News
swopusa: website (www.swopusa.org) is backup, sorry for the downtime.
swopusa: website (www.swopusa.org) is backup, sorry for the downtime.
Categories: Sex Worker News
Preparing for Your First Anal Sex
Back in July of last year I posted an article on anal sex and how to use enemas correctly to prepare for being fucked in the ass. You can think of it as more of an “advanced” article on anal sex. Originally, there was a link to an off-site tutorial I wrote a few years [...]
Categories: Sex Worker Blogs
Nude By Tree
From this gallery titled Windy. It was windy here today so I picked it. It wasn’t warm enough to frolic naked outside though.
Categories: Sex Worker Blogs
The Real Orange County
A commenter suggested that I watch the Real Housewives of Orange County and I thought I'd share this tidbit with you. I only watched one episode and it was something about some girls dressing up to go to a party at the Playboy Mansion. The show couldn't hold my attention. I can't watch reality shows that follow people around. I think I need more of a plot structure in order to keep me interested. I can't focus on people wandering around aimlessly acting like fools. I need there to be some sort of specific goal that they're working towards, even if it's a stupid goal.
But another reason I don't watch the Housewives is because I don't have to. My life here isn't all that different. Even better, my husband has close relatives who actually live in Coto de Caza, the neighborhood where the OC Housewives is filmed. I've been there many times. My Husband is originally from Orange County. When I met him he lived in San Francisco, but he was born and raised in Orange County. His entire family still lives there, so we try to go once or twice a year to visit. I wish we could go more. I actually like the area a lot and would absolutely live there. They have the most beautiful beaches I've ever seen. Living in flat Florida, I'm fascinated by beaches with rocks and cliffs. And seals!! I can't get over the seals.
Orange County has its share of orange women with fake boobs and tacky tracksuits, but so does South Florida. In fact, I'm shocked they haven't made a Real Housewives of Palm Beach County yet.
But you want to know about Coto de Caza. First off, it reminds me a lot of a desert version of where I used to work. It's beautiful and full of beautiful people and beautiful houses with zero lot lines. I've never understood the zero lot line thing. If you have a zillion dollar home why would you want it so close to other zillion dollar homes? I'd want a yard. That said, the houses are gorgeous and there are horse trails beside the roads. The neighborhood itself is gigantic and has gated communities inside of other gated communities. Most of the homes have luscious rose gardens. Roses don't grow here, so that's another thing I love about Southern California. Outside of the neighborhood is the absolute best Mexican restaurant I have been to in my life ( we also have a bit of a dearth of good Mexican down here). It's called Jalapenos and if you're ever in the area, it's in a strip mall and you must go. But anyway.
Of course I had to ask husband's relatives (and my relatives too now) about the Housewives. Apparently there's plenty of drama in the neighborhood at all times. The show isn't making that up. The producers asked my husband's cousin if he would be on an episode teaching one of the sons to play a sport. He refused because he said the kid was an idiot and he didn't want to be associated with those people. I guess there's like a main housewife on the show? Well, the relatives tell me she's a huge bitch and causes a scene wherever she goes and is one of those "Don't You Know Who I am?" kinds of people who takes a massive entourage with her just to go to the convenience store. She causes a lot of disruption in the neighborhood with the filming and diva-esque behavior. Our relatives say that once she decided to attend their church and caused a big scene there too. Everyone tries to avoid her.
Whenever we go out there to visit, and we're in Coto (as they call it), I always hope I'll see them filming the show, but I never have. It's pretty quiet.
The strangest thing that has ever happened though was last May when we went for a BBQ, we parked our rental car on the street and when we came out there was a slice of bologna stuck to our back bumper. Just a random slice of deli meat stuck on our car. I really wonder how that happened. If it had been a taco from Jalapenos, I would have eaten it.
Writing this is really making me miss California. We are going to have plan a trip to go back out there as soon as school gets out in May. I wish I could live there. Universe, are you listening to me? I want to live in Orange County. Soon. Ok?
(And the picture above - I took it from the car while we were waiting in line at the gate. I thought it might come in handy one day.)
But another reason I don't watch the Housewives is because I don't have to. My life here isn't all that different. Even better, my husband has close relatives who actually live in Coto de Caza, the neighborhood where the OC Housewives is filmed. I've been there many times. My Husband is originally from Orange County. When I met him he lived in San Francisco, but he was born and raised in Orange County. His entire family still lives there, so we try to go once or twice a year to visit. I wish we could go more. I actually like the area a lot and would absolutely live there. They have the most beautiful beaches I've ever seen. Living in flat Florida, I'm fascinated by beaches with rocks and cliffs. And seals!! I can't get over the seals.
