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*A fat, bizzy bumblebee rode around with me in the dashboard & windshield area until I rolled my windows down all the way and she blew out. She had a big orange fuzz corset on.

*Our power bill has gotten smaller the past couple of months; I think I just paid the last really big one ($183). When I see the next bill it’s going to feel like SUMMER! Or maybe not, though . . . it’s been a coldish spring so far. I’m not with the folks complaining about the rain, though — I love it.

*Turkey Vultures! Delia explained to me how to quickly differentiate them from eagles and other raptors, etc. in flight – their wings are dihedral.

*Everyone’s talking about the apocalypse coming tomorrow, but it’s looked like that on the peninsula for years, getting worse and fucking worse with endless driving through clearcuts and “reforested” hellholes. It’s a sad, ugly wasteland of destruction and corporate grotesquery devoid of biodiversity.

A woman and her children watched her husband/their dad jump into a river and disappear when shitstain federal agents questioned them about their immigration status after the forest “service” caught them illegally harvesting sa1a1 & called the B0rder Patr0l. Hahaha . . . isn’t it HILARIOUS how selective we are about caring for natural resources?

Imagining myself dressed up in a giant green sa1a1 costume, like a 5′2″ walking bush of sa1a1 and following those assholes from the DHS around, harassing the shit out of them and publicly mocking them and all the moron racists who love living in a police state. I could make such a grand ass of a nuisance out of myself, crying out “donyou wanna check my papers? I’M AN ILLEGAL BUSH!!” Don’t be surprised if you don’t hear from me after that, though, since they aren’t reporting the names or even numbers of people they arrest, put into detention centers, DISAPPEAR, etc.

I know it’s not the right thing to say or the right way to say it, but DAMN I’m glad I’m white! Someday I’ll have to use this white privilege for something useful, though I will not go so far as to sacrifice myself by becoming a burning bush. But wouldn’t that make a great story?

*Speaking of great/bizarre stories, have you read about this planking fad that claimed at least one man’s life? I for one find the desire to become a stiff board (or an evergreen shrub!) extremely compelling. Unfortunately my core isn’t strong enough to pose for highly sought after (I assume they’re highly sought after, anyway) nude planking pics.

If the end IS nigh, it delights me to know this is how we’ll go out . . . planking! But for god’s sake, follow the fucking rules! I can’t abide a plank with a big shit-eating grin on its face:

When performing a Plank:

1/ You must always lay face down, ensuring your face remains expressionless for the duration of the Plank.
2/ Your legs must remain straight, and together with toes pointed.
3/ Your arms must be placed by your side, held straight and fingers pointed.
4/ You must make it known that you are Planking. Saying ‘I am Planking’ usually get this across. Sternly announcing it will ensure a good result.

-via official facebook planking page

*When we were at the beach we didn’t realize it was whale-watching time until someone told us the day we left that lots of gray whales had been seen. I felt a little pang of regret, but with the little amount of time we had left to scope out the ocean from behind a little veil of trees I actually felt more interested in watching the birds (and I’m not just talking about turkey vultures, either!).

An older couple at the table behind us worked on a crossword puzzle; the man knew the answers but couldn’t spell “Rihanna” or “Uhura“. He thought he could, though. But I heard him saying the letters and he was all wrong. Then I found out that I only thought I knew how to spell “mascarpone” so I guess we’re even.

I dreamt of a crowded seniors-only trailer park vacation spot where we went to get away from it all but then we were in my grandma and grandpa’s trailer or something (note: in real life my grandpa is dead and they never lived in a trailer park). I had to pee but every bathroom I went to was full of specialty handicapped nursing home toilets with heightened elevator-seats made of yellowed plastic, and equipment like stainless steel rails, hoses, sprayers, etc. I didn’t want to sit on any of them and a frustrated old black man (I think he was sort of like my dad, who was a deeply tanned Irish in real life but not black) was chasing me (slowly, with a hobble) out of his bathroom(s) that were for him to use, not me.

