I just had time to skim over this very interesting-looking post about types and levels of poly-ness in CosmicBabe's journal today. But I'm looking forward to reading it more thoughtfully later and seeing how it tallies with my own little categories. She has a lot of good things to say about the subject of multiple love relationships.

Love the phone, hate the phone: I'm spending a chunk of my day today on hold, or waiting for faxes, or waiting for call-backs…Sigh. Frustrating, because I can't get too involved in anything else, but I'm not really doing that much, either…So I'm writing mindless blog entries…

Books I'm reading; Non-fiction
Nathanial's Nutmeg, by Giles Milton. The book deals with the competition between England and Holland for possession of the spice-producing islands of Southeast Asia throughout the 17th century.
An Anthropologist On Mars: Seven Paradoxical Tales, by Oliver Sacks.
Neurologist Sacks presents seven case studies of people whose "abnormalities" of brain function offer new insights into conceptions of human personality and consciousness.
The Floating Brothel: The Extraordinary True Story of an Eighteenth-Century Ship And It's Cargo Of Female Convicts. This riveting work of rediscovered history tells for the first time the plight of the female convicts aboard the Lady Julian, which set sail from England in 1789 and arrived in Australia's Botany Bay a year later.
The Art of the Steal : How to Protect Yourself and Your Business from Fraud, by Frank W. Abagnale
Fiction
The Other Boleyn Girl by Philippa Gregory. A vivid retelling of the story of Anne Boleyn.
The Many Lives & Secret Sorrows of Josephine B. by Sandra Gulland. A fictionalized account of Josephine Bonaparte's life in the form of diaries and letters.

You can see a trend there, hmm? I'm a popular-history fan. Not American particularly, more European and some Asian. Also, human-behavior stuff is fascinating to me..
Whoops, gotta go, someone's finally calling back!

I read one of those "human interest" news stories yesterday about prostitution. Purportedly an interview with a woman who'd been in the business, it was the usual bird-in-a-gilded-cage nonsense about the plight of the high-class (their phrase) call girl. Oh, poor girl – she was trapped by all that money and independence. Gah. I don't really want to link to it, because it's a stupid piece and it pissed me off. But I suppose if I'm going to rant about it, you should be able to read it. "Pity Me! I'm a Victim Of Myself!"

Look, I don't object to having this one woman's individual experience portrayed in the media, if they really think it's newsworthy. But the newspaper and the interviewee are not representing it as one individual's experience. They are saying: "this is the definitive experience of sex work." Fuck that, it’s not my experience! They never run the opposite side - a woman who says "yes, I did sex work and it was fine. No big drama, I made some money and now I'm doing something else..." That's not news, apparently. (Except that it would be to some people.)

The woman said things like,
"The reason I'm single and childless is because of the business…It also kept me from forming real relationships. Ladies who are in the business make a conscious decision to avoid intimacy."
No, the reason you're single and childless is because you chose to be that way. Lots of women in the sex industry have children – even in the middle of a sex work career. I myself don't want little rug-rats, but I do have a wonderful lover who adores me, and I certainly haven't made "a conscious decision to avoid intimacy" - quite the contrary.

It’s her insistence on assigning her experience and her choices to every other woman in the sex industry that bothers me. Would she feel okay about making such sweeping generalizations if she were in any other line of work? Or has she just bought into societal preconceptions about who she is?

She also trots out that "all women in the sex industry have been sexually assaulted" line. (The implication being that they became sex workers as a direct result of being assaulted.) Guess again, honey – I haven't been. And I know of several other sex workers who haven't been, either. But the fact is, approximately 683,000 adult American women are raped annually, and so, yes, statistically, some of those women will go on to become sex workers. And some of them will go on to work at Wal-Mart. But I don't think anyone's going to posit that being raped inevitably leads to working as an underpaid drudge at a soul-destroying corporate monolith. It's false logic.

Here's what I, personally, have observed about the sex industry: If, before she ever enters the sex industry, a woman is an emotionally troubled person with poor self-esteem and a history of bad decisions, she'll continue making bad decisions and suffering the negative consequences while she's in the business. But now, some of them will be sex-work-related decisions and consequences, so it's easy for people to say, "Well, obviously it's because she's a sex worker. See what an unhappy, damaging life it is?" And she'll probably agree with them, because it's easy for a troubled, low-self-esteem person to buy into the victim mentality. That way, she can then avoid taking any responsibility for her choices. So she's tucked neatly into the victim pigeon-hole, and everyone thanks goodness they don't have to examine any potentially unsettling ideas any further. Their pre-existing beliefs have been confirmed and they feel righteous.