Orange County has its share of orange women with fake boobs and tacky tracksuits, but so does South Florida. In fact, I'm shocked they haven't made a Real Housewives of Palm Beach County yet.
But you want to know about Coto de Caza. First off, it reminds me a lot of a desert version of where I used to work. It's beautiful and full of beautiful people and beautiful houses with zero lot lines. I've never understood the zero lot line thing. If you have a zillion dollar home why would you want it so close to other zillion dollar homes? I'd want a yard. That said, the houses are gorgeous and there are horse trails beside the roads. The neighborhood itself is gigantic and has gated communities inside of other gated communities. Most of the homes have luscious rose gardens. Roses don't grow here, so that's another thing I love about Southern California. Outside of the neighborhood is the absolute best Mexican restaurant I have been to in my life ( we also have a bit of a dearth of good Mexican down here). It's called Jalapenos and if you're ever in the area, it's in a strip mall and you must go. But anyway.
Of course I had to ask husband's relatives (and my relatives too now) about the Housewives. Apparently there's plenty of drama in the neighborhood at all times. The show isn't making that up. The producers asked my husband's cousin if he would be on an episode teaching one of the sons to play a sport. He refused because he said the kid was an idiot and he didn't want to be associated with those people. I guess there's like a main housewife on the show? Well, the relatives tell me she's a huge bitch and causes a scene wherever she goes and is one of those "Don't You Know Who I am?" kinds of people who takes a massive entourage with her just to go to the convenience store. She causes a lot of disruption in the neighborhood with the filming and diva-esque behavior. Our relatives say that once she decided to attend their church and caused a big scene there too. Everyone tries to avoid her.
Whenever we go out there to visit, and we're in Coto (as they call it), I always hope I'll see them filming the show, but I never have. It's pretty quiet.
The strangest thing that has ever happened though was last May when we went for a BBQ, we parked our rental car on the street and when we came out there was a slice of bologna stuck to our back bumper. Just a random slice of deli meat stuck on our car. I really wonder how that happened. If it had been a taco from Jalapenos, I would have eaten it.
Writing this is really making me miss California. We are going to have plan a trip to go back out there as soon as school gets out in May. I wish I could live there. Universe, are you listening to me? I want to live in Orange County. Soon. Ok?
(And the picture above - I took it from the car while we were waiting in line at the gate. I thought it might come in handy one day.)
Categories: Sex Worker Blogs
Flowers
Today I feel stuck, all this sadness in my body but I can’t cry as much. I feel anxious, wondering how my grandmother is doing. Did she get the flowers? Can she see them? Or maybe smell the fragrance, lilies are too fragrant for me but I know she loved them. She would find the most gorgeous colors, and study them for painting clues. I want someone to hold me, but I don’t know if I have that kind of relationship in San Francisco right now. I miss those relationships. I feel alone. I’m going on a trip, and now it seems confusing. It was confusing before, but now it seems really confusing. I’m even confused about how to prepare -- what do I need to do? Am I ready? Why am I going?
I call my mother to see if she’s at the hospital. She says I just picked up Allison from the airport, can I call you back? Yes, I say, and then I wonder if I should call my grandmother again, just to say hi, to tell her I love her, to see how she’s doing although I guess I wouldn’t really know but then I realize that Allison was supposed to arrive in Baltimore tomorrow. Originally she was going on Friday, but then she changed her plans and when I asked my mother why she said you’ll have to ask her.
I know Allison’s ex-boyfriend was having a party on Friday night, and she wanted to go so she could meet people, she doesn’t want to be alone either. Maybe she stayed to go to the party, that’s what I was thinking. That’s when my mother said: this doesn’t matter, but to tell you the truth I would rather both of you not come and see her this way, I would rather you keep the image in your head of how you remember her. Later, I said: I’m not interested in any illusions. But right then I said anyway, can you tell me her number at the hospital? And that’s when my mother asked: you want to call her while she’s still alive?
I call my mother again: is Rose still alive? She died, my mother says, and then I’m crying again, it feels good to cry, leaning my arms onto the table. My mother says: she got the flowers last night, she had something to say about the flowers and I made an appointment with the aide to tell me tomorrow, I want to know exactly what she said and then I’ll call you. That was a good idea, the flowers were a good idea, I’m going tomorrow to pick them up. I didn’t know she would die so soon, everyone said it was possible -- or that’s not true, her surgeon and her doctor said she would pull through, but then last night she was in a lot of pain, she was yelling for medication and I gave the approval for more morphine, I wanted to honor your wishes, she was ready to die, she was ready to die for a while.
