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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.

Here I am, mowing the lawn naked in January/winter with a really bad cold:

Mowing the lawn naked in January.

It felt great to wake up this morning with my cold five times worse than it was yesterday. I’m not being sarcastic; it truly felt great! I almost never get sick with colds or flus, so when it happens I appreciate the excuse to just stop everything and take care of myself. Not sure why that manifested as mowing the lawn today, but I think it’s a home and hearth thing, and wanting to enjoy the yard and remind myself what a blessing it is to be out there, interacting with the ground and the trees and the birds and all the little nooks and crannies flowers and green things might pop out of, and that I can take part in that and witness it. AND BECAUSE IT’S SUNNY TODAY, and too beautiful to resist.

I pushed my boundaries and found the place where, for now, my body and instincts needed to lay the line down. Geographically I’m in the same place, but I have a renewed appreciation for the spaces and body I inhabit and for the expansion of my concept of what my life may contain.

*****

Rugaru is back at our house for a few nights with a plan to go home this week, many states away from us. I am so happy for him and his kids and thankful for the people who know and care about him back there.

I’m incredibly grateful for the crazy and beautiful things the three of us have learned and experienced together (and have learned experienced alone, too, BECAUSE of each other) over the past five+ weeks.

I’m also super grateful for the people — friends (including Roog’s friend, T.) and near-strangers and fans and even family (like my mom who popped up with a comment here) — who read our blogs and care about us and generously and genuinely PULL for us and celebrate our happiness with us . . . and worry for us when things get wobbly. We are so fortunate to be the recipients of so much love and well wishes – THANK YOU!

I also feel tremendously lucky to have close family and friends who bestow blessings and acceptance without unbearable loads of judgment upon the unconventional choices I’ve made in life and that Delia and I make together. I don’t know if I would be brave enough to allow myself to experience all of these things without their open-mindedness and support. I wish everybody were at least as lucky as we are – the world would be a better place if everyone were surrounded by the kind of love we’ve been privileged to grow inside of from people like my mom, my sister and her husband, Delia’s sponsor, my sponsor, Lightning Allie, and a host of other friends who root for us online and off and are patient with my many mistakes and enthusiastic wanderings.

I’m excited about spending the rest of this gentle winter with Delia and seeing what pops up for us to experience with and by each other in the springs to come.

*****

Note: I was actually done mowing the lawn by the time I stripped off my clothes for Delia to shoot this for fun. But I really did mow the lawn today/right before this snapshot and it really is winter and I really do have a bad cold.

Happily spending the holiday at home alone together, just Delia and I . . . plus the quiche she made.

My sister and her family are with my brother-in-law’s family in the Midwest, and we celebrated with my mom by spending an evening in Seattle with her last week, so we’re off the hook today and can just enjoy being in our magical house together, lazily watching television and the trees swaying and the rain falling.

Tomorrow and Saturday we’re planning to do a lot of camming! You can find Delia here and ME over HERE, and/or if you’re a member of ours catch our group shows.

I’ve got some awesomely cute pictures to post for members if/as soon as my main machine can be salvaged.

Last week my google search got all hijacked by adware that was SO SMART it disabled two anti-virus programs I used. I thought I had it all cleaned up with combofix but then I visited the same site where I think I got the first dose and it messed my machine up BUT GOOD. To the point where I asked the only person in town who I know for sure knows about our sites if she knew a good IT-type person we could trust to help us out at our house with our porn-laden computers.

SHE TOTALLY RECOMMENDED THE PERFECT PERSON!! In about two seconds flat after messaging her!! You could even have seen him on our lifecams if you’re a member and were watching.

He is trying to fix it the slow way (by backing everything up, getting rid of the crazy malware and updating all of my shit rather than wiping everything out and starting over, which would make more sense but I balked because I don’t want to have to reinstall all of the millions of pieces of software I use to be a webwhore: photo-editing, video-editing, content-processing & creation things, multiple hunks of cam software, project management & to-do software and like dozens of other things).

Sometimes bad shit happens for good reasons – I’m really grateful that being recognized in town by this one person years ago has only resulted in awesomeness and sometimes I just want to hug her super tight for her discretion and helpfulness.

Of course, my productivity has been down along with my main machine. I did edit and post a pretty funny/potentially sexy video for members and I did write a blog entry that I did not post because the formatting got all messed up, but processing some of my other porno is having to wait while a billion scans and fixes take place on my super-stuffed hard drive.

