Thank you to everyone who expressed sweet birthday wishes to me. I’ll be posting some more detailed thank-you notes later this week, but for now, I’m off into my natal day…

I’m writing this Sunday night, while I’m rather pleasantly worn out from spending a really lovely weekend with Roman.

My actual birthday is tomorrow, but this was our observation of my birthday, and Roman informed me he was going to spoil me rotten all weekend long.

And thus he proceeded to do just that. Friday night, he took me to one of my favorite restaurants: The Frontier Room. Because you can take the girl out of Georgia, but…she’s still going to love barbeque. And for Yankee barbeque, The Frontier Room is pretty damn good. Plus, the bacon-wrapped-shrimp appetizer is pure sin on a skewer.

Then he took me to see “Stranger Than Fiction”, which was, without a doubt, one of the most subtly brilliant movies I’ve seen in a while. The writing is great, the camerawork is great, the use of visual imagery is perfect, and the performances are stellar. I mean, sure, you can always count on Dustin Hoffman and Emma Thompson to turn in good work, but I think Will Farrell should get an Oscar nomination for his performance in this film. I had no idea he could do anything other than broad comedy - but he can, and well. I think I particularly enjoyed STF since I myself am a writer and I come from a family thickly populated with writers, but it’s just an excellent movie overall.

Saturday we stayed in bed until, oh, about 1pm. Then we went downtown, had a little early dinner, window-shopped a bit, and then came home to prepare to go out clubbing. Roman had actually never been out dancing at a gay bar until I took him earlier this year, and we had great fun, so off we went to do it again. It was a blast, we danced our little butts off, and Roman was so my big gay boyfriend. A very nice man who works out at my gym was also there, and he told me several times how fabulous I was. I’m unclear if he was telling me that because he recognized me as Mistress Matisse, or if he recognized me me from the gym. (Although when I’m at the gym, what I mainly am is just sweaty.) Or maybe he didn’t recognize me at all, but was just spontaneously acknowledging my intrinsic fabulousness? Hard to say. But whatever it was, it was sweet and I felt very complimented.

And then we stayed in bed again very late Sunday. Mmmmnnn…

The Roman-spoiling-Matisse weekend also included: foot massages, gummi bears, opening cars doors for me, face massages, chocolate doughnuts, and a lot of really amazing conversation about life, love, being outlaws, ambitions, and our relationship.

Of course, he isn't even giving me my actual official birthday present until Tuesday. At least, that’s what he thinks. Me, I think I got the gift this weekend.

Shopping for kinky holiday gifts by local businesses? I gotcha covered in this week's column. Also in The Stranger, an interesting piece by a swinger. Wonder if it's anyone I know?

One more thing: according to blogger Joe. My. God., Mike Jones, the male escort who outed Reverend Ted Haggard, is catching some heat about that. I think that's a shame. Now, don't get me wrong - I think a client's privacy is a extremely important thing, and I would never, ever violate that.

Unless.

Unless you're the politically active fundamentalist minster of a large church with the stated goal of repressing my sexuality and driving me back in the closet and just generally messing with my life. That's the one exception to the "my lips are sealed" rule. Do not stand in a pulpit on Sunday preaching against me and then show up in my dungeon on Monday and expect me to protect you while you attack me.

So if you're the kinky counterpart to the (former) Reverend Ted Haggard, you best not come see me. Everyone else, your secrets are quite safe. And I'm going to go give Mike Jones some money, because I agree that the Haggard scandal played a part in the Blue Wave on Nov 7th.

I'm in the mood to rant.

So there was a whole thread about strippers and the Seattle 4-foot law over on The Stranger Slog earlier this week. Actually it began over on Seattlest, bounced over a blog called “I Blame The Patriarchy”, (I’m not linking to that one, click through The Slog if you want to read it) and then wound up on The Slog.

You can go read all the various opinions if you want to, but I can sum up a big chunk of it for you right here: Strippers – and sex workers in general – are helpless victims who need to be saved from themselves, because they are too damaged by society to make the right choices. Sex work is, forever and always, a form of socially-tolerated rape and no woman really consents to doing it, she just thinks she does. Or she’s lying. Because all clients treat sex workers like shit and they really just want to degrade and humiliate them, since that’s just how men are.