I’m sobbing again, already I feel better and then I wonder if I should feel better, because my grandmother died, but I don’t feel better because she died I feel better because I’m crying. In the background, my sister is asking what my mother wants to eat, my mother says you can order for me, you know what I like. When is the memorial, I say, and my mother says Monday, it’s on Monday at noon and it will be a short ceremony at the chapel, the religious part will be totally deemphasized because I’m not interested in that part and neither was she, and then afterwards people will be coming over the house and there will be flowers and food and then that’s all. There will be no sitting shiva, I’m not interested in anything religious. I’m not talking to anyone right now, just you and Allison.
I’m crying, and I ask how people will find out. My mother says there will be an obituary in the Baltimore Sun, and the Washington Post, and the New York Times, I put obituaries in all those papers for Monday. I say no, I mean her friends, how will her friends find out about the service? Oh, my mother says, Jarod called everyone, he made all the calls, I’m not calling anyone -- I sent one email to the family, and that’s all. I say I think I’m going to go now, and my mother says you can call me later, call me anytime, my cellphone will be on.
I call Hilary, she says how is your grandmother, and suddenly I can’t speak, I thought I had a lot to say but I feel like a little kid and then I’m crying again and I say ask me a question. And she says: are you going to Baltimore, and I try to say my grandmother died, but I can’t, and then finally I say it, but I’m not sure that she hears me, and then I’m crying again and I say I’m leaving to go on my trip on Monday, but maybe if you’re able to come over tomorrow for a few minutes, that would be nice, and she says sure, I say maybe in the early evening, I’ll call you later, and then I get off the phone and I feel sad but not as lonely.
I call my mother to see if she’s at the hospital. She says I just picked up Allison from the airport, can I call you back? Yes, I say, and then I wonder if I should call my grandmother again, just to say hi, to tell her I love her, to see how she’s doing although I guess I wouldn’t really know but then I realize that Allison was supposed to arrive in Baltimore tomorrow. Originally she was going on Friday, but then she changed her plans and when I asked my mother why she said you’ll have to ask her.
I know Allison’s ex-boyfriend was having a party on Friday night, and she wanted to go so she could meet people, she doesn’t want to be alone either. Maybe she stayed to go to the party, that’s what I was thinking. That’s when my mother said: this doesn’t matter, but to tell you the truth I would rather both of you not come and see her this way, I would rather you keep the image in your head of how you remember her. Later, I said: I’m not interested in any illusions. But right then I said anyway, can you tell me her number at the hospital? And that’s when my mother asked: you want to call her while she’s still alive?
I call my mother again: is Rose still alive? She died, my mother says, and then I’m crying again, it feels good to cry, leaning my arms onto the table. My mother says: she got the flowers last night, she had something to say about the flowers and I made an appointment with the aide to tell me tomorrow, I want to know exactly what she said and then I’ll call you. That was a good idea, the flowers were a good idea, I’m going tomorrow to pick them up. I didn’t know she would die so soon, everyone said it was possible -- or that’s not true, her surgeon and her doctor said she would pull through, but then last night she was in a lot of pain, she was yelling for medication and I gave the approval for more morphine, I wanted to honor your wishes, she was ready to die, she was ready to die for a while.
I’m sobbing again, already I feel better and then I wonder if I should feel better, because my grandmother died, but I don’t feel better because she died I feel better because I’m crying. In the background, my sister is asking what my mother wants to eat, my mother says you can order for me, you know what I like. When is the memorial, I say, and my mother says Monday, it’s on Monday at noon and it will be a short ceremony at the chapel, the religious part will be totally deemphasized because I’m not interested in that part and neither was she, and then afterwards people will be coming over the house and there will be flowers and food and then that’s all. There will be no sitting shiva, I’m not interested in anything religious. I’m not talking to anyone right now, just you and Allison.
I’m crying, and I ask how people will find out. My mother says there will be an obituary in the Baltimore Sun, and the Washington Post, and the New York Times, I put obituaries in all those papers for Monday. I say no, I mean her friends, how will her friends find out about the service? Oh, my mother says, Jarod called everyone, he made all the calls, I’m not calling anyone -- I sent one email to the family, and that’s all. I say I think I’m going to go now, and my mother says you can call me later, call me anytime, my cellphone will be on.
