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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).

Have you noticed us getting up earlier and going to sleep sooner on our cams? That’s (partly) because starting September 3rd I’m going to get up early to head over to the cabin we’re (good news!) officially renting to do off-cam no-internet work sans distractions. Normally I quickly grow disgusted with a morning-person routine, but now it seems totally different knowing there’s a purpose to it.

It rained heavily on Thursday. If I hadn’t gotten up at seven in the morning, excited about the possibilities of such early rising once the cabin time begins, I’d have never known there was any blue sky to be had that day. I’d have missed seeing this moon:

Blessing Bestowed from the West

There’s a place – a real live place – where women artists can apply for residencies. Actually, there are lots of places like that, where those kinds of people can get free lodging in inspiring locations to focus on their work, but the one I’m thinking of is SUPER DREAMY . . . fucking storybook-land perfection in terms of its tiny private artfully-crafted houses (each resident has one all to herself) and woodland setting.

Most shockingly dreamy of all is the way the women are catered to; the small handful of residents (women, all of them!) have a chef who prepares crazily wonderful dinners for them every night. There are pictures proving how thoroughly stocked the kitchen is with racks of zillions of containers of spices and rows of carefully labeled provisions and specialized pots and pans used to make what appears to be an ABUNDANCE of food every night just for these six or seven women. Meats and comforts and fresh green things and berries and sauces and fanciness and desserts and lots of colors and textures on big plates and side dishes.

On top of all that, the chef ALSO prepares individual baskets for each resident full of her favorite foods to help sustain her throughout the day while she works in her perfect little house. And there’s a garden full of plants someone else tends that each resident gets to pluck and cut flowers and leafy things from. FOR INSPIRATION AND SHIT!

I know that being there wouldn’t be actual utopia, but it does provide a model to ooh and aah over. I think it’s awesome that a very teeny-tiny percentage (wish it were more) of talented women in the world get to experience opportunities like that, to be told that their own self-directed art is so valuable as to warrant a few days . . . maybe even a whole month(!) . . . of concentrating on nothing BUT the work she most wants to do and that she will be sheltered and reliably fed to delicious excess if she likes so she can take care of her work while someone else takes care of her basic needs with sensual generosity.

Same time as picture above, but looking 80 degrees to the south.

What an exquisite fantasy! But it seems so decadent, like I know that I personally could never warrant such treatment. It’s a nice daydream but it actually makes me nervous to think about having such a giant privilege bestowed upon me. I’m nervous enough about the idea of renting this cabin, feeling like I need to prove that I “deserve” it. That I’m worth blowing more money on when I already have so much.

And then I remember that my grandma made my grandpa dinner every night to his specifications. Dished it up and brought it out to him. It wasn’t fancy, but she SERVED him. And every day she fixed him a box lunch even on the days when he was only working in his garage out back, a one minute shuffle away from the back door. I know times have changed, but when I was growing up I never fucking once saw a man prepare and serve a grown woman food. NEVER ONCE outside of restaurants (which I rarely saw) and pancake breakfasts at the Masonic Lodge where it was a wonderful novelty to see the men with aprons on, coming out to the long tables to pour coffee and bring us our hotcakes.

It wasn’t just my family that was like that. Most people my age and older grew up seeing men (and children) waited on at home and women NOT.  I suppose gender-blind egalitarianism is the ideal I should desire (and I do in some ways) but part of me needs to experience the balance of intimate privilege tipped dramatically towards women to undo what I learned by watching. I wasn’t brought up to BE that kind of woman who waits on men — not at all; I wasn’t taught with words to do it  — but that’s what all the women in my family DID to one extent or another and the men DID NOT. You have to be crazy to think that kind of learning is something you can just erase with your intellect when you grow up or even along the way with words of “you-go-girl” encouragement.

Looks promising upwards and eastwards

Even though I never grew up wanting to be a woman who takes care of a man, once I outgrew the entitlement of childhood I came to FEEL that having someone take care of me wasn’t something I deserved or could expect the way a man in my grandparents’ and parents’ generations could and that the only way to live my life just-so, to my specifications, was to live alone. I didn’t think this on a conscious level, but I think the past ten years (and then some) of webwhoring have involved more conscious efforts to recognize and reconcile this conflict; I want to work — to do MY work and do it MY WAY — and have someone else take care of the housekeeping and cooking. For my work to be the most important thing I do and everything else to be relegated to the distraction pile which I should be able to demand someone else pick up and put away. To believe that my work is so important that I should be angry and frustrated when I do not have the tools or environment to do it properly. BECAUSE THAT’S WHAT MEN OLDER THAN I AM GREW UP EXPECTING AND DOING. And so what if their work wasn’t important or they would bankrupt the family with their business schemes? You didn’t fucking criticize the work, jobs or dreams of men. You just didn’t unless you wanted to be the evil villainous bitch in the story.