I’m pretty excited about having someone local help us with tech stuff who we’re comfortable with and I can talk to about Star Trek. I think our secret porno lives are as safe as they can be with him so we’re going to put our entire array of machines at his mercy to maintain and improve our network and systems, etc.

After months of not using the cabin “properly” because all I had was a tiny wooden tv tray downstairs (so I spent most of my time up in the loft which is really only suitable for cozy lie-down tasks), I finally spotted the perfect table and bought it with a small portion of one generous philanthropist’s donation(s) to the cause:

Price of my new table for the cabin.

It looked pretty wrecked, but then the guy came out, said he hadn’t even washed it off yet . . . I scratched at a fault with my fingernail and it crumbled right off!

Dirty, DIRTY table!! Goooood Girl, table . . .

So I bought it. I’d been lazily keeping my eye open for a desk or table that would fit, be serviceable and feel lovely but it took all these months to drive by the perfect table sitting on a sidewalk for sale. I couldn’t have found it on purpose or known this was exactly what I wanted. And I wouldn’t have wanted a new, reproduction version of this table.

Delia and I brought it to the cabin, inserted it into place, and I cleaned it. Almost all of this rusty stain disappeared:

I'll bet I can clean this off completely with vinegar & elbow grease.

The white apron around the edge of the table won’t ever be close to pristine, but Delia told me to rub the rusty legs with aluminum foil and they’ll get better:

Contrast rusty pole on left w/ shiny pole on right (scrubbed with foil).

I haven’t scrubbed much more than that, but I have spent a few good hours sitting at the table since then, feeling it’s perfectly faded and mildly scratched smooth cool top.

I think it’s pretty hard to find a formica table with chrome AND a leaf AND with the gingham top. The ones I see online with a gingham pattern all have wooden legs (and definitely no leaf). Not that I care about making great antiquing finds, but I do like to know a little about my tools and things I like. For all I know this IS a reproduction, but an older one than the styles they make now. Definitely leave comments if you know more about these tables or have some memories of these kinds of tables you feel like sharing. We could stuff a whole little family into the cabin for Thanksgiving dinner or Chinese takeout or something!

Look at my table leaf (& me in my shiny kettle)!

‘Tis clean! But still so touched and used.

Look at how clean my new old table is now!

Right now I’m doing a bunch of time-consuming windows updates on the laptop so that I can install windows live writer as an offline blog editor, but now I’m not so sure I want to do that. Really I just want to get over there to the cabin RIGHT NOW and sit at my table.

Stay tuned for more rhapsodizing about My Perfect Table (and all of the things it is perfect FOR).

I’m surprised and amazed at how much this January first felt like a special day. Was it the sun? The late morning heat we got to bask in in our parlor? We did so much good simple stuff: picked up, plant-watered, worked, went for a walk:

Dissipating contrails & blue sky on New Year's Day, 2011

It looks warmer than it was:

Bundled up on the beach, snowy Mt. Baker

I didn’t anticipate that I’d feel so great this morning. I wish I knew how to describe these feelings, that loaded up with magic potential. Maybe it’s that I still have a cold or am getting over it but my head’s blocked up and things have been/are shifting around in there to make stuff sound different. Maybe the pressure of fluid makes me see things strange.

I opened the door to spit out a gob of phlegm and heard little girls’ voices coming from somewhere but the only living thing in sight was a deer. Maybe she was talking with her sister in the bushes.

Things I (almost) always congratulate people on with genuine happiness, enthusiasm and well-wishes:

• finding religion (or some form of contact with divinity or spirituality)
• finding religion (or some form of contact with divinity or spirituality) is bullshit
• deciding to love someone, move in with someone, or marry
• deciding to break up or divorce
• pregnancy
• abortion (but I would never congratulate anybody on a miscarriage, unless they specifically said they were glad for it)
• deciding they never ever want to have children
• asking for help with a problem (preferably from somebody other than me, but in very rare cases I’m glad someone asked me — I know, I’m a dick)
• discovering they were wrong about something / changing their mind
• recognizing that something bad that happened to them wasn’t their fault or anything they had control over.
• any sexual encounter that they’re excited to tell me about
• abstaining from sex or drugs or whatever they decide they want to abstain from
• relief-bringing farts, burps, or poops (if they share that they had a good one)
• starting school or deciding to learn or practice something new
• quitting school
• starting a new job
• quitting a job
• ceasing or limiting consumption of anything that bothers them ethically, morally or makes them sick
• making a big fucking mistake and realizing it
• incurring debt for something they want or a risk they want to take
• going bankrupt
• opting out
• opting in
• getting dirty and staying that way for an extended period of time
• getting clean
• baptism
• feats of strength or endurance or solitude
• wallowing deeply and darkly until the tired hurt passes
• putting a team together or being part of one to make something happen, even if it’s a miserable failure
• figuring out you hate something and deciding to avoid it as much as possible for the rest of your life
• figuring out you’re not good at something and you don’t want to waste time trying to become good at it. Ever.
• moving

This is not an exhaustive list.