I call Hilary, she says how is your grandmother, and suddenly I can’t speak, I thought I had a lot to say but I feel like a little kid and then I’m crying again and I say ask me a question. And she says: are you going to Baltimore, and I try to say my grandmother died, but I can’t, and then finally I say it, but I’m not sure that she hears me, and then I’m crying again and I say I’m leaving to go on my trip on Monday, but maybe if you’re able to come over tomorrow for a few minutes, that would be nice, and she says sure, I say maybe in the early evening, I’ll call you later, and then I get off the phone and I feel sad but not as lonely.
Categories: Sex Worker Blogs
swopusa: The dancer vs. the strip club -- WashingtonPost: http://bit.ly/djqc0Y
swopusa: The dancer vs. the strip club -- WashingtonPost: http://bit.ly/djqc0Y
Categories: Sex Worker News
swopusa: SWOP Santa Cruz meeting tomorrow @ 2pm! Come on down! msg for details! (current/former workers only this time)
swopusa: SWOP Santa Cruz meeting tomorrow @ 2pm! Come on down! msg for details! (current/former workers only this time)
Categories: Sex Worker News
Manitoba: Hotels to watch for sex exploitation
Last Updated: Wednesday, March 10, 2010 | 6:05 PM CT
CBC News
The Manitoba government and the provincial hotel industry are teaming up in an effort to crack down on child sexual exploitation.
Wednesday, the province said staff at hotels will be trained to spot situations where a child might be at risk of being exploited by a [...]
Categories: Sex Worker News
The dancer vs. the strip club
By Paul Schwartzman
Friday, Mar 12, 2010
To hear Quansa Thompson talk of her life as an exotic dancer, to listen to her describe how men offer cash as she sashays, gyrates and jiggles the night away, is to evoke a thousand titillating thoughts, not a single one having anything to do with the Federal Fair Labor [...]
Categories: Sex Worker News
<span style="font-size:130%;">Well, you
Well, you may be wondering at the lack of posts. I have a good explanation. We've all been very sick. Then I decided to go on Spring Break, which basically translates to me lying on my couch reading books, watching movies and coughing out my very soul. I feel like someone in a tuberculosis sanatorium. I have a great aunt who had to go live at one of those by the way. I've always wanted to know more about it. But before I digress any further, sickness has been rampant. I'm still not better, but I have to go back to work Monday so I had better muster up some semblance of good health.
My mother is very sick too. She has shingles, which is a bad, bad thing. That means very few people have been to Casa dei Sogni. That means no stories. I, for one, am actually banned from the home until my mother receives clearance from the doctor that she is no longer contagious. Why, you ask. Because I am one of those freaks who never had chicken pox. I have no idea why, but I never had them and I've never had a vaccine, so that isn't the reason. If you've never had chicken pox, you can get them from someone with shingles. As everyone knows, getting adult chicken pox can be extremely unpleasant and possibly dangerous. We are hoping that I'll be able to go back in a week or two. Just think of all the stories I'm missing!! It nearly sends me into a panic. Now, my sister had chicken pox, so I ask, how is it possible that I've never had them? I don't get it. I really don't. I mean, I'm not asking for chicken pox obviously, but I just want to know how I never got them because this is really inconvenient.
I missed Chastity's wedding, but I got a report from the rest of the family. It sounds like a small, nice affair with no drama and she's on her honeymoon now. I haven't heard from her. I think it's best that the Universe intervened and rendered me unable to attend. I think it would have stressed me out too much.
Because I've turned into a shut-in, I don't have much to write about. I could give you some reality recaps, like how on earth could Jake have chosen Vienna? My God, she's hideous and cross eyed and I know he has no personality, but really, if he wanted a girl like that he certainly didn't need to go on TV to find her. All he had to do was stop in at any strip club during day shift and he would have found Vienna's aplenty. And some Desirees, Shantays, Moniques and Serenitys too.
