TastyTrixie.com

Archive for the ‘Pacific Northwest’ Category

Just out of the shower, warm and freshly scrubbed to soft pinkness:

FYI: that’s one of my absolute favorite “poses”; I love it so much I bought backphat.com to worship it.

I didn’t do what I was going to do yesterday on my day off. The best thing I did was micro-garden yesterday. I mean, I spent a lot of time on my hands and knees tenderly pulling weeds, almost to the point of meditating on One. Blade. Of Grass. At a Time.

I did stuff that doesn’t make sense or accomplish anything, like put pebbles into one size of container. Little rocks into another pile. And medium sized stones into a completely different place.

I filled a container with fir cones. I wish I could do that all day. I mean, I could, but that would be crazy. And I worry that it’s wrong for me to take the cones away from where they’re supposed to be. ON THE GROUND.

I nipped dead branches and black-spotted leaves, focused and intentional with every single cut.

I loved worms, and I saw a very tiny bug, even  smaller than a ladybug and similar but not as round, with a beautiful light brown shell and darker brown and white markings. I’ve never seen that tiny bug before. I don’t know what it was. It was the best thing I saw yesterday, and I wouldn’t have if I weren’t “gardening” in a highly inefficient way.

I do little things here and there. Nothing is really finished, not even one little spot. I’m reminding myself to peacefully DO and leave the results/outcomes to godde/reality/nature/time. And not be afraid that everything is always coming undone and coming to fruition and changing and won’t stop changing at perfection, which are tiny tiny moments like an itty-bitty beetle the color of cold coffee with cream daintily walking on the edge of a pot. BEFORE you google it and find out it might be a voracious home-invading pest. So yeah . . . perfection is ignorance, too.

What I do to finish now is I put away the tools. The shovel the clipper the cultivator the taproot-lifting weeder thing the foamy thing I sometimes kneel on the push broom the wheelbarrow. I dump the stuff I decided to make “yard waste”.

You should put away the tools every day even if you’re not done even if you want to use them again really soon. You put all of the tools away because you’re done today.

*****

We got greasy cheeseburgers and fries, and no matter how bad fries are for your health, if I were struck dead after eating that first golden french fry yesterday, it would have been fucking worth it. Perfect ladyfinger size, perfect thin crunchy outside with a tiny bit of texture, perfect salt, perfect heat and just-dense-enough starch inside. Deep-fried sunshine.

On the way home we looked at little dozers and tractors for sale. I said we can’t have one unless we have at least ten acres. Then I amended it to seven. And then Delia said something and we knew that it might really be the best thing for me, a small multi-use tractor-mower-hauler-scooper to keep me occupied pushing things around, making piles, moving things from one place to another. Just . . . go outside, Trixie, and get on your little tractor-thing.

My grandpa had a riding lawnmower (and a bulldozer, sometimes MORE THAN ONE bulldozer). And blueberry bushes and raspberry vines and crabapple trees and other things. All I ever wanted to do was mow the lawn on the riding lawnmower (there were gears and everything!), and I did a little maybe when I was eleven or something but then someone (I really don’t think it was me) accidentally nicked a blueberry bush so then it was only my dad’s job and I was too old to sit on his lap while he did it. And when my grandpa died years and years later, my mom hired a gentle alcoholic with a beautiful southern accent to prune the fruit trees to get the place ready to sell and he ruined them. They were embarrassing to look at, like upside down brooms missing all but a few long straggly sticks. He had no idea what he was doing. I don’t think he even understood that fruit grows on trees and it takes years to get that right. It was sad, but you had to move on and accept it, and they weren’t going to be our trees anyway.

*****

Today it rained pretty heavily. This tree outside my window had some weird soap-bubbly foam on it:

I’m struggling with depression. And no matter what I type to expand on that seems just . . . exhausting to even look at. It’s not all totally hopeless and gloomy, but I’m definitely having a hard time. Fortunately it’s not so bad that I’ve given up working on it, but if the right magical gypsy wagon of golden fries and cheeseburgers came along and said I could hop on and climb under a thick warm quilt and eat until I fell asleep and rolled away into a dark The End, I would seriously consider getting on it. Fortunately we don’t have to worry about that, because there ARE no magical gypsy wagons offering such fare to solo riders. Maybe I just shouldn’t have stopped taking my 5-HTP. I don’t know.

