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Archive for the ‘television’ Category

Dim light coming through skylight in my cabin's loft.

I don’t know how many nights and days Delia’s boyfriend has been here now. How many nights I’ve slept by myself in the cabin. How many times we’ve fucked. In what variations. How many times we’ve come. How many hours of sleep lost. How much work left undone.

Watching Worf leading a Tai Chi class on Star Trek: Next Gen

I’m surprised and confused by liking so much of this as much as I do. I’m distressed by the vulnerability of wanting more of it / not wanting Delia’s boyfriend aka The Hunter to leave yet.

But he went grocery shopping and made lasagna and says I should let him clean my toilet. And Delia loves him. And he’s a big Star Trek: The Next Generation fan, too. And made me feel better after this by saying what a good Captain he thinks Kathryn Janeway is.

The Hunter serving up lasagna he made.

All of the talking and phone noises and not-knowing-what-next tires me out. Or maybe all of the not-sleeping tires me out. And worry over not getting “enough” done. And being totally overstimulated.

But when we were all in bed talking about ST: Voyager and The Hunter changed the subject from an argument over our diverging opinions of Chakotay by asking, “can you imagine being able to hold it together after finding your little ship thrown however-many parsecs or light years away from home and not knowing if you’ll ever get back?” It reminded me of  one of my coping tools:

Sometimes when my eyeballs feel like they’re about to pop out of my head from the force of my frustration and I start hyperventilating and looking around for things to throw out the window (or AT the window while it’s still closed so they’ll both make satisfyingly loud shattering sounds), I try to calm down by asking myself, “what would I do if I were an Officer on the Starship Enterprise? I certainly wouldn’t behave like this, even if WebWhore Headquarters were about to blow up in forty-five seconds!” Patience! Faith in one’s own problem-solving abilities! Barely a sense of urgency: just a confident, one-step-at-a-time pursuit of a solution with nary a raise in my heart rate.

If our lives right now were an episode of Star Trek, it would be one of my all-time favorites. With me as a cross between Quark, Barclay, and a special busty guest who loves cock.

*****

There is a loving, guiding friend in our (especially Delia’s and now The Hunter’s) lives who says something about salvation being a word that actually means homecoming. To be welcomed home into a family of people who know and love you at a fundamental level . . . to FIND your home, or make a new right one. We long for salvation, to be embraced by people who recognize us as a child of good no matter what mistakes we’ve made or how broken and fucked up we are.

*****

I started weeping when Delia played the Jerry Garcia Band cover of The Maker and couldn’t finish eating my lasagna in bed.

I dedicate this beautiful song (You Were Drunk) by one of my favorite singer-songwriters (Rose Polenzani) to Don Draper’s secretary in season four of Mad Men:

I’m super excited that Netflix bought the rights to stream Mad Men so we’ll soon be able to watch everything over and over again on demand. Peggy and Joan are my fave characters, of course, but I would also like to spend time on Don’s lap.

*****

The first Rose Polenzani song I ever heard was Olga’s Birthday; I think everyone should listen to it and buy all of her cd’s and be blown the fuck away.

For most of three days this week doing taxes and other money stuff consumed me. It shouldn’t take that long – I’m a moderately organized person, but not AS organized and on top of things as I should be to make quick work of filing (yes, late). Mostly my brain is just easily overwhelmed so I have to split myself into a couple of different characters: the inept, freaking-out person doing the taxes and the kind-hearted special-education teacher coaching myself through it all, breaking everything into manageable chunks, giving myself little pep talks after mini-breakdowns.

I also checked our credit reports and in general did everything as thoughtfully as I could. I know most people hate doing their taxes, but even though some aspects of it are challenging for me (and I don’t exactly look FORWARD to it like a trip to the beach) it’s always a kind of special time of year for me. I would even call it mildly spiritual. It’s the time when I assess a bigger picture than the most recent day’s, week’s or month’s unexpected financial traumas and give thanks for the money we’ve made and people who enjoy our work enough to pay for it, not just last year but in all the years that have gone before.