You can just imagine what I think about this kind of attitude. I mean, hey, I didn’t much like being a stripper here in Seattle, either. So I quit. That's how that works, in my mind. But some of those people have got a major victim-glorification thing going on. Sex workers apparently bear no personal responsibility for what we do, we’re just slaves, and men are filthy ravenous beasts who assault us.

What a flock of crap. But okay, fine - let’s put aside my very lengthy sex work experience and the experience of lots of other women I have known personally that says the direct opposite of all that, because while I like my job and have fabulous clients, I have indeed known women who disliked being sex workers. Most women, in fact, are not cut out for it, and they should not be doing it. I have a lot of sympathy for sex workers who decided, say, four months ago, that they hated the job. I’d like to help women like that quit and get other jobs.

But if you decided, like, five years ago that you hated the sex industry, and that it was fucking with your head, and ruining your relationships, and making you frigid, and just generally chewing your soul into tiny little pieces on a nightly basis, and you’re still here, then my sympathy for you is pretty limited.

Let’s get real: the sex industry is not going to change. It is what it is, and you can moan and bitch about how the world should be, and you can get all Marxist and talk about the oppression of the working class, and yeah, that’s terribly high-minded, but it doesn’t pay your rent, okay? So the day you decide that you hate the sex industry, that's the day you need to start making a plan to get out.

I hear that you can’t quit today because of your financial obligations. Golden handcuffs are a thing, it’s true. But a vast number of women in the world seem to be making a living without working in the sex industry, so we know this is do-able. It’s probably going to take a little time, but you have the luxury of keeping your highly-paid, flexible-hours job while you ramp up to whatever is next. Most people don’t get that. And I find that tough situations often get more tolerable if you’re actually taking steps to remedy the problem.

If you have a degree and a career in mind, then okay, what the hell are you waiting for? You have no college degree, you say you’re not qualified for anything that pays a living wage? That’s not uncommon. Get your ass over to the community college and get registered for a two-year technical degree in something. Oh, you don’t want to be a dental hygienist? Well, you don’t want to be a sex worker, either, and dental hygienists keep their clothes on and get healthcare benefits. You don’t have to stay in this career for the rest of your life, you’re just picking a job that you’ll like better than the one you’ve got now. Or save up and buy a carpet-cleaning franchise, or study to become a real estate broker, or whatever. But pick something and move towards it.

(There’s a gray area here, and that is women who are artists/musicians/actresses/writers. Sex work can be a great way to support a low-paying but highly fulfilling career in the arts. But at a certain point, one has to be brutally honest with oneself and decide, “What evidence do I have that I will ever be able to totally support myself doing this?” And “Well, other people do!” is not evidence. Look at it this way: you need your soul to be an artist of any kind. If sex work destroys your soul, then your art will suck ass. You may have to back-burner the muse until you get a day job you can live with.)

Next, start downsizing. Whatever you’re spending your money on – big apartment, fancy car, designer clothes, whatever – stop that. Move to a smaller apartment, get a roommate, live with your family, move further out from the city, whatever you have to do. Get a cheaper car. Stick your credit cards in the freezer. Start living like you make much less money than you do and save as much as you can.

None of this is rocket science, but oddly, most of the women I have known who said they hated the sex industry weren’t doing these things. But just hanging around in the dressing room, smoking and endlessly whining about much you hate this job, is stupid. It’s like standing on the deck of the sinking Titantic, talking about how much you hate the ocean. The water is only going to get higher, baby, so get into a lifeboat already! Yeah, it might be a rough ride for a while, but a careful examination of the alternative should indicate that it’s the best option.

I have lately had the pleasure of seeing a good exit plan put into action. My dear friend Miss K, after eight years as an escort, decided she was done with it. Like the smart girl that she is, she’d cleared all her student loans and credit card debt and had saved up a large sum of money in that eight years. Now she’s going to graduate school and living, quite frugally, on her savings and some money she inherited from a relative. She plans on getting a part-time job in her field of interest while she's in school. She wishes her old clients well, but it was time for her to go do something else.

So go is the operative word here. Hate the job? Go. Go towards something that makes you happier. I’ll give you a boost, if I can. I’ll at least cheer for you. You will not change the nature of the sex industry. But you can change whether you’re in it or not.