Now, she could fuck up her life just as badly if she were a waitress at Denny's. But that's not as sexy, so no one writes newspaper articles about that.

You see, the work itself doesn't fuck you up - it just magnifies what's already there. If you love yourself, and believe that you deserve to be loved by others, when you choose to become a sex worker, then you'll probably be just fine. But if you don't, then you'll probably run into trouble.

Exhibit A: This woman details a conversation with her father in which he sounds pretty harsh. I'm thinking there's some bad history there that dates back to before her sex work career began. Clearly she learned some of her core beliefs about how she should expect men to treat her from an unloving man. That's a emotional time bomb waiting to go off.

Bottom line: If you don't already have a basic belief that you deserve safety, and respect from other people, in your working environment, you'll bring that mindset to your sex work job and you'll accept being treated badly. If you don't already have a basic belief that you deserve love and respect and safety in your intimate relationships, you'll attract people who want to treat their lovers badly, and you'll let them tell you that you don't deserve better because you're a whore.

To be a happy, healthy and successful sex worker, you have to be inwardly defined. If you accept external definitions, you will become filled with self-hatred. It's the same with most marginalized subcultures, like being queer, or kinky, or transgender. You have to be strong enough to throw off the shit that people would like to heap onto you.

Unfortunately, there are a lot of not-so-emotionally-healthy people in the world, and some of them become sex workers. So all of us get tarred with their brush, because society finds it convenient. And I personally get really tired of constantly picking the sticky black shit out from between my toes.

Okay, so it's not a new site - in fact, it's not even being updated anymore. But it's so funny I still laugh out loud when I read it. I need to buy his new book.

Today was one of those days where I really enjoyed myself at work. Two clients, both excellent regulars. The first of them was a very sweet man, over fifty, who has an infectious laugh and blue eyes that sort of twinkle when he's having fun. He's relatively new to me – meaning, less than a year – and I'm the first pro dom he's seen. But he's taken to it like a duck to water and he's become a fan of rope bondage. That makes me happy, because I like doing it, and I don't get to so very often.

So he was laughing that unmistakable "wow, I'm really endorphin-high" laugh while I tying him up in various positions, and it made me laugh, too. I'm sure that if you asked some random person to describe what a session between a professional dominatrix and her client might be like, they most likely would not say, "Well, they'd probably laugh a lot." But it's not unusual. I like people who laugh when I'm playing with them. I especially like it when I make them sort of laugh and wince at the same time. That's a favorite of mine. (Not to sound like a commercial, but if you'd like to see a great example of a laughing-and-wincing scene, buy my video and watch the second vignette, with Rose Algren. She laughs a lot, even though I'm doing some pretty serious stuff to her. Plus she's a flaming babe.)

My second client I've known for several years, and while he's also over fifty, he's kind of a health-and-fitness nut like I am, and he's so springy and muscular I think if you dropped him off a four-story building, he'd probably bounce. And he'd smile, because he's an unsinkably cheerful guy.

He likes intense sensation (pain, for those of you not up on this lingo) and we did some play with sounds. I'll now explain what "sounds" are, but if you squick easily, you should skip this next paragraph.

A sound is a medical instrument, a long slender metal rod that's designed to be inserted into the male urethra. Click on this link if you'd like to know more. This is advanced play; please don't do this unless you've been taught by someone knowledgeable, or you could really damage someone's body.

So there I was, sliding this metal rod into his dick, thinking, "What a magical thing this is." And that’s how it seems to me when I'm playing – like it's magic. Like I'm magic. I love that I can do these intense things to people's bodies, and somehow, through some alchemical transformation, it's not a bad thing. Instead, it's wonderful. That's where the power comes from, for me. Not in making people endure something nasty – that's just bullying someone. No, the magic is doing fierce things to people and making them like it. That's the magic.

I can do that kind of magic.