I shouldn’t feel guilty about wanting to have as many places to do my work alone as my grandpa did: a garage, a basement, a toolshed, a closet where he kept his Black Velvet and other private treasures, and a windowless office he hardly went into that nobody else was allowed into that was always at least 15 degrees cooler than the rest of the house. My grandma didn’t have any place in her house that was her own like that, just like my mom didn’t have a special place in our tiny house for herself like my stepdad had a whole room for his model train. And if Grandma fucked up some shit in the kitchen Grandpa would go ballistic on her ass. So I guess maybe I SHOULD feel guilty about wanting all that man-privilege since being an abusive asshole came with the territory. I don’t know. But on Friday morning I’m going to work alone in the cabin AND I CAN HARDLY WAIT!!

Also? I’ve drafted a new personal ad for a slavey-houseboy type. Not putting it up for awhile though as that’s a whole time-consuming process in itself. I also keep wanting to blog more about how going to college totally distorted my idea of money and assessing the worth of an investment in myself, perhaps making me approach financial risk-taking in a more “manly” way than I would have otherwise.

More morning moon pics to come?

*****

So. I don’t anticipate members and fans seeing a noticeable change in focus on our sites because of this and will probably see more exciting stuff on cam rather than less since we have to cam more to pay for everything. One of the good things (in terms of “earning” my cabin keep) is it’s already making me more disciplined and focused in how I prioritize things, clarifying what needs to come first (which is really REALLY challenging when you have boatloads of everything to do and have an easily-overwhelmed mind like mine). Right now at the top of the list is simply getting ahead on shooting and getting updates lined up, so that’s what I’m going to get back to work on right now.

I often fantasize about having a windowless closet with a narrow cozy built-in bunk to sleep and daydream on. Where nobody can see me, cut off and curtained-in by dark, heavy layers of hanging clothes. Or of being in a fantasy sleeper-car on a train on a comfortably narrow berth, dark wood paneling all around with chugging train sounds and gentle rocking. Or of being in an even-smaller, quieter version of this cabin, this time with a built-in little bed. No electricity, no webcams. Or of having my bookwormhole.

Sometimes I close my eyes in bed and time-travel back to the best drugless, not-sick sleep I ever had. I went on a women’s retreat with a bunch of gals I really didn’t know. Upon arrival I half-assedly engaged in the crafts they’d set out, then went to the cabin. There were a handful of these cabins on the lake, a BIG lake with no motorized boats allowed. QUIET. The other women complained about the cabins – the uncomfortable bunks something they were only tolerating for the coolness of the Retreat. In the middle of the day while the cabins were completely deserted I climbed onto my little wooden shelf, nestled down into Delia’s perfectly awesome sleeping bag, faced the wall, and fell asleep for hours. Undisturbed, unseen, far removed, not missed. I absented myself from everywhere else except my private cocoon.

I got up for a late dinner, and that night slept again in a completely heavy, renewing, needy, guiltless way. Even with the women sharing the cabin with me, I felt alone with my earplugs in and my lack of intimacy with them. There was a woman on the shelf above me, two shelves holding a woman-each perpendicular to my head, and two shelves parallel to me across a tiny open space. I was the first person to go to bed, and the last one to wake up. I liked having the shelves of women around me, being in a small hibernating hive, quietly together without any of them knowing me. Not talking.

I was reading Strangers on a Train that trip. I accidentally left it at the lodge so I never finished it, but it was good to have it when I did. A sugar daddy sent it to me off my wishlist so I feel a little guilty over losing it, but my possession of the memories of that trip are so clear the book is still one of my treasures even though I don’t have it anymore.

*****

The opportunity to rent a small cabin/shed space came up this week, synchronous to a handful of needs/desires/opportunities converging on me/us. It’s the kind of thing I would never seek out because I don’t think I deserve it, but under the circumstances and upon careful thought and discussion we both recognize we’re way overdue for what it will offer. It is just THE THING. It’s not in a remote location — in fact it’s on very shared space minutes away — but because we’ve been there and know the person really well who’s renting it I’m familiar with the setting, comfortable with the people who might be around, and aware of the benefits of its location. I haven’t actually been inside this cabin on the property, but I’m going to check it out soon.