Finding out we owe almost $20,000 to the IRS (including payment plans we’re still on from the past) in addition to all of our credit card debt (WAY more than $20k) was also a spiritual opportunity and experience. I managed to apply lessons I’ve been shown to live in the present moment and realize everything is okay right now, even great. Our debt is just a nonsensical, meaningless series of numbers in terms of the now. We have the means to MORE than meet all of our basic needs and to keep doing our jobs and many other things we love to do. You might call it the brain’s way of protecting its host’s desire to continue living, but I call it profound and magical.

I do not call it denial, though. I spent hours simply looking at the numbers of how much we owe, making realistic goals for decreasing our debt by focusing more on the positive aspect of trying to increase how much credit we have available to us, and feeling genuinely excited that we can not only make significant dents in our debt, but even get out of it someday and experience more freedom.

The main reason I am able to feel positive and hopeful is Delia, though. Many weeks of late she has pretty much doubled our income by webwhoring for hours and hours upon hours while still updating her site every week. I pretty much drained her bank account to pay down our credit cards a wee bit (wee relative to the amount we owe, NOT wee looking just at the dollar amounts paid).

Anyway, I’m sorry for the interruption to sexy-time and updates; I did think I’d get the taxes done faster this year, but no such luck. I know I sound really calm about it, but I didn’t have anything left over to get anything else done. Yesterday I woke up at 5 am after only four hours of sleep, probably because my insides just wanted me to fucking FINISH already so after tossing and turning for awhile I just got up and aside from the money stuff I was too much of a zombie to get anything else done requiring brain power or eye focus.

We fell asleep around midnight laughing at a Simpson’s episode (Homer vs. Dignity) we’d already watched once at dinner, but it was so funny and apropos (“when the Simpsons once again have financial problems, Mr. Burns pays Homer to play pranks on others and humiliate himself in public”) we watched it again. I so relate to Mr. Burns and would love to have my own prank monkey! If Delia keeps working her ass off like this, someday she might be able to afford to buy me one!! I would love to throw her money at some poor schmuck while forcing him to writhe on the floor of a public restroom in a diaper. Yesssssss . . .

We took a night off yesterday so I’m going to post this gallery tomorrow for members:

Hiding My Nakedness

We’re beginning a new tradition of taking one night off of work and the dog a month. For us, to get away from work, we actually have to leave the house, the webcams, the computers and the big camera. We board the dog at a nice farm-y kennel, and we get a room. Last month wasn’t as fun as this month because last time we did work while we were away and had to pack to shoot, get up early, etc.  / just one of the nights was “off”.

This time we didn’t have to pack ANYTHING except cozy clothes so getting out of the house was a lot easier and no-stress. We got a room at the Suquamish casino and arrived right before dusk with everything looking spooky and beautiful outside of the big windows of the hotel. We put on our bathing suits right away to take advantage of the swimming pool and hot tub.

Delia lounging by the pool

It was SO NICE! One of the benefits of staying at a casino in Washington (where it’s not really a destination for anything BUT gambling, unlike Vegas) must be that everyone else is at the tables and slot machines while the pool is totally EMPTY. We had the place all to ourselves, allowing Delia to shoot this upskirt shot while I read Wizard’s First Rule (as soon as I finish it we’re going to start watching Legend of the Seeker which I’ve been DYING to see; I’ve caught little pieces of it here and there, but wanted to watch it from the beginning with the background of having read the book):

Flashing my fantasy-loving twat by the pool.

We swam and we soaked, totally loving the big sunken hot tub outside. It was perfect with the cold winter air and rain in the dark, watching the drops fall in the water up to our chins. The only thing that sucked was not being able to be naked. It felt criminal, really — so unnatural and weird. How can you be outside in hot water at night breathing in all of that mist and wear a constricting swimsuit without feeling like a law is being broken? I don’t know. But it was worth it. I did consider taking my suit off, but it would have sucked to have gotten the boot with our evening barely started and I know I would’ve been nervous, looking around trying to be ready to frantically pull the fucker back on if anybody approached.