Roman has a "stupid phone call" of his own today. Unbelievable.

Pop Culture

What have I been taking in lately? Well, Roman and I went to see “The Prestige” last week. (My choice. Anything with gaslights and British accents is a yes! my movie-going book) And we also watched “Mr. and Mrs. Smith” on DVD the other night.

“The Prestige” was interesting, although I think it helped a lot that I’d read the book. Not that I was really wowed by the book, you understand. I did finish it, which is saying something, because it’s thick enough to club seals with. But I thought it was way too long – a properly ruthless editor could have improved it a lot. I found it rather self-consciously literary, too.

Still, having read it meant that I could follow the movie pretty well. Poor Roman is a total film geek and even so, he was still a little cross-eyed trying to keep up with three different timelines, all of them fraught with not-well-explained plot complications.

But I’m interested in anything that has to do with the history of stage magic, and David Bowie was good, and Micheal Caine was good, and Scarlett Johanson’s breasts were very nice. So, overall, worth seeing.

“Mr. and Mrs. Smith"... Well, in the scene where Brad and Angelina transition from trying to kill each other to fucking, Roman and I looked at each other and said “That looks just like us having sex.” (Without the guns, though.) It was mildly amusing, and yes, Ms Jolie is a babe. But it seems like the essential message of the movie would be that even vanilla people should have violent sex because, hey, it’ll save their marriage. And I’m okay with that - I just wonder if that’s really what the filmmakers meant to say.

Books… I need some new books. Here’s what I’m browsing…

Thunderstruck by Erik Larson. I liked The Devil In White City, and this looks great to me, in spite of mixed reviews. I’ve read a bit about the race to perfect the telegraph, and historical crime stuff is always cool, so this sounds fascinating. I’ll be ordering it soon.

The Female Thing: Dirt, Sex, Envy, Vulnerability by Laura Kipnis. Ms Kipnis has a delightfully vicious wit, and I’ve enjoyed her writing in the past.

The Orientalist: Solving the Mystery of a Strange and Dangerous Life by Tom Reiss. From the publisher: “Part history, part cultural biography, and part literary mystery, The Orientalist traces the life of Lev Nussimbaum, a Jew who transformed himself into a Muslim prince and became a best-selling author in Nazi Germany.”

Case Histories by Kate Atkinson. I just stumbled across this book, and I don’t know anything about it other than what this page says. But something about it looks promising.

The Mad Cook of Pymatuning: A Novel by Christopher Lehmann-Haupt. I don't usually read horror novels, but this looks much more layered and complex than the usual blood-and-guts fare. I'm intrigued.

Random Sunday Post

No kink, just fashion, just because I’m wasting time window-shopping online instead of working on a column…

On eBay: pretty silver bracelet… This one's nice too.
And while I’ve never been a big one for designer bags, I’m kinda digging this Prada briefcase. I hear all the Prada bags on eBay are fake, though.

I’ve been looking for a new black leather coat – a hip-length one – because the one I have is beat. But this red jacket is awfully cute.

The week or so around Thanksgiving is traditionally a slow time of year in my business – people are traveling, busy with family. And December is kinda up and down, too. (Although the single, married-to-their-job guys do often come calling around holidays. It's their gift to themselves.) But we’ll see how I do in the next few weeks, maybe I can indulge myself in some pretty things.

(Okay, Matisse, stop procrastinating and go write.)

Wow, I have had so much to do lately, and while I have had some lovely time with some of my boys, a lot of my week has been tedious stuff that’s not going to make you hot to read about. But you know, I do get ragged on occasionally for never writing about non-glamorous activities. I am certainly not trying to present my life as one big leather-lined orgy, it’s simply that the minutia of my daily life doesn’t seem that interesting for ya’ll to read about. But, hey, you asked, so here it is: trivia!

My cat is better. (And seriously, thank you for all the sweet notes I got about that.) She’s not all the way well, but she’s looking much less like a furry rag with eyes and more like an actual ambulatory mammal. So she’s going to make it, but I was seriously wondering about that for a day or so there. Oh, here’s non-glamorous trivia for you: I missed the Bondage Party Sunday night because I had to take her in to the emergency vet. My loving pet clearly viewed my attempt to get her medical attention as a non-consensual kidnapping scene, and she took her revenge by peeing in my lap while the vet was examining her. And I paid several hundred dollars for the privilege of that experience. The smell of cat pee in the heated car on the way home was delightful, I can tell you. Luckily I had the simple wit to wear my oldest jeans.