Yes, I’m worried about how we’re going to afford it, but the with the house and the cabin/shed we’ll be paying the same amount we were paying for rent on individual houses before we moved into this place with its cheaper rent. I’m pretty sure it will be worth the relatively small investment in terms of providing space and opportunity for more creative content creation for our porn sites, too.

It’s not a done deal but if it works out I will be healthier with a space to be solitary and invisible, to write without obligation or interruption (I know, we don’t have kids and we work at home, but there are SO MANY INTERRUPTIONS mostly named THE INTERNET and webcams and too much space with all of it messy with cables and overwhelming work things everywhere), to sleep with complete cozy abandon, and most excitingly for our fans this might give us the kind of space and convenience we need to have more sexual adventures with other people. I will have someplace to go if Delia wants someone over for fooling around, and vice versa (though I mainly anticipate fooling around with mySELF, dreams, and pages and pages of watery blue words). We’ll have a convenient place to go away together, away from work. Because working at home with 24/7 voyeur cams on you means never getting a break unless you leave, and when we leave work I want to relax, not wander around a mall or drive hours to see a movie, or blow money to sit on uncomfortable chairs in a restaurant, or wander around in the woods being scared of cougars wondering how we’ll get home when our car breaks down (I still need to blog about that).

I’m also really excited about sharing the dreaminess of a little place like that and the things I do in it. But not having to share it WHILE I’m there.

I’m grateful to a number of people and strangely-timed messages for helping me decide to seize this opportunity. Two of those people are Heather and Libby, so thanks for the inspirations.

I’m getting better at recording ideas as they come to me, developing a system.

We know a guy in town who nearly wrapped up writing his novel and also had a system for compiling all of his stacks of inspiration-containing idea-notes weekly. His novel and many years’-worth of weekly compilations were stored on his computer at the offices of the non-profit he ran saving seeds of native and/or rare plants.

One night the building burned down. He had no back ups of his his novel or his notes.

He and his wife sold his car to someone we know, who then gave the car to us for free. I wonder if it’s bad luck to drive it. I feel like I need to compile years of stacks of notes-on-envelopes now, back them all up and store them in three different places.

Until I get a fireproof system in place there’s no point in even STARTING to write a novel. But maybe since I would never say “novel”, only “I’m writing a book” (and would never even say that to anyone even if I WERE writing one), maybe that would protect me.

I’m not sure, but I think a lot of the seeds were duplicated elsewhere so all was not lost in that department. I can’t remember what he called his note-compilation ritual, but I think I have it written down somewhere on the back of an envelope. Lately I’ve had to stop myself from searching for that because I don’t really need to know what he called it. I could email him or even call, but I don’t know him that well so to my mind searching through shitloads of scribbled-on papers seems the more sensible thing to do, but obviously not sensible enough that I’ll allow myself to do it.

His wife collects the jokers from decks of playing cards. That’s almost everything I know about them.

Note: I really am not writing a book, and most of my ideas aren’t FOR books. This post isn’t a hint of any kind, it’s more of a confession  about my idea-hoarding compulsion.

Today I spotted a really good deal for webmasters on a huge stash of hot Russian fetish porn so I bought it and decided to use it to start building a bonus site for our members. Tonight I’ll post a gallery of fifty of my favorites; the following are samples from that gallery:

I bought this package not only because it was cheap, but because it contains so many things I love: gloves, inflatables, peeing, smiling natural-looking girls, outdoor nudity, white panties & socks, and a host of other naughty things. It’s hard to believe the content broker advertised it as his “ugly girls package”. Snort. There’s some insight into the porn industry mentality (in case you need any, which I doubt).

My hope is to make this bonus site to house bought content (non-exclusive stuff I like, but we didn’t shoot ourselves) and be more of a story site with my own little fantasy narrative to accompany my favorite images from each set. I know! WHY am I starting another project? It’s not really a big thing to do, though, and not something I need to crank out or “complete” any time soon; it’s more like adding another feature to our sites and inspiration for me to write more porno stories which are conspicuously small in number on our sites as it stands. I like riffing off of strangers in content other people have shot. It’s fun/hot, plus I feel the need to bulk up on the stories because a) the types of people who dig our sites also seem to dig stories, b) it offers insight into my own turn-ons which is part of the personality people expect from me, and c) to offer a little more of the type of content women gravitate towards (IN GENERAL; of course not all women like their porn in story form, but a whole lot DO rely upon the written word for masturbation fodder and think huge sets of 200 pics are totally fucking boring). Stories are pretty cool because they don’t require a bunch of money or extra people to produce outrageous scenarios; you just need time (which IS money, I know) and a pervy imagination.

