these chicks CHOOSE to make ANNIVERSARY SALES and STORES and SHOE SHOPPING integral parts of their lives. I know that I’m just visiting their bizarre little world and almost pride myself in displaying the fact that I don’t care about fitting into it.

When I was little I loved for my dad to recite there once was a girl who had a little curl, right in the middle of her forehead. And when she was good, she was very VERY good, but when she was bad she was horrid. Daddy would point and touch his index finger to my forehead at the curl part, indicating that *I* was that little girl with the powerfully dual nature. Even though I was quite a somber child and never horrid (seriously), I think it thrilled me to be told I had the capacity to be frighteningly naughty. So naughty that I had enchanted someone so much that they made up a rhyme celebrating my mercurial temperament.

I don’t know how much that rhyme had to do with it, but I suppose I’ve always been enamored with naughtiness in many forms, expressed in different ways. It’s a small rebellion, but part of me thrills at displaying disregard for the womanly art of shopping by traipsing my unwashed, unprettied self into those places and politely going about my disheveled business.

Andy my business yesterday was shoe-buying. I didn’t really get what I went for (comfortable yet presentable casual walking shoes that would work with short skirts or pants); but I did get something really really really good: SIZE FOUR PEEPTOE WEDGES.

You don’t know how rare and FULFILLING it is for me to slip my feet into shoes that actually fit me. All of you people who take for granted that your shoes won’t slip off your feet when you’re walking, that your ankles and legs won’t totter on your supports, that you won’t have to make do with ill-fitting shoes you’ve stuffed with cushions to try to make them work? You are truly blessed. TRULY blessed. My little feet are an absolute curse forcing me to wear stupid-looking shoes so as not to risk destabilizing myself with cute shoes that don’t fit. Don’t ever cry to me about how hard it is for you to find shoes because most of you have it very easy.

Size fucking FOUR. In a grown-up shoe. Not just grown-up LOOKING, but actually displayed in the grown-up area. Too bad they were made in China and have stick-on “wood” heels — I just don’t care though because they fit me.

*****

I have a couple of shows today/tonight *and* a headache and a ton of email and stuff to take care of. And maybe another nap today after a very hectic Wednesday and Thursday.

IF YOU SAW ME CRYING . . .
Yesterday there was the screaming, today there was the crying. If you were spying on me and wondered what brought on the tears, blame The Cider House Rules. I know, I’m totally behind the times but it’s my first John Irving (in book form) and I’m loving it.

Most of my day today was spent downloading and trying out different video encoding software — it was pretty much a complete waste of time as none of them did what I wanted them to do, which is fine, since I know I just need to pony up the dough for better software (and the time to learn it) OR, even better, pay someone to do that stuff for us (hoping to begin next month).

I’m feeling a little overwhelmed and underaccomplished today, but looking forward to seeing my nephew tomorrow when we go into Seattle to get our std tests in preparation for the movie-shoot in NY. I can’t believe it’s NEXT WEEK! We haven’t been on a trip in awhile, and neither of us has been to the big scary city OR been involved in this kind of production so I’m a little nervous.

I also spent some time blogging today; I’m sitting on one of the entries because I don’t have time to enjoy arguments about its contents, and the other entry went into my business blog which I’ll refrain from posting here so as not to induce the ire of some of my esteemed colleagues (snort) who get all crazy when their dirty little secrets are exposed. The only reason I mention these things is because I feel badly for not having written more substantial and entertaining posts lately, and I feel like telling people that I do have *some* substance, it’s just all hidden.

The truth is that I’m a little stressed out right now and all I want to do is bitch and vent about things I have to do. Like SHOE SHOPPING. I *have* to get some good/comfortable/presentable/versatile summer shoes for our trip, but I really really really LOATHE shoe shopping. I just want to spend tomorrow with my nephew, Mr. SquishyPants, not slogging around stores in tears because no one carries shoes my size, and if they do they are, like, $500 and totally butt ugly. But enough of my negativity; I am going to count on getting lucky and finding the perfect pair of shoes for my cranky little feet.

Okay, time to post my update before the clock strikes midnight.