Preamble: Okay, let's get one thing clear: this is me venting. I'm explaining this because, apparently, some of you gentlemen who are reading me are a little sensitive. I got at least half a dozen plaintive/defensive emails in the wake of my post a few days ago about another woman's undesirable client. (Not even my undesirable client – someone else's!)
Good gentlemen, I completely agree with you that most would-be clients are nice people. I have said positive things about my clients here many times. But if you're going to read me, you're also occasionally going to hear about the minority of would-be clients who are not so nice, and you will have to learn not to take everything I say here about them so very personally. After all, one of the purposes of me having a blog is so I can vent.
So we're agreed, then, yes? You're a nice guy, I like you, this is about someone else. Great. On with the rant.

Let's talk about the annoying phone call du jour.
Ring ring!
Me: Hello?
Caller: (loudly) Heeeeeeeeeeeeeey! What's hap'nin, baby?
Me: (wondering if Huggy Bear has decided he needs a spanking) Hello?
Caller: Whas'sup, mama?
Note: it's fairly clear this caller is white. And rather young.
Me: (in a frosty voice): Can I help you?
Caller: Yeah, I wanted to see, you know, whatchoo were doin'?

Now, I know what I'm doing: I'm talking to a very irritating person with poor mental organization. But I don't think he'd understand that if I told him. So I try redirecting him, on the million-to-one chance that he might somehow metamorphose into someone I'd even remotely consider seeing. Besides, if I simply hang up now, he'll just call right back, I know it.

Me: Are you calling me about my professional services?
Caller: Your services?
Me: Yes, my professional services. I'm a dominatrix.
Caller: A domi-what?
Me: (heavy sigh) How did you get this number?
Caller: Oh, um, yeah, I saw an ad, you know…(trails off)
Me: Okay, you saw an ad for me, Mistress Matisse.
Caller: Yeah! Yeah, that's right, the ad.

Some days, I think Sisyphus had it easy.

Me: Yes – that's my ad, I'm a dominatrix. Is that what you're looking for?
Caller: Uh, I don' know….what d'ya do?

My patience has reached its end.

Me: You know what - if you don't know, then it's not what you're looking for. Goodbye.


This kind of phone call happens about three times a week, minimum. And it isn't only twenty-two-year-old boys pretending they're rappers, either. Grown-up men do this as well. I mean, hey – they called me. It wasn't like they didn't know the conversation was going to happen. (Yes, maybe they were expecting the voicemail. But I think if you're going to dial someone's phone number, you should first take a moment to prepare yourself for the fact that they might, actually, pick up the phone!)
My point is that if you were calling about an apartment for rent, or a car for sale, the conversation would go something like this:

Me: Hello?
Caller: I saw an ad saying you've got a car for sale?
Me: Yes, that’s right. It's Toyota Civic, blah blah blah.
Caller: Right – what are you asking for it?
Me: Oh, $$$...
Caller, Option A: Sounds great, when can I come by and take a look at it?
Option B: Thanks a lot, I'll have to think about it.

Now, is that so hard to do with me? Be polite but to-the-point when you call, have your questions more or less ready, and just generally regard both our time as a resource. Is that so unreasonable?

Thank you. I didn't think so.

Okay, the rant is now over…we will return to our regularly scheduled program.

There's this thing that keep happening to me where I'm talking to someone about my life – my life as a pro dom, my life as a kinky person, my life as a poly person, whatever. And they say to me, "You're so lucky."

This happens to me fairly regularly, either in-person or electronically. I know they don't mean to be rude – but it seems rude to me, and I really don't like it. I'm trying to figure out a response I can make to these folks that isn't nasty but expresses how I feel, which is something like this:

"This is not luck. I am very lucky in some ways – I'm lucky in the fact that I have two smart, healthy, pretty parents who got together and made a smart, healthy, pretty baby – me. That's sheer luck on my part, I didn't have a thing to do with it.
But luck has nothing to do with the fact that I have created the life I wanted for myself. I got it because I made a choice, I gave up the other, safer, options, and I did the work to get it. Nothing I have fell into my lap like a lottery prize. It was hard, lonely work - I hit a lot of dead ends, and I took a lot of wrong turns. Sometimes I met people who helped me, more often I had to deal with people who wanted to discourage me. But I kept trying because I refused to believe that I could not manifest what I wanted.
And I am not, by any means, finished. There is so much I want to do that I haven't achieved yet. There are ambitions that are still taking shape in me, goals I'm in progress towards, and some big, scary-looking shit I'm just flat-out not ready to tackle yet.
I know it would be easier to believe that you couldn't create your life the way I've created mine, but that's bullshit. You make a choice every single day about what kind of life you're going to have. Whatever you choose is okay – but don't tell yourself that you shouldn't bother to try to get what you want because you aren't "lucky". The fault, dear Brutus, lies not in your stars, but in yourself. Create what you want. Or else don't. But stop invalidating my power to do so by telling me "you're so lucky".