Speaking of stories, here’s the latest on the “Red Rose”/Karen Fletcher case in which a woman was prosecuted by the federal government for OBSCENITY. She was convicted of a thought crime right here in AMERICA! I don’t know how to explain this if you don’t already know it, but it should not be acceptable to any of us that the government thinks WRITING about criminal behavior and publishing it IS a crime in itself, no matter how unsavory the subject matter. Even if people are jacking off to it. Especially when there are shows on television like Law & Order: Special Victims Unit which is big corporate porn of exactly the same stripe as Karen Fletcher’s, only maybe it’s worse because people delude themselves into thinking they’re watching those fictions not out of “prurient interest” (which is the language the law uses to say certain media is used as jack-off material rather than some more socially-acceptable form of entertainment – I call it the pornography of abuse and it’s how Oprah MADE her fortune) but because it’s somehow good for society. What a crock of shit. You cannot flip past that show for ten seconds without some Daddy creeping into a family bedroom he shouldn’t be in or seeing a child shivering naked in a bathtub or hearing the word RAPE. People obviously get off on that shit in many different ways. Let me clarify, I’m not condemning human nature here (most of us are drawn in one way or another to the horrifyingly sick, scary and macabre), I’m condemning the double standards that criminalize speech that SHOULD be protected by the First Amendment while giving the entertainment industry fucking Golden Globe awards for the same shit wrapped in a different package and set of excuses.

If Karen Fletcher was DOING the things she wrote about or printing the stories up on fliers and distributing them at elementary schools, well OF COURSE she should be not just prosecuted, but locked up for life. But she wasn’t. That’s not what the Department of Justice went after her for. They went after her for sitting at home in complete isolation, putting words on a computer and then onto the internet. WORDS. She thought about bad things and shared those bad thoughts with a whopping audience of twenty-nine people who sought out and chose to read them. Would I want to be her friend or have her over to babysit? Of course fucking not. What I want is for us all to prosecute and put people in prison WHO ACTUALLY COMMIT CRIMES. Not just imagine crimes in their heads.

aka “Acronyms and the People Who Love Them”.

I grumble whenever I read a blog post, a letter to the editor or anything intended for a general audience using an acronym or abbreviation that hasn’t been spelled out; unless you are writing for a special audience of people you shouldn’t assume everyone will know what you mean when you type out XYXY blah blah blah.

Today I found myself *especially* annoyed when I read this email about who qualifies for affirmative action when choosing delegates for State and National conventions:

*The WA State goals of their 97 delegates is: 6 African Americans, 3 Native Americans, 10 Hispanics, 3 Youth (between 18 and 24), 7 LGBT (if you have to ask- you are not one), 9 Asian Americans, 3 disabled

Sigh. And if you are too busy being cute or evasive that you can’t spell it out, then your email isn’t really helpful in answering people’s FAQs (Frequently Asked Questions). FYI: LGBT stands for Lesbian, Gay, Bi(sexual), Transgender.

I know I’m guilty of assuming my readers understand the terms I use. I know I don’t always explain things as well as I could (and am sometimes just guilty of shitty writing, like the way I totally didn’t explain up there that the reason I *got* that email was because I am an Obama delegate to one of the low-level meetings where they decide who becomes a delegate to the NEXT level and so on; if you’re a minority, you have a better chance of being selected to move on). And I know that other people who drop acronyms without defining them are usually in a hurry or DO write for people who share their specialized knowledge (though I think they can really alienate people who DON’T but are seriously trying to understand the writer; it bugs me when unnecessary hurdles are placed between me and information). This case just REALLY chaps my hide because the person writing it 1) acknowledges that some people might not know what it stands for, 2) decides that the information isn’t applicable to anyone who DOESN’T know, 3) decides to withhold the information when it would take just as many keystrokes to spell it out as it did to deny us the information, and 4) is just really insulting and patronizing to people who aren’t “in the know”.

I’m sure the person writing it didn’t MEAN to be an asshole, but it’s so TYPICAL of Democrats and “Liberals” who are so busy bullshitting themselves and each other with their social awareness and intellectual elitism that they don’t even bother to notice that THEY AREN’T HELPING OR EDUCATING ANYBODY outside of their literati circle jerks. Oh, sure, most people these days probably have an idea of what LGBT stands for and I wouldn’t have even batted an eye at the acronym if it weren’t for the flip secret-password remark afterwards.