We totally overate while we were gone. The best thing we got was at Tizley’s Europub in Poulsbo this afternoon: their warm mustard-y German potato salad was delicious as fuck, and perfect with our bratwurst.

We were more than ready to come home and get back to work after barely being gone 24 hours, but the fucking bridge opened (meaning it CLOSED to vehicle traffic) right as we were about to head back so we went to “the fish park” to wait it out. I’m pretty sure that’s what the sign said, just “the fish park”. We enjoyed our little low tide stroll:

Romantic carvings at The Fish Park

Winter sky at The Fish Park

We Love Bats and Bat Houses!

I’m looking forward to whatever we decide to do on our February night off . . . maybe something involving less food and some museums or something like that. Or, better yet, some place with a hot tub outside where we’re allowed to be naked.

This is totally cheesy, but it brought tears to my eyes watching the girl win the Teen Tournament on Jeopardy tonight. I’m not posting her name here because I don’t want people to google her and wind up at my porn site, but it’s rare enough when women win, let alone YOUNG women and on top of that for her to be so poised, mature, articulate, confident and comfortable while also being so personable and such a joy to watch . . . it was inspiring to me and made me so happy to see a real young woman on television conduct herself in a way that I’d want my daughter (if I had one) to aspire to be like. Watching those kids on that show is usually so painfully awkward, I just felt so much (possibly misplaced?) pride for my gender as I admired her performance.

I know. I’m a total fucking dork. But I often get choked up watching women win in any kind of competition.

And okay, I’ll admit it: I have PMS!!

I’ve seen this gorgeous model, Dors Feline, busting out all over lately so thought I’d share in case you haven’t noticed her yet:

Voluptuous Dors Feline

There are a lot of cute, sexy porn models online, but it’s always fun to see one who’s truly beautiful that I could stare at all night long. I cannot get enough of looking at her sweet, sturdy legs coming to points in these peeptoe pumps:

Huge Boob Pinup Porn in Peeptoe Pumps

Speaking of girls I could stare at all night long, we are still watching SYTYCD (So You Think You Can Dance) in spite of vowing to swear it (and DirecTV) off. For all of its obnoxiousness I’m still driven to tears and/or drooling over the dancing and/or the hotness of girls like  Kathryn in her caveman garb last night. Of course we’re sad we won’t get to keep watching Billy Bell with his gorgeous, wacky, uber-articulated feet, but my secret hope is that he realized that lifting partners would only hurt his back and he should just be amazing OFF the competition instead of risking injuring himself on a show his fragile sweet self could never win.

And then there’s poor, beautiful Channing who appears to be conflicted over her lesbian self. And hot sex Peter (may be the first time I’ve been glad they made a boy cut his hair on that show). I’m rooting hard for Ellenore with her maturity (I was SO sad at that lame-ass “sexy” routine she had to do on Monday with those stupid-ass tutus) and was so sad that Ashleigh made it on instead of that super-athletic little black girl they cut for not having the right personality or whatever. Karen, Kevin and Russell are our other favorites. I ripped out a lot of hair the past couple of nights retching over some of the hideous costume choices, though. Those ridiculous pseudo-tuxes in the tap routine Monday night, for example. Bianca’s looked fab, but the boys looked like jokes. I’m also sick-to-death of Asian contestants being condescendingly described in diminutive terms and little squeaky voices, like “aren’t you just as cute as a button!?!” Ugh. But yeah — if I got to choose who I would fuck (or even just WATCH fucking) this season it would definitely be Karen and Peter. Not that that’s what the show is about, but I can’t help myself from thinking about it.

I do wish PBS would make its own version of SYTYCD without all of the reality show hype (or with it toned down to about 10% of the FOX strength). More dancing, less bullshit. And enough with the constant favoritism towards males and the brainwashing that “WITHOUT DANCE THIS POOR BLACK CHILD WOULD NEVER HAVE AMOUNTED TO ANYTHING — what an inspiration!” I’m so embarrassed to watch/hear that drivel OVER and OVER again. They never say that shit to poor white boys like Peter from Philadelphia with his jacked up teeth. I know it’s different, but when they fawn over the black kids like they’re stray animals white people in the arts rescued to perform tricks for them, it’s just so gross and humiliating, particularly when they assume that posture with all young black men on the show even when they’re middle-class white bread suburbanites. Fucking BARF.