So, the bondage workshop went very well today....

Monk was also there selling his pretty hemp rope. I like hemp, too - it's just a different type of rope. I was kind of giving him the business because he sells (and plays with) 6 millimeter rope, and I think that stuff is too skinny. I like the 8 mil, which is bigger. "But 6 mil is traditional," he says, looking at me all innocent-like. Cuz, yeah, I'm such a traditional girl, Monk.

A post I saw on another blog reminded me of a conversation I had a few weeks ago with a friend who's an escort. She's been in the game for a few years now, but I've been in it longer and she likes to get my take on certain aspects of the biz.

"There's this guy," she began. "I saw him once and he was a total jerk. Not scary, but just pushy and creepy and a weird energy. He's been trying to make another appointment, and I was just dodging his calls for a while. But he kept on calling and leaving messages, and I know you've always told me sometimes it's easier to just tell them that you don't want to see them than keep trying to avoid them forever."

I nod, because she's right. Sometimes the jerks will give up and go away, but other times you have to be straight with them. It takes a little judgment to tell the difference, though.

"So, he next time he called, I picked up and talked to him and told him that he made me uncomfortable last time I saw him and that I didn't think we were compatible and that I was sure he'd be better off seeing someone who was a better match for him."

I nod again – this is exactly what I have told her to say in these situations. There's no reason to be nasty about it – it just makes them get defensive. Much better to be calm and polite.

"Well, he wanted to know what he did wrong, and then he said he really wanted to see me again, and would I give him another chance, and" – Wait for it – "that he'd give me a thousand dollars for an hour if I'd see him again." Yep, there it is. The number-one most common response of a jerky client to being 86ed: offering more money.

Not that offering more cash is an inherently evil thing to do. Like Madonna once said, we are living in a material world. And we are definitely material girls. There are some professional conflicts that can be mitigated by money. No-showing for a scheduled appointment, for example: money fixes that. As long as the client pays for the time, I'll happily make appointments with him again. But if you dislike someone enough to actually fire them as a client, it is always, but always, a bad idea to let them bribe you into reversing that decision.

So when she asked me, "What should I do? It would be nice to have a thousand dollars, but…" I shook my head. "Nope. Don't do it. Let me tell you why: you've told this guy "no" about something. If he convinces you to change your mind by promising you more money, what you've taught him is that your "no" doesn't really mean "no". That's a real bad precedent to set with a client."

"And," I went on, "I would be very surprised if you ever got that thousand dollars. Because now that you've taught this guy he can move you around, he's gonna start jacking that figure down. It's a thousand now, but if you say yes, he'll call you an hour before the appointment and say, 'oh, I can only get eight hundred from the cash machine, can he write you a check for the rest?' And then when you get there, it'll be 'whoops, I thought I had eight hundred, looks like I've only got five, and you are gonna stay two hours for that much, right?' I mean, he's not an idiot, he knows the market rate in Seattle and he knows there are other women around. Once he's got you there with him, why should he pay more? He's gambling that once you're actually there, you'll take the money and stay rather than walk out empty-handed."

"Shit," she said. "You're probably right."

"The only way I'd do it is this: number one, make him Paypal you half the money before you ever leave the house. Number two, do it as an outcall - he stays in a hotel, right? Have your boyfriend go with you up to the room, but stay outside in the hall. Go in and collect the other half of the money and discreetly give it to your boyfriend. Remember that there's probably a security camera in the hallway, so don't flash the cash, just give him a hug and slip it in his pocket. Then stay and see the client and have your boyfriend ring the room when it's time to go. And be nice, you know, be good to the guy. This isn't about ripping him off. I mean, you know you don't like him, but if you decide to do it, do it right."