What else? Well, I had a meeting with my financial advisor yesterday. After years of living completely off the financial grid, it’s still very strange to me that I now talk to people about retirement investments. He said he might need to talk to my tax preparer in order to make the final decision about exactly what kind of IRA would be best for me, and so without thinking, I pulled out my tax guy’s business card and gave it to him. And then I thought, dear god, I used to pay my rent in cash because I didn’t have a checking account. Now I have people – real professional people - talking to each other about my money. I feel like I’ve become one of the pod people. I mean, it’s a good thing and all, but it’s just so bizarre. I’m an outlaw, baby - and yet somehow, I’ve also become this grown-up lady. Trippy.

Democratic House, Democratic Senate! w00t! I'm very, very happy.

But I have expectations. Okay, Blue Wave Winners, we elected you, so come January 1, you better get in there and perform. I will wanting to see some serious work being done about the world o’ crap that’s been visited upon us for the last six years. (Longer, if you count back to the “Contract on America” years…)

Actually, I like having a President be one party and the House and Senate another. I think balance is a good thing. I think this administration has been particularly venal and corrupt, but I also think if you give anyone too much unchecked power for very long, they get arrogant and complacent. I think we should fire all politicians periodically, make ‘em get real jobs for a while.

On another subject...I think due in part to my answering some letters here lately, I have gotten a deluge of "I need advice" emails in the last few days. I am touched by this show of trust in me, and I will pick some to answer in time. BUT! Be aware that if you write to me asking about sexual stuff and you tell me that you’re under 18, I will not answer you. Sorry, can't do it. It's way too risky for me. I cannot instruct a minor in sexual techniques or give a minor advice about how to find sexual partners. I just can't have any conversation about anything sexual with a minor anytime. You'd do better to ask Dan Savage, who is an established sex-advice columnist and who is not an active sex worker.

Now I’m off into the new, blue world – enjoy the latest column…

Okay, I know I've been really bad about writing this week, but I’m having a few un-creative days. For one thing, I’m a bit worried about my elderly cat, who is sick and not responding to her meds as well as I think she should. Another trip to the vet here, I think.

Plus, I’m distracted by following the elections, the outcome of which I am very pleased by, both locally and nationwide. Fuck you, Rick Santorum, fuck you, SD abortion ban, and fuck you, no-lap-dance-laws.

I've been busy with lots of appointments, too. Here’s one lovely tidbit. Remember this fun guy? I saw him again yesterday, and it was just as much fun kicking him in the balls this time as it was last time. One sort of kicks with the top of one’s foot, right above the toes. You get the best smacking sound that way. And if he indicates that it doesn’t really hurt that much, that means you haven’t got them tied up tightly enough. Fix that. You'll both like it better.

Vote. Seriously.

Everything Old Is New Again – At Least For Someone

I’m a busy girl today, so be amused by these letters highlighting the marvelous consistency of the human sex drive - sometimes it’s charming, sometimes it’s silly, but you can rely on it.

(edited for length)

…I'm dating a simply wonderful guy, with whom I have truly great sex…. He just expressed interest in having me penetrate him with a strap-on—he feels hesitant since it's something he's never done before and I think is a little worried about getting hurt, especially as it's something with which I have no experience whatsoever. Do you have any experience with or pointers for this? I'd love to do it…

Read this, and then go for it, he’ll be fine. Just remember, everyone squeals like that the first time. And tell your boyfriend he's a lucky man.

***

hi Mistress i was just on your web site and you are a very beautiful and dominating Mistress. i am in search of a Mistress who will travel to pa to kidnap me and totally enslave me and even brand me as their personal slave, sissy maid and toilet. so please Mistress i beg u come here just outside of philly actually near valley forge and take me home as your slave, sincerely slave jim (ps please i beg u give me your thoughts on this issue and i hope u are willing to make it a reality)

I know gas prices have dropped – and just in time for the election cycle, what a coinkydink! But really, in spite of all these requests, I think I’m going to have to limit my slave-kidnapping range to say, Portland to Vancouver. Sorry, Northeast boys. But hey, you could hitchhike in and call me from a rest stop, those are always good places to get kidnapped from.