Pretty much any change is cause for congratulations and celebration, as far as I’m concerned. One thing I sometimes feel like congratulating people on but don’t is the diagnosis of an illness or disease. Because now you know and your life is being transformed, and you can shape your healing or reception of the change or whatever. I have to thank my mom for that, for raising me to never be afraid of finding out something bad about my health . . . to think of it as an opportunity (though she was thinking of things that aren’t 100% death sentences, things like diabetes, heart disease and herpes). Also, I really wish people had congratulated me when I was diagnosed with ADD. Or just for taking the steps to get help.

I know I’m not always a nice person, but I often feel really happy and excited for change in people’s lives and pull for them to experience all of the amazingness in life they possibly can: redemption, discovery, movement, freedom, immersion, floating, love, humility, creation, running as fast as we can, and stopping to catch our breath, sinking into the earth with dog-tiredness weighing tons of magnets.

My girlfriend is getting bigger boobs!!

Yeah, old news to some of you, but I don’t think I’ve blogged about it yet so I’m taking this opportunity to celebrate and share the news with you. We’re taking a trip next week for Delia to get consultations with a couple of out-of-state surgeons so the reality is setting in that THIS IS REALLY GOING TO HAPPEN and I’m getting very excited about it.

Yes, I love the puffy-nipple hormone titties Delia has now and I was very VERY excited about those growing in, but I surprised myself by feeling sort of conflicted about her little puberty-boobs. And you can kind of see why, can’t you, when I go into dirty-old-man-speak like that, right? You know I am a sucker for taboo role plays and the idea of pert buds of breasts, but sometimes I gross myself out getting off on that when they’re so REAL. It feels like I’m doing something criminal when I fondle them and I haven’t had the time or courage to really work that out yet. And now? I DON’T HAVE TO! Because my girlfriend is getting implants!! Unambiguously GROWN-UP boobs!

Underneath the cherry excitement of having a girlfriend about to get big fancy titties, there has been a foundational experience making it possible: having a special donor/philanthropist/able investor/friend come forward and send Delia THOUSANDS of dollars. And when none of the Pacific Northwest docs friends referred her to would do boob jobs on transsexuals and seeing that things were going to cost more? He stepped up and sent THOUSANDS MORE so we can make this trip and find the right doctor and make sure she gets the beautiful jugs she deserves and I dream she’s dreamed of.

I feel like I’m exploiting Sweet T. by publicly talking this way about the money he sent, but trust me, I do it with adoration and a wriggle of shivery delight (and imagine the words “adoration and a wriggle of shivery delight” being spoken in his delicious accent). I know this is the kind of story that makes chicks feel excited, happy for each other, and not just a little jealous. It’s the kind of story you WANT to read in a webwhore blog and know that it’s not a lie or crazy fantasy someone made up.

Some of you might be too jaded to appreciate this with purity, but it’s honestly an experience that reminds me (again) that there are people with money (some more, some less) who really want to use it to make people happy and give someone they admire something she longs for. Yeah, there’s the bonus of seeing the new boobies and having a hand in crafting an element of someone else’s experience, but with something as straightforward as boobs . . . I don’t know how to describe it without using the word pure. It’s very tangible and direct.

It’s exciting, because of the gifts AND because we’re sharing the excitement with someone else . . . it’s magnifying the experience, drawing it out of the mundane of doctor appointments and personal responsibilities and worries that would otherwise bog it down. Knowing that Tom is excited about the outcome and taking care of the most worrisome aspect of it leaves us free to enjoy the process and look forward to the results. It’s like a fun movie or fairy tale or something . . . more like what I think people outside of our internet porn world IMAGINE our lives are like all the time as chicks with our own porn sites. It’s affirming and a relief to have a story we can tell friends and family that actually lives up to their more positive expectations and wild imaginings (people mistakenly assume having your own internet porn site means fortune and large numbers of fans).