IF YOU HEAR ME SCREAMING . . .
If you happen to hear me screaming in WebWhore Headquarters, it’s because my main work computer has been rendered a nearly-useless bitch over the past couple of days by I know-not-what. I wasted hours yesterday trying to clean it up and move a lot of files, but its performance continues to be shitty, mostly with regards to surfing.

YOU DON’T HAVE TO DO THAT
We’ve allowed ourselves to become sucked into the dance version of American Idol, “So You Think You Can Dance“. In addition to the horrifying unnecessary cruelty of their coverage of the auditions process, there are many things to hate about the show. Here is the latest:

After Natalie’s latest sultry solo, Nigel condescendingly remarked in a supposedly caring tone that all we’ve seen of her lately is this “sex kitten” role. He gently rebuked her by reminding her of all her other talents, telling her, “you don’t have to do that”.

Right.

Well . . . what if she WANTS to do that? What if she LIKES being slutty? What if she recognizes that if she wants to be a “video girl” she will obviously be doing sex kitten dancing? Honestly, they just had the Pussycat Dolls on stage to “perform” for everyone . . . how hypocritical is it to then criticize Natalie for acting like a sex kitten (and in the process exhibiting ten times the talent of the whores they paid to perform on the show)?

It made my skin crawl to hear her being degraded with a “you’re better than that” lecture. Maybe she thinks she’s better than a nasty-ass contract to dance with Celine Dion in Vegas and knows she could do better by being sexy than by being pretentious. Obviously there are more roles for sex kittens than for tight-ass expressive lyrical dancers. I hate hearing that message that you’re really lowering your standards to sell sex, particularly when the show itself, based on its choices of performers, demonstrates that that is what sells best.

BABY OIL IN THE WOODS
We got home late after the shoot we did yesterday, driving home on scenic 101 to avoid work on the hood canal bridge but still having to stop along the way for a cop to pull us over (she kindly didn’t ticket us for not having taillights). I wish I’d been more awake for the drive, but I only got two or three hours of sleep the night before (mainly because I was awake worrying about the bullshit stunts our payment processor has been pulling, this time with our friend FurryGirl).

Being sleep deprived made for an interesting shoot for me — once we got to the location I didn’t feel sleepy, just sort of zenned out and relaxed (most of the time).

I learned that it’s very difficult to eat food from a bowl doggy-style, especially if your hands are behind your back. I got a lot of chili up my nose, but I hadn’t had breakfast so it was worth it to do my best not only for authenticity’s sake, but my own.

It’s pretty weird that I hardly ever shoot with (or for) other people, but when I do it’s something pretty wacky and even, in yesterday’s case, a type of content that I usually stay far FAR away from. BUT I HAD SO MUCH FUN! It’s not that I *like* being tied up or crawling around on the forest floor naked on my hands and knees drenched in baby oil and then being pretend-beaten and made up with makeup to look whipped, bruised and bloodied, it’s that I like doing something DIFFERENT. It was just fun to be outside all day, covered with dirt and stage makeup and baby oil, completely not in charge of anything because it’s not my shoot, it’s not my customer, and I’m just there to WORK. We worked with these people before and had fun (and trust them) so there were no worries about the shoot being dangerous or out of hand (though there was a moment of danger when I was laying face-up on the ground and someone’s machete accidentally slipped out his sheath while he was standing above me “clubbing” me and landed on my hip and belly).

Yes, it was cold when the rain started falling, but it was such a nice break to not have to do any thinking or decision-making. Even though I love working for myself, it requires a lot of self-motivation, thought, and CONSTANT decision-making. It felt great to spend seven or eight hours outside breathing fresh air and WORKING with my body and not so much with my head. It felt great to lay in the dirt looking up at the canopy of trees with their illuminated maple leaves and raindrops falling while they put makeup on me, dabbing and patting and painting and smearing. I didn’t have to look in a mirror or worry about what I looked like once the shoot began and could just melt into DOING instead of thinking.

Anyway, it was like a vacation for my head that I got paid to take. I’m not saying I didn’t work hard, just that it is such a different kind of work from what I do on a daily basis that it was perfectly fantastic.

