Move. Outside. Do It! YAY!

If you can go outside, DO IT.

If you can move your body: DO IT.

If you can go outside AND move your body: YAY DO IT!

 

Went out here, unfurled a yoga mat, stretched and breathed for twenty-one minutes. Hi crows! hummingbird! butterfly! AIR!

Yes, the world and everyone in it is crazy. It feels like we should be doing something about it. ALL THE TIME! But that’s crazy too, thinking that if we contract every muscle in fear & let everyone know how outraged we are at EVERYTHING because IT’S ALL IMPORTANT we’re somehow doing our best to make it better. That’s not solving SHIT. Not much shit, anyway.

We need to go outside. We need to move our bodies.

We need to go outside and move our bodies. Air quality permitting, whenever everything’s NOT on fire.

We need to stop thinking we can think ourselves out of this mess if we just keep … thinking and talking and scrolling. Our best thinking got us here. And if we’re talking we better have a good fucking PLAN backed up by love for where those words are going to take us.

Every day we need to surrender. To our body/ies. Inside this bigger body … and the one huge body that we are ALL a part of.

Take care of yourselves, cells. We are all in this together, whether we think we want to be or not. And sometimes the best way to cope with that and be our best at it is to go outside, move and breathe recognizing that we are all also alone.

More pics of me AND my boobs today are here for our members (spring sale join here) & here for OnlyFans

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SEVENTEEN YEARS of TastyTrixie.com

May Day is special. For a lot of reasons, but a personal and professional one is that on May 1st, 2002 I opened the members-only area (the paysite/for-money part) of this site, TastyTrixie.com. So I have been making money on my indie porn site for SEVENTEEN YEARS today!

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Happy anniversary to me, and thank you to all of you who’ve supported and enjoyed me and my work over the years. 🙂

Today I celebrated by launching my very first NON-ADULT (non-porn) website.

I’m keeping it completely separate from all of our naked, sexy and pornographic stuff, so I can’t tell you what it is. But you can read more about my new site (and why I’m excited about it) here on WebWhore101.

 

Written in the Sand

Last year I committed to spending more time at the beach. AND I DID.

My priorities and my visions of normalcy and success shifted with every minute I spent at the shoreline.

My intention was to continue regular beach visits in 2019 — multiple times every week — but so far this year … I haven’t gone much.

Today I didn’t even want to leave the house. Like most days this month. February is the worst month of winter in Washington (even without the snow that piled up last week); even though the days are getting longer, it’s not nearly enough sunlight after months of reduced daylight hours. It feels like darkness falls way too soon every day.

But I had to get one of Delia’s checks in the bank. It seemed like a waste of gas and putting-on-clothes to turn right back around and go home, so I made myself go to the beach, telling myself that I could just sit in the car and read. Just GO. Just GET there.

And there it was … proof that THE BEACH IS FOR ME, written like a personalized welcome mat:

Without planning it, the tide is often low when I get there. Especially on days like today when I had to ease myself into just the idea of being upright.

Funny coincidence: last night I read a story featuring sandwriting that was also like a personal bridge, but between where I picture the author Emma Donoghue and here in the Pacific Northwest. Starting out reading Slammerkin and The Sealed Letter, she has always seemed SO across-the-pond and decades and centuries ago from where I be, but in Touchy Subjects there she is writing about JESUS and TACOMA and the word COCKSUCKERS in the sand.

So far this book is full of stories I would never have imagined her writing, but I was totally surprised by Room coming from her, too. But maybe she was just making fun of us for that big JESUS CARES ABOUT YOU sign you can see from the freeway that you can imagine was an inspiration for it. It makes me miss Tacoma, actually. Lots of things make me miss Tacoma. But then I go to the beach here and don’t give Tacoma another thought.

Anyhoo … I had very tender feelings for “The Man Who Wrote on Beaches” when I read it last night.

“…he had a home with a view of Puget Sound and a good job and a great collection of German steins and a lot of laughs. Above all, he had Margaret, who was twice what he deserved.”

The older I get and resign myself to being My Authentic Self, I have to accept that even though I’m capitalizing those words like I’m in on the ridiculous joke of myself, I’m honestly NOT joking. I’m earnest and can say with my whole heart that I love The Man Who Wrote on Beaches. With recognition, relief that I haven’t taken it QUITE that far (but only because I got the idea of asking Jesus into my heart out of my system as a teenager), forgiveness … and no measurable amount of irony.

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