Note: I do not want to discount all of the people who send us smaller gifts and contributions — you are appreciated and definitely not forgotten, and there were many of you who helped with Delia’s boob job fund. The amount of people who support us and our work is profound in our lives, even if it hasn’t made us rich. All of you have made us want to keep doing it. And getting thousands of dollars at one time from one person? Just helps solidify our commitment / the feeling that it’s worth it. Again, though, I don’t want you to think we don’t notice some of our long-time members who have spent thousands of dollars on us over the years. Thank you!

Yesterday marked a very special occasion on the girl-getting-breast-augmentation journey; Delia bought her first dress especially to go with and show off the bigger boobs she’s getting. Oh good lord, that was exciting. Maybe more for me than her . . . I was practically fucking salivating thinking about how gorgeous she’ll look in that dress and what her tits are going to look like in that flimsy fabric and WHAT THEY’LL LOOK LIKE AFTER I POUR WATER ALL OVER HER AND GET THEM DRIPPING WET AND YOU CAN SEE HER HARD NIPPLES THROUGH THE FABRIC and then Delia started laughing at me because I was pawing at the air in circles, middle finger tracing her erect nipples in the sky, as I described my enthusiasm for these near-future visions of hotness.

So yeah, buying the dress to go on the new boobs definitely amped up my giddiness. Weeks ago I actually wasn’t sure if I wouldn’t rather be able to go to Disneyland instead, but the dress clinched it — boobs totally trump Space Mountain.

*****

I don’t know if posts like these surprise people who think I’m all “NATURAL BODIES OR DIE!!” (and take the culture thieves at Disney with you!) I do wish for more acceptance of and appreciation for natural bodies (and especially less open revulsion/disgust) and I do think cosmetic surgery is very problematic and dangerous and worth thinking/talking about critically (meaning with your thinking cap on, not just negatively shredding apart) and overall WAY WAY WAY WAY TOO COMMON, like it’s fucking endemic to being a first world woman over thirty, but oh man, I do love some artifice and craftiness, too. I’m not saying it makes all or even most women look “better” (not at all), I am just acknowledging that it makes them look different and I am not bothered by those differences as a default. And sometimes I really admire the differences and appreciate that plastic aesthetic (and would a lot more if it weren’t so fucking ubiquitous).

What I mean to say is that when Delia got her first (and only so far) Botox injections a few months ago IT WAS FUCKING AWESOME. Even though I was there when she did it and should’ve made the connection, about a week afterwards and for a month from then I was blown away whenever I looked at her, like OHMYGODyou’reSOlovely I COULD WEEP! And I didn’t recognize it as “that botox is really working wonders”, it was just that she looked like she always does but with a special softer glow. It was like a really subtle, masterful, living-and-breathing photoshop effect. She only got it around her eyes, brows and bridge of her nose and it was really cool. I don’t know why they’re saying Botox is going out of style, because it seems quite splendid to me.

But I know it’s really terrible to spend money on that when there are children starving in Africa everywhere. On the other hand, it is our job to be attractive and Delia never got to be a young woman while she was young, so fuck that guilt.

*****

I was also going to blog about Delia’s internal penis bumps, but this entry got out of hand length-wise so I’ll save it for next time. I know, I utilize the most erotic turns of phrase to keep you checking back for more.

Last night Delia knew exactly when the big fat moon was due to rise so we took our first beach walk alone together without having to feel guilty about not bringing the dog. We looked at ghostly white clematis and sniffed lilacs in the darker-than-dayness and stopped to stand in the sand to watch the entire moonrise from start to full exposure until it clouded over.

*****

When my ex and I split up the first “important” purchase I made for my tiny studio apartment was a new comforter. One that was expensive and heavy and lofty and luxe. It’s still one of my most valued possessions, probably in the top ten right along with my cheap drugstore bottom-of-the-line Parker fountain pen and my dancing bananas ashtray.

For almost eight years that comforter has lived in our guest room, unused 99% of the time while Delia and I have slept under lesser blankets. WHY????

I think at first it was partly because she thought it was too heavy, but it may also have been that I wanted to keep something so precious mine-all-mine, and in order to do so I didn’t allow it to be enjoyed. Because maybe it would get spilled-on or the dog would make it furry or because it was a treasure I procured when I moved back into myself and wanted to keep it preserved as a symbol of solitude. It makes no sense to me now.

This week we moved the good comforter into our bedroom. Where it belongs, on top of both of us, a big blanket of bliss.