For a while I watched & felt a house burn down.

I got some awesome presents for my birthday! More than enough to make me feel loved and appreciated, but nowhere near 39 yet . . . BUT you still have time to encourage me to post those sex clips! My mailing address and email address are both linked-to in this post AND Amazon gift cards are available for LESS THAN A DOLLAR . . . I’ll be surprised if thirty of my blog readers aren’t willing to throw a dollar or so my way. I’m sorry I didn’t announce this sooner, but I promise . . . I really really don’t mind getting presents or little tips ANY time AFTER (or before or around or nowhere near) my birthday!

4/17 UPDATE: SEE ALL THE VIDS HERE NOW!

Delia made a joke about the cash buyer while we ate lunch.

I took my feet for a swim in this puddle.

Thanks to wool socks, my feet felt awesomely cozy like they were in a sponge bath after I splashed through this puddle.

Topless puddle skiing.

Near the end of our walk, we ran for a block; my feet became pleasantly heated in the damp of my shoes and socks. Kind of like the sweet warm feeling right when you’re wetting the bed. Only on my feet and not smelling of piss.

*****

Some parts of the trail are very narrow, hugging me to shoulder-height with salal. Little grey birds with wedges of white on their tails kept blazing the trail ahead of me, skimming over the salal. Reading those words probably gives you no indication of how perfect (?) magical (?) better-than-a-ride-at-Disneyland (?) storybook (?) speedy-sweet delightful and gone-in-a-flash (?) unreal (?) saturated in hyper-reality (?) fanciful (?) just plain beautiful (?) those flashes of tiny bird tail are. They zoom over your shoulder and your eyes fly with them for split seconds and then lose them to the green.

A bird's nest.

I took a nap after dinner, and then we had sex but I couldn’t stop farting so we went downstairs and ate brownies and watched twenty minutes of an Agatha Christie movie.

Delia made us brownies and coffee.

The trees are budding, but it really is still winter. Yesterday they said it was going to snow, but I was still shocked when it actually happened last night:

Snow streaking down outside the cabin.

I could hear the snow falling, it was so wet (and sitting in the small cabin I am so close to being outside/the door/windows). After it had piled up enough to make everything glow, the moon came out while it was still snowing and lit everything up. Frogs were croaking, snow was falling, and the moon was out! I didn’t bother to take pictures at that point. I just smiled in the not-dark night.

Snow just starting to acculumate on the pink chair at night.

By the time I got out of bed at 8:30, it had already mostly-melted off the trees (I did get to see it throughout the night when I got up to pee, though):

Snow melting in our backyard this morning.

It was pretty awesome of Delia to respond favorably to me tugging at her to get out of bed and hurry to take what might be the last snowy nudie pic of the year:

Stripping off my nightshirt while the snow melted around me.

Speaking of Delia, check out these pictures I took of her and Savannah in pantyhose! And today/tonight/tomorrow Delia has been/is taking a bunch of new pictures of me, the kind that are fancier than nudies-of-the-day. In one of today’s sets I wore strappy heeled sandals and tan nylon stockings. In another: a sports bra, thong and capri sweats. My hair is super blonde! And my bush looked golden from behind with the light shining on it, too.

*****

Looking up at the blue sky through the snow melting on the little plexiglass roof over the cabin door:

Phew! So glad it sprinkled some snow on us yesterday to make it feel truly SEASONABLE to post some more snowy pictures in my members-only area today:

Brisk fun mostly-nude in the snow, hanging out of my bra.

Peek of my hairy bush over my panties

There are 137 pics in this set of photos inside my members-only area:

Nude except for my legwarmers & silver tennis shoes in the snow!

JOIN if you think it's worth it to get naked in the snow!

Wearing two bras after getting home from doing The Most Important Thing:

The ground was marvelously crunchy in some spots with icy mud:

I did a lot of the Most Important Thing yesterday, too. Did some cardio, some stretching, some MORE stretching before bed, and then we fucked. These really are some of The Most Important Thing.