Actually, I’ve been vacating my head quite a bit since Monday when my sister and brother-in-law showed up with my nephew. I love being able to talk to him and sing to him and make ABSOLUTELY NO SENSE. It relaxed me so much to string words and sounds together without worrying whether or not I was making sense. It is so refreshing to be able to communicate in such basic ways, through touch and motion and voice inflections, instead of on a computer through words and images. This week was a good reminder how important it is for me to socialize more and to get more variety into my life: more physical activity, more singing and dancing and music-making, more fresh air, more people . . . and less control and controlling.

*****

Tonight I’ve got a couple of shows, so check out those out if you’re a member; I shaved my armpits and did a pretty serious trim of the bush and shave of the surrounding area for yesterday’s job so don’t be surprised by the decrease in pubes.

BLACK ‘PUS
Last night I dreamt of a beautiful giant black octopus. He was so big he lived on top of a building being renovated by an oil rig company and was employed by them as a sort of mascot. He frightened the neighbors until they realized what a sensitive, intelligent creature he was. He became quite depressed when no one would interact with him. He was gigantic velvet-y black with perfectly contrasting pink undersides — incredibly beautiful, and watching him move was mesmerizing.

I suppose I had this dream because of watching Pirates yesterday, but I have always loved the octopus (and the owl and the bat and the snake).

There’s a perfect gentle rain falling outside my open window, the kind that provides a layer of noise to new agey music.

BABY TALK
If you’re wondering why some of our cams have been down, it’s because my three week-old nephew is visiting.

I love having them (sister, brother-in-law, nephew) here with us, eating dinner together at the table, talking . . . you know, family stuff. Today we went to see Pirates: Dead Man’s Chest and my whole perspective on moviegoing was altered by the presence of having my youngest living relative with us. First of all, I had to drop my behaviorally superior routine because we were committing one of those acts I usually consider criminal: bringing an infant (or any noisy being) into a theatre. Today the movie became secondary to “family”. Oddly enough, I no longer saw the young children seated next to us as potential enemies to my enjoyment of the film, but as special little people along for a magical journey of special effects on the big screen.

I couldn’t really follow any of the plot, partly because I was more enchanted by the weight of my nephew in my arms and his delightful little presence. I didn’t really even want to go to the movie today, but my sister did so I just felt like I was along for the ride, not invested in the movie . . . just enjoying being together. I took great pleasure in Davy Jones, but for the first time in my adult life I didn’t give a rat’s ass if I missed out on morsels of the movie.

Holding a baby really is a mind-altering experience. I feel enveloped in a perfect little orb of love — everything becomes round and focused on that awesome little human and the weight of potential in your arms. It’s almost terrifyingly hilarious becoming aware of yourself as someone devoid of all the characteristics you’ve come to identify as your “self”; instead you are something big and warm, smiling stupidly — just shapes and sounds and mystery and motion and breath that he can’t distinguish as bad or good overwhelming his awareness. Someone slowly teaching him the magic of human interaction that is manipulation as he learns to shape adult behavior with his cooing and crying and delightful flailing.

*****

My sister asked me a question I already had the answer for within hours of their visit: did it make me want to have “my own” baby. No. I’m honestly surprised: no. It makes me happy to have a nephew and stirs absolutely no desire to be a mother myself. Being an aunt seems far more satisfying and more easily rewarding. I think he deserves to have all of our attention all to himself, competing with no cousins, just many adults nurturing him.

COMPANY
My sister, bro-in-law, and nephew are on their way over to stay for a couple of nights so I just got done cleaning our nasty-ass toilet and tidying up a few things, choosing to leave a number of other things completely UNtidy. Why bother picking up all of the kibble our dog has carefully arranged in corners throughout the house when my sister’s dog will be happy to clean those up FOR us?

We are going to take a couple of cams down while they are here (probably the kitchen and parlour); we can’t have our nephew on cam at all since ours is a porn site (even though very little of what we do on our spycams could be considered “porn”) plus I don’t really want him to be on cam even if it weren’t a legal risk.

Anyway, here are a couple of pornographic slighty-spammy blog entries for you, from me WITH PICS:

*Waxing poetic over Leila Veil

*One camgirl can’t get enough in her ass