I came into a bedroom with a hospital bed. My grandma was in it, sort of gyno-exam style, with two female assistants handing her implements on a tray. My old old grandma had a pair of tongs or forceps, a long piece of sinew or thick brown dental floss or something and different needles to thread it through, and a scary circle of metal she was fashioning into a clamp (diameter: between a nickel and quarter). She was in pain but focused on the task at hand which was customizing the thin metal circle to act as a cinch on her cervix to keep everything inside. One of the women held a mirror between her legs and I was horrified by how painful this procedure was going to be for my grandma who apparently had to do it every night before bed and try to sleep with a sharp metal clip digging into the tender flesh of her insides.

A cat jumped up on the bed and its tail swished against the implements. I expressed concern over this, worrying that the implements weren’t sterile and Grandma would get an infection. She brushed me off and prepared to reach into her vagina and pinch off her loosely-gaping cervix. I saw hair and blood on gauze. I protested to one of the nurses “what about rubber or silicone or something softer . . .” as the nurse just shook her head, letting me know that YES, there were alternatives to all of this daily torture but the medical community didn’t care about my grandma. They had bigger fish to fry.

Then an overweight trailer-parky lady won an opportunity to confront the HEAD of the doctors. We walked into his operating theatre where she started yelling at him about what my grandma had to endure and that he had the power to help her and stop withholding the special silicone rings.

He looked at me with utter disdain as he snapped on latex gloves and reminded me that we need to think about the soldiers on the front lines and THAT was what he cared about and how dare I be so selfish when there is a war going on. The men, the heroes, the stupid stupid women crying about their soft trivial cunts, lying in cozy beds. I couldn’t get the words out about how she couldn’t possibly sleep, the agony she was in. I wondered how he could treat us this way when she’d won the contest; how could he humiliate the winner on national television and not even LISTEN? Did this happen to all of the winners in their confrontations? Maybe it was my fault for being there with her. Maybe my presence made it null and void.

We were loud and fat and the other doctors in scrubs didn’t even look at us. I felt ashamed. Our place in the world and the futility of struggling against it was very very clear to me then. We were the cats contaminating the sterile atmosphere, endangering the lives of the heroes and progress in the war just by distracting them with our voices, needs and complaints. Stupid and selfish.

*****

Not a dream: my cousin died of cancer at the end of April and I never cared much one way or the other whether we were to kill Osama or not. But I do seem to care how and that even though I see people talking about it, I haven’t randomly seen anybody worrying about us killing his “human-shield”/wife or killing three of Qaddafi’s grandCHILDREN-under-twelve. I know this is nothing unusual, “good” guys killing kids and other civilians and apparently only the stupidest of idealistic bleeding heart peacenik liberals would question whether or not its worth it to the point where I had to google it to see whether or not I dreamed that, too, since it seems to be a matter of so little concern that I haven’t seen any mention of these murders in my social network though I HAVE seen plenty of OBL talk. It seems pretty obvious that we (as a general population) don’t consider those kids human or valuable or much of anyone to mourn. WE’RE FUCKING HEROES BLAAAAAHHHH! Do you feel safer now? I don’t. Not at all. I don’t believe anybody is safer anywhere; there is no army or bomb we can trust not to kill kids and the other people we pretend we’re helping. BUT OH MY GOD WOMEN WHO HAVE ABORTIONS SHOULD GO TO JAIL (if you google the Qaddafi grandchildren story get a load of how few stories even MENTION these kids were under twelve – not that if they were thirteen or over it would be a-okay, it’s just hilarious when the pro-”life”rs don’t seem to mind these things, but sucking out a blob of cells is MURDER)!! Fuck the world.