Anyhoo, Delia’s decorating our guest room in Halloween deliciousness loaned to us by AmberLily so we can shoot some more fun stuff today to post for our members on Saturday. We’ve also got shows scheduled Friday night and Saturday so keep that in mind if you are a member or plan to become one by then.

Normally I love fall, but it took so long for winter to go away this year that I’ve actually been apprehensive about letting go of the summer. Fortunately, we’ve had an extended Indian summer. Last week I *thought* it was over one night when I found myself craving heat, but this week it’s back. Sunny yesterday, sunny today . . . and clear for viewing the full moon last night and crone moon tonight.

It’s also been spider season with one lady in residence in our line of vision from bed in the corner of our sliding glass door:

Spider Lady & Half Moon

She’s been there every day and I know we should get rid of her big egg sac or we’ll have shitloads of spiders in our bedroom, but I haven’t been able to do that to her. I love seeing her there at least once a day and/or night. It doesn’t seem like the best place to have a web with us sliding the door open and closed and some of her anchors being attached to it. But I guess there’s no spot to weave a web that is completely invulnerable.

Lamp-lit spider on web.

Our dog’s much better after her trip to the vet’s. The x-rays didn’t show any arthritis but part of her spine had some degeneration, probably from aging in an area of past trauma which Delia thinks must have been from a time when she was a young dog and made a quick break out of the door of their house straight into the side of a moving car on a busy road, bounced off said car, then ran back inside never appearing any worse for the wear.

There have been times in the past nine months where Nico has seemed so old and uncomfortable and tired — and she IS old. Fourteen, I think. Everyone thinks she’s a puppy because she’s a runt of a husky and looks so young, up until recently when you see her walk, especially watching her from behind and her whole hind end just takes so much awkward effort to move. SOMETIMES. But if she’s excited? She’ll still bound and bounce and run around the house like crazy, even though, to me, her yips of excitement sound tinged with pain. I don’t think anything but the most debilitating pain can stop a husky from doing her husky things, so when we started noticing her having real problems has been at night when she can barely lie down and whimpers/cries like a squeaky wheel, circling around and around before painfully lowering herself down.

Anyway, the vet put her on prednisone, a steroid, which seems to be helping quite a bit. We took her on walks in the woods the past couple of days, which she loved even if she’s slowed down a lot since I met her and Delia seven years ago. Now her pace is really pleasant and companionable. She still runs ahead a little bit, but there are times when she actually walks right beside us, or takes breaks so she’s always close by.

Watching her yesterday on the trail looking so much better than she has in a couple of months I thought about how long it took for my dad to die and how unprepared I was for that. How there were so many times where I was impatient for it to happen already, for all of us to be put out of our misery of waiting, and then having days where he was present and I was so happy he was still around and it didn’t seem possible he was anywhere NEAR ready. At least, not nearly as ready as I recently had been. I feel that way a lot with Nico where I can’t help contemplating the convenience of her death one day when she seems uncomfortable, lethargic, and droopy-faced, then feeling overjoyed the next with how well she’s doing — how alert and happy she is, how it’s so not time yet — how YOUNG (for her age) she looks.

My ninth grade (and seventh grade) English teacher did something pretty fucking progressive and unheard-of for kids as young as we were in a public school: she taught us a section on Death and Dying. Practical planning stuff about funerals and wills, the Kubler Ross stages of grief, and of course literature like some story about a brave young man  with a brain tumor (title escapes me, but not the memory of how much I disliked that book) and one I’m forever grateful for being exposed to and having TAUGHT to me (not just read on my own), The Plague.