There’s survival and there’s pleasure, and I intend to have both. In service of each other. And remember the point of it all, and that almost everything else is NOT the point.

My body wants me to do things with it. Use it and run with it and hear things and see things and smell things with it. Touch touch touch the air with my nose. Grimace and groan when appropriate.

Here are a few backyard winter semi-nudie princess pics for you:

My foot, showing you what this ice sounds like when I put pressure on it:

VIDEO0066.3gp Watch on Posterous

I was afraid of dogs almost the whole time. Their paw prints are everywhere and I know I can’t avoid them forever. The huge fucking Malamute was on a leash when I saw her and changed directions the first time, but I’ll bet in the woods they just let her run. With every hairpin corner I approached in the green labyrinth I imagined her springing into my face.

Just so you don’t feel TOO sorry for me, I *do* have garden gloves with rubber-coated fingers and palms:

Don’t worry about my silly complaints about the dearth of heavy-duty work gloves in tiny-hand sizes, because I don’t *actually* need them since I don’t really do any heavy-duty work. My fingers suffered nary a prick the past couple of days.

Sigh.

There was a 100% chance of rain today. Where I grew up that would mean rain ALL DAY. But here it means “it will be pretty cloudy today and at some point a soft spatter might fall down on you”. Both of these places are near Seattle. But so different from Seattle. And each other.

*****

I love this yard. I love being in it . . . being lost in it . . . becoming invisible to myself outside. That’s one of the very best feelings in the world.

I know very very little about gardening. And I’m very very slow at it, and most yard work in general. I’m not efficient. That’s not the point. Instead I’m very slow. Some of my movements are quick, but overall the progress I make (if any) is SLOW.

I look at the shapes and colors of things. I do a little something. Then I stop and look at the way what I did changed the shapes and colors of things. I walk around and look at it from different angles. I do a little something else. I smell some stuff. I pick  some things up. I put some things down. I move some stuff around.

Pull a little. Claw a little. Touch and smell and breathe a little. Tilt my head slightly. Dig a little. Turn to find the bird.

No, I’m not stoned. But doing these things, alone, without people-words, has exactly the profoundly calming effect I sometimes seek from drugs. Everything is exquisite. Thousands of small spaces invite me in. I’m fucking intrigued by this microcosm and that.

*****

I want this to be a significant part of my future . . . in all of the weeks I have left to live. I’m scared that I’ll ruin it if we ever have the time and resources to make it perfect, so I tried to promise myself out loud to Delia that we would never ever do that: have a boring perfect garden where the only thing left to do was maintain order. Delia will not let that happen.

One secret might be to always have big trees . . . big overgrowing things that make everything change every year.

Another secret might be to keep being really really really slow.

*****

The cool thing about this particular yard is that they carefully landscaped it when they built the house, like, fifteen years ago or whatever. Not like housing-development-landscaped, but with islands of native stuff like salal and a few shapes with perennials. And in maybe the ten years past a parade of renters has been through it so it’s grown out of its baby plans and gotten a little crazy in places. But not unmanageably so. Like the fire ring can’t still be where a fire is because the tree closest to it has grown to where its arms are almost reaching out over it. And you should try not to set the fucking trees on fire. That kind of thing.

So there are all of these little nooks where we could do something fairly cheap and simple and turn it into fucking storybook-charming magical. Like for photo shoots and stuff!  But not in a super-gross way. I know, I know . . . not everybody’s cup of tea. Whatever . . . I’m getting off track. I don’t really have to make anything look noticeably different, just do enough to where I’m out of my own head. Like just . . . put some shit into piles and stuff.

The point is that it’s perfect for a garden-novice like me to putter around and make a few sweet things happen without being totally overwhelming. And if any real work needs to be done, Delia knows how to use six hours to completely transform a landscape problem or crazy-ass weed-patch into THERE YOU GO ALL DONE.