So I’m kind of depressed and just want to watch Star Trek, that much-ridiculed series of shows that actually has a fucking moral compass. What would Jean Luc Picard do? None of this bullshit, that’s for sure. Though the whole Robin Hood redistribution of Qaddafi’s wealth plan sounds sort of cool. Definitely a Captain Janeway kind of move.

Note: I am not writing this to change people’s minds or get in arguments or anything, I’m simply sharing my feelings with those who are curious. Because this is my blog. I understand why some people have different feelings and perspectives on this/these issues.

Also, I feel much better after sitting on this post for a day. I’ll try to post something more jolly soon, I just wanted to make a record of this nightmare.

Here is what I have to say over on Tits and Sass about the new .XXX domain:

.XXX Makes Me .MAD

I haven’t decided yet whether or not we’ll try buy .XXX versions of our .COMs. I certainly don’t want to. And after writing such a critical post about the asshole extortionists trying to force us into it, I’m apprehensive about putting my sites in front of them for approval or giving them my personal information. But I’d be apprehensive about that anyway. And folks in the adult industry are pushing for all of us to boycott .XXX (but I for one don’t feel sorry for Kink.com with their 10,000 domains – they’re not just protecting their brand, they’re part of the problem with that kind of excessive domain hoarding). Besides, my content is hardly consistently “Triple-X” enough to warrant that kind of a stupid-ass rating.

Anyway, do check out TitsAndSass.com not just because I’ll be contributing every so often, but because it’s awesome! Here’s what it’s about:

Tits and Sass is a group blog run by sex workers who saw a void when it came to witty commentary on the public image of our industry. The ideas promoted about us in the public eye have an impact on the realities of our lives as sex workers every bit as strong as the law, so we’re not letting any more dead hooker or stripper bones jokes pass by without comment.

We come from different backgrounds and locations, work as strippers, porn performers, pro-dommes, prostitutes, and have a love of ripping apart stereotypes. This is our space for calling out pop culture fails, celebrating sex worker culture, and talking shop.

Normally when you hear “camgirl” and “stroke” you think of masturbation. Unfortunately our online pal UndressJess experienced a different kind of stroke yesterday.

Some of us who follow her twitter account noticed a couple of really jumbled tweets from her, plus one saying she was on her way to the hospital. I finally got ahold of her on her cell phone this afternoon; she is in the hospital BECAUSE SHE HAD A STROKE.

Undress Jess

She was able to speak fairly coherently, though she stopped and apologized a couple of times because it’s hard for her to organize her thoughts. Apparently the main thing is that SHE CAN’T READ and is pretty worried wondering how she’ll be able to work on her site, camming, blogging, promoting herself, etc. when she totally can’t READ. It’s like weird instant dyslexia.

It’s really hard to imagine being so young, living alone and becoming disabled overnight. You never know how long (if ever) after a stroke you’ll regain the function(s) you lost, but if I heard her correctly the estimate is about a year for her to be able to read again. Apparently the only guess being made as to why this happened to her is from her birth control pills. Yes, fuckers, STROKE is one of the risks of being on hormonal birth control. So next time you hear a guy complain about using a fucking condom, pull out this little gem. Risk of stroke isn’t just a bunch of tiny words on a pill pack insert no one reads.

Rad Camgirl Undress Jess

Needless to say, she won’t be on cam or updating her site or doing daily shows the way she normally does so I hope her fans read this and try to be supportive. Her main site is UndressJess.com but she also has awesome booty-shaking vids on shakinit AND a clip site if you can only afford to purchase one or two videos. It’s hard to imagine what an extended hospital stay and disability can do to a single, independent camgirl/site owner financially.

Note: I’m not going to keep calling her while she’s in the hospital and if I do talk to her again anytime soon the conversations will no doubt be brief and about work stuff, so I can’t say that I’ll have updates for you or pass messages along to her, I just want people to be aware of her situation and do what they can to support her work online and be patient while she’s absent and struggling with what happened to her brain. If you have a blog, it would be great if you could repost this.