(Note to the sarcasm-impaired: I’m kidding. Stay right where you are. Do not pass go, and for god’s sake don’t pass the Rocky Mountains.)

In more important matters: Go VOTE tomorrow, if you haven’t already. And seriously people – please vote Democrat. I am really not a bleeding heart liberal, I would call myself a very moderate Democrat, and from a pure-theory standpoint, I can see the elephant point of view on some matters. But good lord, people who are just pretending to be Republicans have totally hijacked the party that used to stand for fiscal prudence and less government interference in people’s lives. They’re all liars and thieves in there right now, or worse. I say, vote ‘em out!

And definitely reject that stupid nanny-state city law about the strippers. Is that really the kind of thing you want your tax dollars being spent on? Unbelievable. Go vote.

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I've gotten a slew of letters from people wanting sex-work advice lately. So tomorrow, look for a lengthy post answering them.

But today, the new column.

And I just have to mention this...I got a manicure yesterday and got my nails painted a deep red. Now, I think the last time I had a manicure was for my wedding. That was 1999. I am not a girl who bothers much about my fingernails. I think it's a holdover from my days as a lesbian. (Not that I don't know femme lesbians with nails that would put Barbra Streisand to shame.)

I used to paint my toenails, but some of my more enthusiastic foot-worshippers kept chipping the polish with their teeth. I had to patch it a lot, and plus I thought eating the polish couldn't be good for them. So I stopped.

However, one of my good clients, Jet, expressed a wish to see me with painted nails, and gave me a gift certificate to my salon to have that done. So I did. And it worked out so that I went straight from the salon to a session with him, and he liked it, so that was all just fine.

But now I have these red nails. I cannot recall ever having had my nails this color before. It's pretty, but it's sort of weird. My hands look like someone else's. Max looked at them and said, "Huh. Well, that's a different look for you."

I'm very concious of them - I'm sort of walking around with like, jazz hands, because I don't want to chip the polish, although it's inevitable that I will, of course.

I suppose I just want to acknowledge the girls who do this every day - this seems like a lot of work. Wow. I don't know how you manage it. I'm impressed.

Unconnected Musings

Fashion: Saturday night I did something I thought I’d never do again: I tucked my skinny jeans into my tall boots. Now, I was a little girl last time this was really fashionable, but I do remember it, and I remember how it can sometimes be a disastrously bad fashion choice, if one doesn’t get the proper combination of boots, pants, and hips. You must get dressed and then get a second mirror, so that you can take a good long look at your behind in a full-length mirror. And then one must be brutally honest with oneself about whether it’s really flattering.

I decided to take the plunge. I figured, hey, I’m going out to dinner on Broadway, and it’s Halloween weekend. People will just think it’s my costume. I was conscious that if I wore the funky little black fake-fur jacket I picked up in Chicago and teased my hair out a bit, I’d look exactly like every street hooker ever portrayed in a 70’s-80’s made-for-TV movie. So I decided not to. Being a hooker for Halloween is such a cliché.

Max liked it, so that was reassuring. But I still felt a little odd. I suppose it’s how my mother would feel if beehive hairdos came back into style. It’s the vague sense that while I want to keep my look fresh, I cannot claim ignorance if I wear this and wind up looking like a fashion Don’t, because I should know better.

But now, help me out, sharp-eyed readers. Is this coat the same as this coat? They look awfully alike. And I need to make a choice here, because one of my favorite guys (who I will hereby dub Armani, because he’s definitely one of the best-dressed man of my acquaintance) has said he wants to buy me a coat for my birthday. I think one of these is the one I want. I want him to look at it, because Armani knows from clothes when it comes to women, too. But really – are these the same thing?

Podcasts: I may start doing podcasts. I’ve been considering it, and one of the reasons I like the idea is that it’s something Max could do with me. He won’t blog, no matter how much I nag him, and he doesn’t want his picture floating around the web, but I think he’d be willing to talk, if I get the system in place, get the headset on him and ask him questions. I’m sure I’d have Roman on sometimes too, and we could have other guests, as well. It wouldn’t be an everyday thing, but I think I could put out something semi-regularly.

