In a startling break with tradition: the new-column link today, instead of tomorrow! Feel free to express your thoughts about pubic hair here. I know you'll have some, because apparently it's a real hot-button topic to everyone but me*.



* Okay, maybe not everyone but me. But good lord, the people commenting over on Salon.com were quite, quite vehement about their views on pubes.

I picked up voicemail today, and here’s one of the messages I got:

(Recorded voice) Hi! This is a call from Club VIP Escort dot com! We’re an escort directory soon to be the biggest escort directory in the world! We’d like to help you post your ad on Club VIP Escort dot com today! Press one to be connected to a customer representative!

It was one of those smooth, unctuous, “announcer” voices, clearly a professionally rehearsed and recorded spiel. Ah, I remember the old days, when sex workers were scandalous outlaws and we never, ever got telemarketing calls. Now I get freaking robo-calls from escort-mall websites. Lordy.

The occasional annoyance aside, however, I am not averse to using tech toys in my professional life. Thus, I have a question for those of you who use online calendar programs. I’m thinking of integrating one into my scheduling system so my good regular guys can always see when I’m available. I’ve looked at Google Calendar, of course, but what other ones are good?

I'm busy writing a column, so meanwhile, enjoy two photos of my dear sadistic partner Max rigging a sweet young thing at the Abbey party. That ceiling is twenty feet high, by the way. Reason number 47 why I'm really glad we're poly.

Getting Ready For Takeoff
In The Air

The Abbey party was a rousing success. The food was beautiful, the music was great, and the entertainment was lovely and perverted.

The conversations were fascinating as well. Some memorable remarks addressed to me throughout the course of the evening:

“I want you to sit on my face on my deathbed.”

“So I said to her, ‘the wrong rapist has your keys’.

(As I slapped a woman’s chain-mail covered breasts with my be-ringed hands) “My tits sound like a snare drum!”

“You’re a really good writer. And I’m not just saying that to get in your pants.”

Malixe took some great pictures, but the process of collecting various people’s consent to use their image always takes longer than one wishes, so I have no good pictures today. (Monk got first dibs, so go check his blog for some cool shots.)

I do have one of me, though, which I will use to illustrate the fact that half my friends did double-takes when they saw me.

It’s true that I don’t wear hats that often. But even so, it seems that this silver latex cowboy hat that Jae made me has magical powers of disguise, because lots of people told me they didn’t recognize me at first. Or maybe it was my outfit, which was uncharacteristically wacky. Sort of an 80’s/glitterpunk-fetish look - rubber bracelets, multiple belts and all. I tend to be a basic black girl, but you have to break out sometimes. Plus, the floors in the Abbey? Concrete. Uneven concrete, at that, and no way was I going to walk around for several hours in spike heels on such a rough industrial surface. I had to wear something I could pair with my big ole New Rock boots.

I'm not praying, by the way. I'm watching Tamara The Trapeze Lady and clapping in delight.

So the party was great. Now, the next big events? Well, August 27th is my 7th anniversary with my darling Max, and we have some plans for that. And then Monk and I are off to Austin on the 31st. It never stops around here.