Last month when Delia was on her way to her laser appointment she encountered a road block situation by the Hood Canal Bridge: border patrol. We were mystified by it since THAT IS NOT THE BORDER and we’ve never seen anything like that before and I’ve lived in Washington state my whole entire life. So maybe there was a terrorist threat to smuggle weapons from Canada and blow up a submarine or something as it passed under the bridge? Far-fetched, but it was the only legit reason I could think of for the border patrol to be fucking around in these parts.

I know I’ll probably regret posting this because it’s loaded with keywords that might bring people from our town and sparsely-populated region to this blog; that’s why I haven’t linked to our local papers’ coverage of it, because I totally do NOT need a trail leading from my porn site to our local paper and back again. But here’s a story on what they’re doing and how totally fucked up it is. Because we live within 100 miles of the CANADIAN border, they’re using 9/11 to justify slowing everyone down to pick out and harass anyone who looks Latino in a line of cars. We don’t live by the Mexican border, and in my whole life here I’ve never heard of migrant farm workers committing acts of terrorism whether they were here legally or not. So WHAT THE FUCK?!?

I cannot believe this is fucking AMERICA in this new century. It’s almost like traveling in time and space to some hideous place where all black people have a curfew and are detained by the strong arm of the law to show their paperwork, etc. “What are you doing on the highway without your papers?” And then the border patrol brags in the paper about how they “netted” however-many “illegals” they caught in their shitty little traps. And the white folk in the line of cars gawk as the men with guns chase the brown-skinned people who leap from moving vehicles to RUN into the woods to try to get away.

Where the fuck am I living? What the fuck is going on? I seriously cannot believe this shit and the people who have the pink balls to defend it. And they gleefully tell us to expect MORE of it. They’re ramping up! Their funding has been increased!

It boggles my mind the way these fuckers act so proud of their horrid, invasive, pathetic jobs. The way they won’t acknowledge for a second that what they’re doing is a violation of civil liberties and pretty much defeats the purpose of living in what we like to call a “free” country. Nothing personal against those who are just following orders and need their crappy job with the border patrol, but it makes me mad when I as a whore am shamed and vilified for my job but these guys? Get to walk around with their chests puffed out for stopping people without cause and wreaking havoc on people’s lives. For reminding all of us how weak this country really is and scaring us all into seeing the horrifyingly distinct possibility that freedom is something that too many Americans are happy to see flushed down the shitter if it means maintaining some semblance of white supremacy.

I can’t even imagine how angry I would be if I were an American Indian stopped and harassed at one of these checkpoints. I think I would lose my fucking marbles at the sickness of it, the US border patrol trying to keep brown-skinned people OFF land they stole FROM brown-skinned people. Where do they fucking get off?

It’s time for me to brag about being in another book, so get a load of me in my sexy attire of choice before the boasting begins:

Here I am with the book, Best Sex Writing 2008:

The book isn’t full of erotic fiction, it’s an anthology of extremely provocative non-fiction pieces covering sex from challenging and unusual (but important and relevant) perspectives. Rachel Kramer Bussel edited the collection (and is looking for submissions for 2009).

Check out Audacia Ray’s video review of the book to get a better idea of my piece and the book. When she says “period porn” she is not talking about porn featuring people dressed up in anachronistic costumes; she’s talking about the the porn you find on BloodyTrixie and EroticRed.

For me, the best part of being included in this anthology is getting exposure to a topic that at first glance seems very “special interest” (the freedom to make and sell porn featuring menstruation) but really challenges people’s assumption that we live in a country where free speech is protected, women own their own bodies, and capitalism rules. We don’t. It’s exciting to know that more people are going to be exposed to the marginalized truth that fringe-dwelling pornographers like myself live every day.