I remember all of us talking about what we wanted to happen to our bodies after we died and everyone laughing when I said I wanted to be dressed up like the Chiquita Banana Lady and thrown into the woods to rot and be scavenged by animals. Since then I’ve changed my mind, partly because I loved my dad’s funeral including seeing him all dressed up in his coffin that we picked out with special things tucked in to go with him, including stuffed animals that were ours, but that he kept after we outgrew them. I was shocked by how much I did not want his eyes to be plucked out for harvesting; I’d assumed he was ineligible for donating because of his glaucoma (which he was, but they weren’t aware of it so the question was posed to me anyway) and I was just totally unprepared by the topic even coming up even though of course we are all listed as organ donors, but MORE unprepared by how viscerally opposed I was to having his body — especially his eyes — taken out of him when I’d been looking into them MINUTES before that.

So. Aside from it being illegal to throw costumed dead women into the woods, I realize people have emotional, albeit irrational, attachments to the bodies of loved ones and I’ve even become attached the IDEA of my own dead body and perhaps want a more traditional type of ritual to accompany me to my final resting spot. Plus I’m extremely fond of coffins.

I asked Delia if she knows if people can come to our house to put Nico to sleep when the time comes so she can be at home and we can bury her. Delia said she’d prefer to take her to the vet’s. When I heard that I experienced another one of those irrational, emotional reactions (especially since Nico is really DELIA’S dog, not mine) of not being able to bear the thought of taking her to a place she’s afraid of and have to die there. I know it’s over fast, but having done that (thankfully only once and with a kitten we’d hardly had for any time at all) the drive there is just too fucking sad and crying your heart out in a clinic standing around in that sterile setting is just not the ideal to me. I am so glad my dad died in hospice where we got to hang out with his dead body for a few hours afterward (I probably wouldn’t have understood it before, but that is incredibly comforting and helpful, not to have to be seperated physically from each other right away), but obviously a seventy year old parent is pretty different from a fourteen year old pet.

We’re all smart enough to know that television and movies are inaccurate and unrealistic, but I personally never realized how much until my dad took years to die, and then again especially during the days and hours surrounding his actual death. I felt and still feel very unprepared for the process of death by aging and protracted illness. My mind is still boggled by the concept that all of us, if we are lucky, have to watch our parents die. I don’t feel like I was taught to expect that or how to process that even though I’ve probably been given more tools and experiences to deal with that than most post-baby-boom American kids have. I’d had friends who lost parents way too young and I knew it was devastating to them and in some cases they even talked about it a little, but not nearly enough to ever intimate exactly how huge that loss was. I and my dad were not too young, it wasn’t a tragedy, and it’s still hard and has taken SO LONG. I mean, it’s still not over for me. I’m still shocked by the revelation that death is never over or never not coming and that it’s VISIBLE and active for So. Many. Years. I’m trying to accept that with Nico . . . even to use her as practice and I am flummoxed at how ill-prepared I still am . . . how disbelieving, impatient, sad, and scared I am in spite of feeling that’s not really in my nature. I feel like I’m the kind of person who should be able to embrace aging-towards-death gracefully, with serenity instead of blubbering.

I don’t even know how my mom has handled the past thirteen years, seeing her own dad’s decline and death, living with and taking care of my dad/her ex-husband (they continued to have a fond and extremely helpful dysfunctional relationship even after his death), packing up the house she grew up in and moving her mom out of it and into first one home, then another, and now a third offering an even higher level of care. I really do not fucking know. I don’t think she really knows either, but I know it’s a lot harder for her than she’s gotten help for, and my distance from her doesn’t help. What I still idiotically fail to GRASP is how this is THIS LARGE a part of life. Because tv never taught me that and even though my family has always talked openly about these things and plans for when we die, I still can’t remember exactly what I’m supposed to do with my mom’s ashes and I still can’t believe that IF I AM *LUCKY*, I will live through many more loved ones’ deaths. I read so many young adult books about death — GOOD books about a girl whose dad was shot about a kid with Lou Gehrig’s disease about drug addicted kids . . . about pretty much every kind of unanticipated death you or someone you know could have but not so much about the deaths we all aspire to without any proper planning.