She nodded slowly. "That sounds like a good plan."

"Well, it is, but I really doubt it'll happen, because I doubt he'll agree to the terms. I mean, looking at it from his point of view, even if he's sincere in his offer, he's taking a risk. If he gives you the half up front, how does he know you'll show up at all?"

"I would," she said. "Because taking his money like that and not showing up would be stealing. But I can see how he wouldn't know that I don't steal from people."

"Yeah, I agree – it's very bad karma. But my theory is that he isn't sincere and he doesn't actually intend to pay you any extra money at all, and that's the real reason why paying you five hundred beforehand isn't gonna fly with him." I shrugged. "I could be wrong. But I've just seen this too many times, and it always plays out the same. Test the theory if you want. Just be prepared to walk out if he welshes on the deal. Because if you let him talk you into seeing him again for less than what you agreed to, you're going to be so mad at him, it'll be an awful session, and you'll feel shitty about yourself afterwards because you compromised your own boundaries for nothing."

So – she made him the offer I told her, and he said he'd call her back. Thus far, he hasn't called. Score one for honesty and good boundaries.

Postscript: This guy didn't seem like a violence risk, but this conversation did remind me of my favorite reading suggestion for working girls: Gavin De Becker's The Gift of Fear : Survival Signals That Protect Us from Violence "In this extraordinary groundbreaking book, the nation's leading expert on predicting violent behavior unlocks the puzzle of human violence and shows that, like every creature on earth, we have within us the ability to predict the harm others might do us and get out of its way. Contrary to popular myth, human violence almost always has a discernible motive and is preceded by clear warning signs. Through dozens of compelling examples from his own career, Gavin de Becker teaches us how to read the signs, using our most basic but often most discounted survival skill - our intuition.

It's a fabulous book - fascinating to read and extremely helpful in learning to tell who the bad people are...

I'm sort of bummed...my brother is leaving Seattle to move back to Florida on Monday. He's been here about a year and a half and it's been nice having him around. Before that, I don't think we'd lived in the same city since I graduated from high school.
He moved here after living in LA and getting burned out working in the TV industry down there, and I thought Seattle would be a great antidote to LA - such a different energy here.
He gave it the college try, but...things just didn't jell for him here. The type of work he does (and the stuff he'd like to do) isn't so sought-after here. So he decided to go where the ducks are, rather than trying to create something from scratch. I can understand that. He's going back to Orlando, where he's got connections.
I will say that it'll be nice to have him be living nearer our parents - cuz, you know, they get older and stuff. It's not an issue now, but in ten years, well...
We'll be hanging out a bit this weekend - and then on Monday he drives away and I'll once again be the only only member of my family on the west coast.

I'll do a real entry later, but for the moment, a brief commercial reminder...my sweetie is teaching Japanese-style rope-bondage suspension classes this weekend at The Wet Spot. (That means, you tie people up and hang them up in the air. Big fun.)
You need not be a Wet Spot member to attend the class. For more info, check out his website...

I have dinner every week with my very best friend, Miss K. It's sort of a ritual – we go to Hana and eat sushi and teriyaki chicken, and a portion of our conversations will frequently revolve around stuff like, "So, this certain event happened, and I thought it was really weird, but I wanted to hear what you thought about it." Because Miss K and I are very much on the same wavelength when it comes to sensing what we refer to as "psycho behavior".

Right now, for example, she has someone in her life who's struggling to kick drugs, and I have someone in my life who's just…struggling, on a lot of levels. Both Miss K and I are having to work pretty hard to not get sucked into their struggle and try to rescue them, because we are both major control queens who think that if only everyone would just do as we say, then everything would be all right.

I mean, we don't really think that, because we know better. And we know it based on bitter and bloody personal experience, so it's not a fact we'll be forgetting, uh-uh. But that reflex is there, and we have both have to stop ourselves from trying to fix things, because we can't, and we'll just wind up frustrated and emotionally drained.

So I told Miss K about the latest chapter of my struggling friend's story, and she told me about the most recent installments on her end, and we both agreed that boundaries were really fucking difficult things to maintain sometimes. But I'm so blessed to have her as a friend, because she understands me so perfectly about these kinds of things. I can tell her all the un-evolved, bad-boundary-esque things I really wish I could do around my struggling friend and her various problems, and she knows exactly what I mean. And then - glory hallelujah - I'm over it. I stop thinking about it, obsessing over what's not mine to change, and that's wonderful, because I don't need someone else's life, that I have no control over, taking up valuable real estate in my head.