A nude demonstration this morning under a grey sky of the fun I had yesterday under a blue sky:

I did some clean-up in the yard, like cutting down and pulling out blackberry and blackcap vines. I was surprised how sore my muscles got from this activity; my arms and shoulder and chest feel like I got in a real workout, partly because of the stretching up high and far away and deep down, but probably mostly because our loppers are rusty as are most of our garden tools. Neither this house nor the last one we lived in has a garage or much storage space and we haven’t wasted money on one of those plastic yard closets or storage lockers, so after years of being wrapped in tarps outside or just left out, they’re pretty fucked up. We can still use them, but it’s harder. Hence the extra-sore muscles. I’m not complaining though because it’s fun free exercise.

I actually feel kind of bad about cutting down so much of the blackcaps – they’re yummy, they attract birds, they’re not as invasive as the blackberries – but they distract from the other plants and we’re trying to prepare to use the yard as much as possible for shooting. And they reach out and grab your ankles and pants when you’re just trying to walk by them.

They don’t seem to make protective leather work gloves in a size small enough for my hands, so I often use the loppers to hold onto the vines and try to pull them out and move them to the discard pile. I still managed to scratch my face with thorns, though.

I also did some other stuff around the yard, like picking up limbs and debris that blew off trees during our stormy weather. I piled some of the branches up in places where I want the grass to die down.

I also stepped in one of the neighbor’s dog’s shit piles IN OUR YARD. RIGHT ON MY FUCKING PATH!!

I thought I’d located (and photographed) all of them after I made a tiny misstep, but then I wound up with a total stinky shoe-ruiner, like a wet cheap-dog-food messy pile my foot found that squished up on the side of my shoe and almost got into my velcro!

Yes, I have shoes that utilize velcro!

I decided to not be TOO mad about it, as it provided me relief that this neighbor and I are now fully fucking EVEN if she was bothered by me not-on-purpose flashing her or by all of the noisy sex H. Rugaru and I had when he was here. Okay, I was still “too” mad about it, as I scowled for at least forty-five minutes and even crossed the street to make a bizarre display of myself trying to wipe my shoe off, publicly swearing and muttering. Made even more bizarre by the fact that nobody else was actually outside to witness me sliding and stomping and dragging my contaminated limb around.

As long as we live in a society where polluting groundwater and other people’s private property with feces is viewed as friendly and the best way to show our love of animals, I’m going to feel free to grunt and moan and holler in the middle of the night and run around naked like a bozo during the day. SO THERE!

Also! If the reward for adulthood is having to tie and untie and tie and untie shoelaces, then we simply don’t deserve technology!!

Hello birds and morning sunshine!! Here’s my fucking whisker biscuit!! Yeah, I just woke up in this picture:

Wearing pink nighty, flashing my BUSH, being silly in the backyard!

I tried to take some pics and vids of the birds with my phone, but they didn’t turn out good enough. I’m thrilled about the sunshine and blue skies and bird activity, though!

The blue sky this morning touching our roof

Delia took some great pictures of me yesterday and last night, plus a wet pink video that made her panties damp with precum. I had no idea she was that excited until she showed me . . . it gave me faith that all the work was worth it.

After that she gave me a foot massage, then I rubbed her big hard cock through her panties. Then I sucked it. And then she was so so so so so excited that it made ME so so so so so so excited and we both came fast.

Then we went to the store for cookie dough, but on the way we saw a HUGE FUCKING ORANGE CRESCENT MOON sitting on top of a road leading a different direction, so we whipped around and tried to catch up to it. It looked like we’d be able to drive a couple of miles and be right under it, like it wasn’t the moon at all, but a much-closer giant sphere being lit up by men from here on Earth that you could almost reach up and touch.

It was super windy last night! We could barely sleep because it was SO LOUD and big branches and sticks and stuff were falling onto our roof. Here I am naked, wearing glasses, playing with one of the fallen tree-pieces, enjoying the ABSOLUTELY FUCKING AWESOME winter sunshine:

Much bigger than a fig leaf, yet provides less coverage:

Backyard warrior planting my rustic spear-flag in the ground with menacing expression:

I kind of want to go racing around the neighborhood like that, running into people’s yards and squatting down in territorial poses, squirting tiny blasts of pee on people’s tires.