The stand-out parts of the book in total are its depth of exploration and diversity of topics; a lot of mainstream media coverage of sex is so shallow, boring and repetitive. So much that we read and hear about sex is either a) entertainingly dismissive or b) hyper-judgmental fear-mongering. It’s usually some dumbed-down story to get ratings or clicks presented by people who really don’t know what they’re talking about. Sex is held at arm’s length and treated as something that doesn’t effect “real” life (except in a predatory way) or Matters of Serious Consequence.

I love the idea of people being shown by this book that THEY’VE BEEN MISSING OUT on fascinating, puzzling, and complex stories of personal and political import. This book is loaded with surprises and challenges while maintaining its readability. Each piece’s tone and subject is so different from the others that it makes me feel giddy hoping people will realize they’ve been gypped by not being told more stories like these before. The contents of Best Sex Writing 2008 show the field of sex journalism’s enormous scope in a way that makes it impossible to dismiss as fluff.

I’M HOLDING A DRAWING AT THE END OF MARCH TO WIN AUTOGRAPHED COPIES OF BEST SEX WRITING 2008:

Who can enter:
Anyone with an active membership to TastyTrixie.com, TrixiesHouseboy.com, DeliaCD.com or SpyOnUs.com during between today (February 28th) and March 31st is eligible.

How to enter:
Email me with your username and mailing address stating you want to be in the drawing. I don’t want to automatically enter everyone with a membership since some people may not even want the prize or may not have a safe address to receive parcels from webwhores.

How many:
If more than one hundred (100) members email me to be in the drawing, I will draw for a second book. If more than 200 members email, I’ll draw three (and so on). That way people will at least have a 1/100 chance (or better) of winning no matter how many new people join our sites.

Watch the drawing:
Tuesday, April 1st at 4 PM Pacific Time on our spycams and in our members-only chatroom.

Most people would say the small town where I grow up is one of those safe, cozy, little enclaves of cow pastured country-living. They would be surprised that six people could be murdered there day-before-yesterday on Christmas Eve.

I’m not surprised at all. I never felt like my town was safe, in fact I always felt LESS safe there than I have in any of the places I’ve lived since, including crime-riddled areas of Tacoma. I’ve no idea why people would imagine that a small town is somehow immune to this stuff, particularly when it’s family-style stuff. Why would a girl’s boyfriend be less likely to kill her whole family in a small town than in a big city? Somehow it seems MORE likely in a small town, but that’s just my own personal feeling about it.

The weird part of it is that when I look at those pictures in the slideshow accompanying the article on the murders, I actually feel homesick. Not in the sense that I wish I still lived there, but sick with recognition and the knowledge that no other landscape or location will ever feel or look or smell like home to me the way that does. I look at those pictures and know “that is where I am FROM”. My roots are literally two towns away from Twin Peaks.

It’s not that I was afraid of being randomly murdered there, it’s that there seemed to be a disproportionate amount of violence so that everyone seemed infected by it without acknowledging they were carriers. You know the faces of really mean people in a small town and you know that if one or two of them decide to hate you, you aren’t ever going to be able to hide or get lost in a crowd. On top of that, my entire childhood and teenage life was filled with current news of our famous neighbors, Ted Bundy and the Green River Killer; it’s like we were constantly driving through and swimming with their victims’ ghosts.

Long story short? Violent crime doesn’t surprise me; it’s too much a part of the local lore I grew up on. Woods were never just woods to me, they were always potential dumping grounds and they were EVERYWHERE.

If you’re wondering whether or not I knew the victims, the answer is “no”. No doubt I’d recognize the post office lady (and I’m sure my mom does know her) but none of them are family friends or anything.

Thanks for the heads-up on this story, Birdman.

Update: Here’s another clue as to why I don’t think small-town life is safe; in this more-recent article (or maybe they just updated the old one since it’s the same link I posted before) that describes more of the possible motive we also find out that the cops were too unconcerned to bother with the locked gate after a 911 call:

A 911 call was actually placed from the house at about 5:15 p.m. Monday, around the time of the killing. But responding deputies investigating the hang-up call apparently turned back after finding the gate at the home locked, according to Sheriff’s Office reports . . . . The emergency operator who took the call heard yelling in the background, but no voices.