Still trying to get caught back up on my life, which moves at a rocketlike pace even when I haven't been away for a few days. (If you've sent me email or called, and I haven't gotten back, be patient. I'm working my way through the list.)

But my friend Malixe was over at the house for dinner tonight, and he gave me a CD of the shots he took of me at the last Club Medusa show. Here's one I liked of me with porn reviewer/model Jane Duvall...
.
More later…

Well, I'm back, and I had a very good time at Kinkfest. My workshop went well, and BDSM author/activist Patrick Califa attended it and complimented me on it afterwards, which was really nice for me. So yay for that...

Of course, I'm exhausted, both mentally and phsyically. That's pretty par for the course after a weekend-long conference. But I've got to try to organize myself for my week, which promises to be a busy one. For one thing, my partner is teaching back-to-back suspension bondage workshops at the Wet Spot this weekend and I'm going to be helping him prep for that.

And now I need to go start a rough-draft for my column. Oy. I'm telling myself if I work for an hour and a half, then I can go curl up in bed with my cat and read something fluffy and unchallenging, because that's what I'd really like to be doing.

I got a phone call yesterday from an unknown guy who said, "I'd like to book an appointment with you for a really hard spanking."
"That sounds fine," I answered.
"But I'm married and I can't have any marks."
"Well," I said, "that makes it more difficult. I can spank you lightly, until I think you've reached the point where I might leave red marks if I continue, and then stop. Or I can spank you very hard, and you can take the risk of having marks. But I can't do a hard spanking and promise you no marks."
"But I've heard there are ways to it so that you don't get marks."
"None that I'm aware of – at least, none that I'm willing to personally guarantee."
"But, there has to be a way!" He's sounding kind of pouty now.
"As I said - none that I'm willing to personally guarantee."
"What about clothes? What if I wear clothes?"
This is getting tedious. "Look, honey, if there were a simple way to do this, I'd know it, and I'd tell you what it was. I'm perfectly willing to spank you as hard as you want, with or without clothes. But you'll have to deal with the consequences, because there is no reliable way of ensuring that you won't have a red butt afterwards."
"But I can't have marks!"
"Then I guess you can't have a hard spanking." This is like talking to a two-year-old.
He hangs up.
It's nice to be perceived as powerful, but it's annoying when people seem to think I'm God and can alter the basic tenets of human physiology at will.

Interesting new experience today: I went to one of those tanning salons where they have the booths the spray self-tanner on you. I've done self-tanners at home before, but I've wanted to try this, and since I'm going to be prancing around in skimpy outfits -or less - this weekend, I thought now would be a good time to check it out.

The setup had a slightly kinky feel to it…you go into a room with a big metal booth it. You take off all your clothes, obviously, and step into this steel box and shut the door. You have to position yourself exactly so, and then you push a button that activated this row of nozzles. They rotate up and down, spraying a fine mist of chemicals for (I think) about thirty seconds. Then it pauses, and you turn your back to the nozzles, and then they spray your back.
The bad part: It's cold as shit, for one thing, and I was also trying to hold my breath as much as I could, so I inhaled as little of the chemical as possible. And of course I'm trying to stay in position properly so I don't get streaks or white patches. The noise of the machine is kind of loud and it reverberates around in the metal booth. So it's kinda creepy.

But I'm pleased with the results…It looks nice and even and not orange-y at all. (One small note to self: next time, lean forward slightly when getting your back sprayed, so you don't get faint white patches under your butt cheeks.)

And while self-tanners never look quite as good as a real tan, this won't turn my skin to leather and give me cancer. Unless I inhale too much of it.

Cool self-tanner resource for other vain types like me..Sunless: Your Sunless Tanning Guide

Shitshitshit I am sooo not ready to go to Portland on Thursday! RunErrandsFinishColumnFinishWorkshopSeeClientsWorkoutPack – aaaaahhhhh!