I haven’t decided about buying software and hosting it myself vs paying a specialized hosting company. In general, I'm a girl who doesn't mind paying for convenience, so I'd lean towards the hosting thing. But I'm concerned about getting into a TOS snarl because of course, I'll be talking about adult stuff.

A sharp-witted friend suggestion I ask The Stranger about hosting it for me, which I am going to do. Max said I might also ask Babeland – both outfits I’d be perfectly happy to plug in return for hosting.

Thoughts or suggestions about podcasting from active podcasters? Gray, I looked at the site for the software you seem to be using, and Minx, I saw that you're using a hosting company, yes? Anyone else want to weigh in?

Oh, and Happy Halloween!

Girls on Film

Every few weeks someone sends me an email that says something like, “Hey, how come you don’t make DVDs? It would be so cool, and you’d make lots of money.” And I noticed that Roman was getting some of the same remarks after he posted his video clips the other day.

Well, kids, I did produce a fetish video of my own*- about six years ago. And that’s how I know I’m not interested in making another anytime soon. Why? A lot of work. Legal risks. And not much profit.

See, at the beginning, I connected with a very cool guy with a lot of video experience, and we put together a concept. The technical end of lights, camera and sound was his job. I was the star, of course, but at the same time I was also the writer, the director and the producer, plus I also found all the talent.

And I discovered that being all those things was a lot of work. And I mean work, too, not like playing with my clients. I was surprised by that, because the co-stars were all pals of mine, and they were all just great. But when we were shooting, I could not relax and get into it, I had to direct from in front of the camera. It was not fun, it was not a turn-on, it was just - work. Max could tell you how cranky and exhausted I was after a day of shooting. This is how I know I was not supposed to be in show business.

So I was immensely relieved when we had all the footage we needed. And then my partner said, oh, we need some interview footage of you. So I did that. Redeeming social value and all, you know, have to cover one’s ass.

My partner went into his editing bay and in time produced a really nicely done, professional-looking video that we were both quite proud of. I have nothing to complain of on that score, he did a very good job.

He got two hundred tapes made and gave them to me. This was back when Paypal would still process payments for sexy things, so I put up a page on my site, and waited for the orders. Meanwhile, my partner hunted around to see what he could find out about getting it distributed on a wider scale.

Long story short: we couldn’t get a distributor. Since there isn’t any actual fucking in my video, just BDSM play, I can’t say I was hugely surprised.

Then, Paypal announced it would no longer process payments for anything even slightly adult. I tried other payment processing systems, but they all proved hard to use and unreliable, and people were understandably reluctant to trust them with their financial information. I considered getting a merchant account, but the costs were prohibitive and at that time, the credit card companies were levying heavy fees and complex rules on adult accounts. Going through all that to sell three or four forty-dollar videos a month would be absurd.

Next, Attorney General Alberto Gonzales and the DOJ made sweeping changes to the 2257 Regulations and declared war on porn. The legal challenge to the new law is still churning through the courts, I believe, but right now there’s no way I can fullfill all the legal requirements for adult entertainment record-keeping. The whole situation is very intimidating – just as it’s meant to be – and I don’t want to deal with it.

In the end, I sold those two hundred videos, which means I made my expenses back, and a little profit - the equivalent of about a week's gross in my regular life. Not exactly big bucks, when I think about how many hours of my time I put in for that money - some of it time in which I could have been seeing clients.

So another video? Let’s see, it’s a lot of work, and not that much fun, and not that much money. I have no easy, inexpensive way to collect payments for it. And I’d be plunging into a legal maelstrom of regulations, red tape, and repressive laws. Yeah. Not such a great idea from where I sit. Not when I make a very nice living, doing stuff I like to do, without having to worry about the feds coming to investigate me.

I suppose there’s a very slim chance I could do another one - after the next presidential election, if we elect someone less insane than the current crew. Even then I’d probably just do downloads, rather than fuss with shipping a physical product. And they would be - how shall I say? – informal. I’d say to the cameraman, “Look, I’m going to get kinky with my friend here, and you just shoot us. Stay out of my way, don’t talk to me, and whatever we get, we get. But I’m not going to try to act or perform for the camera.”