What is the life span of a spider? I have no clue. I am still trying to brace myself for the day this season when I look out the window and in the cracks around the sides and she’s not there and doesn’t come back.

An amazing MUST-READ piece about Tyra Banks media-raping young, too-smart-for-tv porn starlet, Sasha Grey:

Barely Legal Whores Get Gang-Fucked.

I used to have no beef with Tyra. Before we actually WATCHED her shows. I still think some people get crazy-mean criticizing her, but if they do, this is a perfect example of why. Her double standards and bullshit exploitation of young women is a gross freak show. You can’t help wanting to knock her off her high horse. Some of the things I have seen and read about her doing to young women are despicable, mostly because she sees no problem with having malnourished girls get hypothermic modeling in pools of cold water or in violating codes by forcing inexperienced model-wannabes to live more-to-a-room with fewer beds than are allowed by hotel regulations or with promising contracts and money and work that never come through or just plain exploiting these young women’s bodies, inexperience, stupidity, etc. BUT she somehow thinks porn is SO BAD while she’s some kind of a fucking mother-hen angel rescuer.

Tyra’s shows ARE porn. That article illustrates how manipulative, degrading, deceptive, brainwashing, irrational, insulting, and totally FUCKED UP mainstream media and moral standards are and how SHADY the game is of pointing the finger at the skin trade when the skin is the whole reason people are watching your charade. The hypocrisy is grotesque. They lie to guests, twist their words, misrepresent them, costume them in a misleading manner to try to prove their bullshit points and “seduce” audiences with their bullshit and subject people like Sasha who are smarter than Tyra to what amounts to an emotional stoning. That whole scene reminds me of the time a bible-based cult ganged up on me to try to convince me I was possessed by demons, going to hell, my mind was playing crafty tricks on me, etc. Seriously.

But I’m not here to JUDGE you, Tyra. I’m just here to ask you to CONSIDER fucking off and dying. YOU are a pimp, Tyra. YOU.

PS – starving yourself and wearing high heeled shoes that don’t fit and falling off runways and crap are probably more unhealthy and more unnatural than buttfucking.

PPS – seduced by money? Bwahahahahahahahaha!!!!!!!

PPPS – after watching/reading that I can say I’m a now a Sasha Grey fan (VOD or DVD – yes, I’m pimping, too).

From a video we shot awhile back but just posted recently:

I don’t do enough glasses porn so we shot that in part to try to remedy that. It’s a shame I don’t shoot more stuff while I’m wearing my spectacles since I have a really “sexy” strong prescription, if you’re into that sort of thing:

right eye = -6.75 -1.00 x 135
left eye = -4.00 -2.75 x 156

The third number is for my astigmatism.

I also did a creepy voice-over/roleplay with myself for that video AND Delia threw her back out shooting that POV (point of view), so I want to make sure it’s fully “appreciated” by nerd-lovers. Members can see it here. Non-members can join our sites to see it OR buy it on our clips4sale store (look for “Interview with a Nerd”).

*****

Speaking of nerds, we finally saw Star Trek last night. Aside from it being an amazing, must-see-on-the-big-screen event, it totally had a Father’s day theme AND there were only five other people in the theatre with us, and three of those people were mega-Trekkers. The dude looked exactly like “Sex”, the crazy guy whose mom brings him to try out for So You Think You Can Dance every season. Only this guy made really awesome geeked-out joy noises in response to the movie and made the experience even more pleasurable and authentic than it would have otherwise been. I mean, we totally geeked out but this nerd-monkey NOISE that he made just epitomized what Star Trek fans are all about. And even with that few people in the seats, I *still* managed to get some fucker putting his feet up on our row of seats and shaking the shit out of me so, as usual, I had to have words with someone. PEOPLE. I love and loathe the shit out of them.

I think the last movie was saw in the theatre before this was Twilight so we’re parched for big screen entertainment. I’d love to see Up and Terminator Salvation before it’s too late.