(It'll be fine, it always is, breathe, Matisse, breathe…)

Sunday is not a day of rest around here...I need to pay some bills online (I love that, so convenient), shovel out the pile of papers that's completely masking my desk, and try to do something about the many stacks of books on the floor that have turned simply walking into my office into an obstacle course.
I love books. No, I mean I really love books. And I have way, way too many of them. Every inch of wall space in my office is covered with floor-to-ceiling bookcases, they're all jammed full, and there are two large plastic storage boxes overflowing in a corner, and then there are several knee-high stacks against one side of my desk. If we have another earthquake, anyone standing in the room directly downstairs from my office will buried in my books as the ceiling caves in.

And this even after I just unloaded three good-sized boxes on Half Price Books earlier this week. (Of course, I bought another armful while I was there, but hey, it was substantially fewer than I came in with!)

I'm going to have to start storing some of my books in my office at the studio, but...I like having all my books with me all the time. I'm weirdly...I don't know - sentimental? Superstitious? Something. I mean, what if I'm home and I want to read one of them and it's at the studio? What if there was a fire? I know, this makes no sense. It's bibliomania. But hey, there are worse addictions to have. Like, say, teddy bears. Or unicorn figurines. That would be terrible...

A small rant about fetishwear shopping online…

So, a very sweet client generously gave me a substantial gift certificate to Demask, which is a fetish store in NY. I'm sure it's a very cool place to shop in person, but since I'm not there, I'm trying to shop on their website, and Jesus, it's a nightmare. The whole thing is hard to navigate, they won't let you open links in new windows, the pictures are very small and unhelpful, and they don't have pictures at all for a lot of their merchandise.

And this is high-end stuff, too – I really expect better in this price range. Hey, you want me to spend five or six hundred dollars on a single piece of clothing, then I want to see big photos, from all angles. God, places like Zappos and Bluefly have way better navigation and photos than this. It's sort of amazing that it's so badly done.

On the plus side, they were very nice about the fact that this GC is over a year old and I have lost any paperwork I ever had for it. I'm remembering now why I never used it - it's because the website was so impossible to deal with. (The paper catalogue is equally unhelpful.) But they had the paperwork on file and were very polite about agreeing to still honor it. So: Demask customer relations, thumbs up, Demask website design, thumbs down.

I am not a person who tends to rank things hierarchically…Either I like something (or someone) or I don't, I don't put them into lists based on how much or how little…
That being said – I had a client today who is definitely on my "like" list. He's just a great guy – smart, funny, and fun to play with, both because of how he responds to me and because he's always willing to try new things. He and I were trying to decide how long we've been seeing each other and we figured that it's since the middle of 1999, so we've really gotten to know each other, which I value. It was a nice way to end my week.


Speaking of getting to know people…Last night Jae and I went to a somewhat unusual social event. There's a group of people who get together periodically to sing karaoke and socialize in different bars. The unusual part is that these folks are all sex industry workers and, shall we say, the men who admire them. Nothing sexy actually happens at the bar – it's just a social mixer, as it were.
I don't usually attend stuff like this, because for one thing, I'm just too damn busy. And besides, I put myself out in the world a fair amount. I usually feel not-so-interested in attending yet another event where I have to be "on", if you know what I mean. I mean, they're all nice people, I'm just not so into hanging out in a bar and I am definitely not going to be singing!
But I've heard good things about this group, and one does feel a certain obligation to show the flag occasionally. So I called Jae and said, "We're going - I'll pick you up."
Well, the smoke about killed me, my throat was sore this morning when I woke up. But other than that it was fine. I saw some people I knew, met some new folks, all quite pleasant. Several of the women were extremely sweet to me, and told me how much they liked the column, which is always nice to hear. But after about an hour I could feel my throat getting raspy and I thought, "I have to get out of here." So we split.
But I was thinking about it afterwards. It's really kind of a trip, because when I first started in the industry, you would never have found something like that. I mean, the idea of socializing with (past or potential) clients in a group situation like that, not for money, but just because they're nice guys (and also because it's good long-term marketing) was completely unheard of. Of course, this is all simply a statement of my personal experience. But my experience is pretty wide.
That's all really changed, and it's been interesting watching the evolution. The internet, and email, has made it possible to organize social outings like this without much difficulty, which is cool. The sex industry is extremely flexible and it adapts quickly to new cultural forces. That's one of the things about it that makes it an interesting place to work.