However, it definitely won’t be anytime soon.


(*Yes, on VHS. No, it’s not available on DVD. No, sorry, you can’t buy one, I sold the ones I had and I’m not getting any more made.)

Birthday Wishes

As some of you already know… I’m having a birthday at the end of November. (No, I’m not telling you what one.) I'm a trifle reluctant to write about things I want, because frankly, I have so many people in my life who are already so very sweet and generous that it seems unbecoming somehow. Still, some of my boys have been asked what I want for my birthday, and I promised to post a list.
So, let’s be clear: I don’t expect presents. They’re sweet and wonderful, and I enjoy them and think fondly of the giver when I use them. But they are not a requirement to being someone I like.

Without further ado… The Birthday List 2006.

Mystery Science Theatre 3000 collections. Yes, I know I’m a closet nerd. I don’t care.
Books –my Amazon list was a bit out of date, so I updated that. This looks good, and so does this, and this…
I need a new bathrobe. (White terrycloth is warm and classic for lazy mornings, although sexier ones are nice for in the evening. Size small.)
I still haven’t bought a good laptop case.
iTunes music cards.
Wolford. Always Wolford. I can't get enough of that stretchy slinky stuff. Feed my addiction. Or yours. Size small here, too, in black.
Silver trinkets.

People often just take me shopping rather than trying to guess what I want, so I'm expecting to do some of that too. Since my birthday is late November, when I was a kid, I’d often campaign for some large toy I wanted by claiming that I’d regard it as a combination birthday-Christmas gift. Looking back, I’m sort of amazed how often that worked on my parents, since inevitably by mid-December there would be something else I had my eye on.

But one of the pleasures of adulthood is that I can buy myself what I need. This coat looks like something I might like. And I need a new monitor, and a new digital camera, too, although I bet I wait until the holiday sales begin before I start looking for those. Ah, the joys of retail therapy...

This week's column and calendar. And to answer the inevitable query: Miss Candy can be found here...

(It's Tuesday night, actually. But close enough to being Wednesday...)

I had a very weird day Monday. Not good weird, either. Perhaps I’ll talk about it some other time.

But today was fine.

I had a good time being evil to Blue Eyes, with the able assistance of Jae.

I had dinner with Miss K.

I hung out with Roman and smooched and got my feet massaged. (Which was actually the second time that day I’d had that pleasure – Jae had also rubbed them earlier. It’s charming how the people who love me figure out what I like.)

I listened to a CD I bought over the weekend - The Scissor Sisters: Ta-Dah. Good stuff.

Now I’m going to get in bed early, cuddle with Max, and read of some the books on my nightstand: And Only To Deceive, de Kooning: An American Master, and All I Need to Know about Filmmaking I Learned from the Toxic Avenger.

And I’m going to think good thoughts about a dear friend who’s having surgery in the morning.

Into each life a little weirdness must fall. But I’m not letting it get me down.

New weird-sexual-word for the day: Jelquing. I saw it over on BitchLab and I followed the Wiki link because I had no idea what it was. Wiki reports that…

“Jelquing is a technique intended to enlarge the penis by increasing the blood pressure in the penis, with the goal of permanently increasing the maximum erect size of the penis. This technique, also called “milking”, involves wrapping the thumb and index finger around the penis while semi-erect and repeatedly drawing them away from one’s body to force blood into the glans, thus encouraging more vascularity in the corpus cavernosa and associated tissues. Whether jelqing actually works or not is a subject of controversy.”

Now, I have heard people use the word milking before - my two definitions for it are here. And I know what I call "wrapping the thumb and index finger around the penis while semi-erect and repeatedly drawing them away from one’s body"- I call that "playing with yourself". (Not that there's anything wrong with that...) Imagine if the hero of Portnoy's Complaint had been able to tell himself what he was doing was therapeutic body modification...

I suppose I now have a new word for my unusual-sexual-practices vocabulary, although I think if you seriously imagine this is going to change the size of your dick, the jelqu’s on you, heh heh. (Yeah, I had to go there. I watched some old MST3K episodes on YouTube this weekend, and it had an unfortunate effect on me. Expect bad puns for a few days.)