“Heard a lot of yelling in the background,” wrote the call taker in a note to a dispatcher. “Sounded more like party noise than angry heated arguing.”

The first two patrol cars available were dispatched to the property minutes later, and the operator made two calls to the residence but the phone went to voice mail each time, Urquhart said. Both responding deputies arrived at the scene at about 5:45 p.m. only to find that a locked gate prevented them from accessing the property.

What the fuck? It wasn’t an armed fortress with a motherfucking moat. Having had our own experiences with lackadaisical cops I have to say that I don’t have the utmost faith in their ability to save the day. What the fuck more do you need to have than a 911 call during the holidays to get your ass out of your patrol car and walk onto the property? I guess it wouldn’t have changed a whole lot in this case, but whatever. It’s not the kind of action that breeds a strong sense of security in a community. On top of it taking a long time for the county cops to get to places outside city limits you have to wonder what they’ll do once they finally arrive.

“BUT WHO LET THIS HAPPEN??!!”

This is SO sad:

Despondent Fort Lewis GI fell through system’s cracks to his death

The thing that mystifies me, though, is this bizarre train of thought asking “who could have let this happen??” instead of even acknowledging for one fucking MOMENT *why* the guy wanted to blow his fucking brains out. He’s DEPRESSED BECAUSE HE IS/WAS IN A FUCKING WAR ZONE AND SEEING BLOWN UP CHILDREN. Where’s the mystery? What is there to be confused about?

I don’t understand how you can responsibly cover that story without providing even one morsel of a statistic on, you know, depression among soldiers. Before you go blaming the people who supposedly failed out of carelessness or some deference to (what everyone likes to consider) those PESKY privacy laws, try blaming the people who keep these guys over there. The people who THREW the country into civil war. TRY THAT.

It boggles my mind how willfully we refuse to look at REAL issues. Fell through system’s cracks to his death. Yeah, because if the “system” would have caught him his whole life after this traumatic ordeal would have been so perfect! A regular bed of fucking roses.

I’m sure the pro-war folks PREFER for these folks to wait at least a few months or years before they off themselves. And notice how you’ll never see a mainstream newspaper run a story entitled, “GI fell through system’s cracks into homelessness and mental illness”. Bwahahaha!!! It goes without saying, right? Errrr, no . . . that’s not the SYSTEM’S fault. I forgot. That’s just something much easier to ignore, when someone kills himself with a bottle or freezes to death or is lit on fire by some punk teenagers while he’s trying to sleep on a park bench. I’m not making this up — you might be surprised how many homeless people are beaten and/or SET AFIRE and it’s never reported in the papers, but you know FLAG BURNING — there’s an issue that deserves some attention, right?

The “news” most people read/hear/watch is just a bunch of diversions. I’m not trying to insult the intelligence of those of you who already know this. I just never stop being mortified by it.

I’m not sure I ever knew that Herve Villechaize killed himself. As a little girl I loved watching Fantasy Island; it was sexy, sinister, and of course totally fantastic. I got to watch all kinds of television shows as a kid at my grandparent’s house that my mom would never have permitted me to watch at home; we had a tv in our bedroom there and I was a little night owl even then, so I’d stay up all night to see if any boobs would be on public television and to watch seventies horror flicks. One of my favorite movies was Asylum.

Why does it seem like the seventies and eighties embraced the forlorn, the melancholy, and the macabre so much more than the nineties and the present suck-ass century full of silicone-bloat, young-country “music”, and criminally-insane levels of “Christianity” and “patriotism”?

If I remember correctly, there were a lot more scary clowns and freaky ventriloquist dummies back in the seventies and eighties. My first erotic dreams were about me and a grown-up man clown.

More information on Herve’s suicide.