I imagine there are a lot of people, older people or even younger people just becoming self-aware, who don’t go to fucking rallies and meetings and parades and stuff and maybe have not even given any thought to the possibility that they are part of a special group. I feel like too many people assume that the whole world is full of social butterflies and they don’t GET that some people don’t identify with the cliques and the crowds and the activists with their secret codes and handshakes. And WHY do you want your readers to have to interrupt the flow of reading whatever it is you supposedly want them to hear and understand just so they can consult a dictionary or encyclopedia or google to find out something you could have explained in four words or less?

I would be more sympathetic if the authors of these things were writing a fucking telegram or a tweet or something else short and sweet BUT THEY NEVER ARE!! These people invariably have the time and energy to write at least fifty-nine exhausting paragraphs telling you more information than you could possibly ever want or need, letting you know what they had for breakfast and how many hours they slept the night before and every single model of camera they’ve had since they were in Kindergarten, but they refuse to trouble themselves with two to ten words that are actually fucking relevant. You torture yourself reading these people’s writing, you know they have something important to say, and while you’re giving yourself a migraine staring intently at your monitor they HURL these sharp pointy rocks at you every so often just to break up the monotony: ASFW! MRPQ! WOS-VINA!!

Anyway, I shot myself in the foot (as I like to do) by writing back to the person who sent the email:

It *is* possible for someone to be “LGBT” without knowing the politically correct and cool acronym that goes along with it. I’m not sure what is accomplished by acknowledging some people might not know what it stands for and then denying them the explanation. Also, people who AREN’T queer or transgender might like to be in the know; it would help raise awareness where it’s lacking. Just because people are interested in participating in this particular process doesn’t mean they are politically savvy about every special interest group out there.

I’m sure whoever wrote this didn’t mean to be insulting or maybe they were just in a hurry when writing it, but it would have taken about the same amount of keystrokes to spell it out as to dismiss the information as inapplicable to anybody who doesn’t already know. I feel like a lot of communiques (not just this one) from the Dems assume readers have information that many do not; it alienates people by making them feel like they’re not part of the in-group and undermines real communication and education when all it would take is a couple extra words typed out to introduce acronyms. If the goal is to make people aware and invite them to become involved then why not spell it out instead of withholding the information?

I know it seems like a small thing and I’m not trying to make anyone feel badly about it; but it did chap my hide a little. It’s not a big deal, but it can be frustrating when I (and maybe other people) read these emails and feel like they’re not really written for everyone who identifies as a Democrat in this county, but are intended for people who are already super-involved and up-to-speed on everything. I don’t need a reply or anything, and I do know what LGBT stands for . . . just offering it as food for thought.

I know, I know — you have to be living under a ROCK to not know what LGBT stands for, right? But there are lots of people living under rocks, many of them quite happily, and they are JUST the people who DO need to know what LGBT stands for so when you alienate them? It’s really counterproductive.

And you know what else? If I hadn’t read that email I wouldn’t have known that I actually have an on-paper edge for going to the next level; yes, I *did* think about my sexuality and my partner’s gender identity as things that make me special/representative of a minority group, but I totally hadn’t thought about it being, like, OFFICIAL. And seriously, I actually have had and will continue to have qualms about counting myself as part of that minority group because I believe the *majority* of people are bisexual and I don’t believe I’ve “suffered” enough personal persecution because of my pansexuality to “deserve” to check a special box; this might come as a shock, but I spend a lot more of my time thinking about porn and sex work and promiscuity and making money than I do about the intersection of my comparatively mundane sexual preferences with personal political privilege (I think about it with regards to OTHER people and I think about how scary it is to live next to violent misogynist rednecks while in an “alternative” relationship but I just didn’t happen to wander across thinking about affirmative action having anything to do with me *personally* in an up-and-coming kind of way; I think about the ideas of things and sometimes the reality of them comes as a total shock). So guess what? If *I* have trouble knowing how to identify myself, I of the blogs and websites and ope
n-mindedness and college-education and whatever, then it’s not hard for me to imagine a whole lot of other people are unsure too. I mean, I’m pretty sure that at least half the individuals in the world know less than I know (individually, not combined!). Not to be an asshole, but seriously. FWIW.

WTF? LGBT FTW.

Oh, I know similar complaints could be made about using “big” words that the average reader doesn’t use on a daily basis (if ever), but I honestly think big words are different from acronyms; you can usually suss out the meaning of a big word based on context clues and familiar-sounding PARTS of the word. If not, the reader has only missed out on ONE word, not a whole batch like those contained in an acronym which is often the subject of the sentence, not just some fancy-sounding adjective thrown in for its saucy sound.