Today I watched a rerun of Clean House's Messiest House in America 3 and oh dear, the drama. You already know of my love for Hoarders, but Hoarders is all politically correct and sensitive and they bring in psychologists. Clean House is better because instead of all the mental health professionals they bring in some gay guys and a stereotypical sassy black woman to get the job done. I also like that they try to sell as much of the stuff as possible, which seems like a good use for it, but I can't help but thinking that the people who buy it are probably hoarders too and then it just contributes to the cycle of junk for someone else. So the people from Messiest House 3 really need to meet the people from the Wife Swap that I discussed last week because the level of crazy is about equal, though different. Sharon Baglien and her daughter Brigitte lived with so much mess that they couldn't move around in their home. The ceiling actually cracked from the weight of the crap in the attic. There were rats everywhere. Every square centimeter of their house was stuffed with junk and they were in total denial. Well, the mom was. The daughter wasn't as bad and wanted help, but the mother was really abusive and bullied the daughter, who showed some hoarding tendencies herself. Brigitte was only 20, so she's young, but she's lived like this for her entire life. Both mother and daughter threw fits throughout the show and during the big, clean house reveal at the end, the mother threw a fit and stormed off. She wouldn't return to finish the rest of the show. It was astounding to me, but of course I understand. She had anxiety without her stuff. It was too much for her to comprehend. A change that sudden and that drastic scared her. But still. The whole thing was incredibly disturbing to watch (although I certainly did watch it) and like the Wife Swap episode, it left me with a lot of lingering feelings and questions. How do people get like this? Why? How do they not see what they're doing? I wondered where Brigitte's father was and if his absence had anything to do with the hoarding. Did he leave because of it? Or did it start after he left as a way of dealing with the pain of a breakup or death? At one point Sharon mentioned a younger sister who died of cancer. Was the hoarding maybe a symptom of her grief over that, in that she couldn't deal with loss, so she symbolically holds on to objects? Does that somehow give her a sense of control over her grief? The show never addressed these issues, but I wanted to know. I want to know what makes people this way because I have relatives who are hoarders too and I want to feel more compassion for them instead of frustration.
I've always had a terror that I would end up that way, consumed by garbage and junk. I worry about myself at times. I catch myself not getting rid of things that I ought, although my house is clean and organized. Still, once in a while I'll buy something or receive a gift and never ever use it because if I use it, then it will be gone. I can't tell you how many times I've done this, knowing how ridiculous it is. I won't burn candles or use the fancy soaps. Sometimes I'll buy nice jelly and not eat it for the same reason. I grew up seeing my grandmother do this. She still has the same candles in her house. The things are older than me and the wax has gone mushy and sticky with age, but she'll never burn them. I asked her why once and she said if she burned them she wouldn't have them anymore.
But periodically I get fed up with myself and purge everything. I sell a lot of my old stuff, mostly books and clothes. I take food to the food bank if I notice myself accumulating too much. I try very consciously not to acquire too much crap, but sometimes I still slip up. I have to remind myself that the fancy soap is made to be used and that not having it anymore means I enjoyed it, which is its purpose and that it has to make room for new stuff. I also remind myself that memories are not stored in objects. The memories are in me and I can write them down. I don't need a thing to remember. I am the thing.
Sigh. But at least Ali is going to be the new Bachelorette, right? Just kidding. I need to get out of the house.
My mother is very sick too. She has shingles, which is a bad, bad thing. That means very few people have been to Casa dei Sogni. That means no stories. I, for one, am actually banned from the home until my mother receives clearance from the doctor that she is no longer contagious. Why, you ask. Because I am one of those freaks who never had chicken pox. I have no idea why, but I never had them and I've never had a vaccine, so that isn't the reason. If you've never had chicken pox, you can get them from someone with shingles. As everyone knows, getting adult chicken pox can be extremely unpleasant and possibly dangerous. We are hoping that I'll be able to go back in a week or two. Just think of all the stories I'm missing!! It nearly sends me into a panic. Now, my sister had chicken pox, so I ask, how is it possible that I've never had them? I don't get it. I really don't. I mean, I'm not asking for chicken pox obviously, but I just want to know how I never got them because this is really inconvenient.
I missed Chastity's wedding, but I got a report from the rest of the family. It sounds like a small, nice affair with no drama and she's on her honeymoon now. I haven't heard from her. I think it's best that the Universe intervened and rendered me unable to attend. I think it would have stressed me out too much.
Because I've turned into a shut-in, I don't have much to write about. I could give you some reality recaps, like how on earth could Jake have chosen Vienna? My God, she's hideous and cross eyed and I know he has no personality, but really, if he wanted a girl like that he certainly didn't need to go on TV to find her. All he had to do was stop in at any strip club during day shift and he would have found Vienna's aplenty. And some Desirees, Shantays, Moniques and Serenitys too.
Today I watched a rerun of Clean House's Messiest House in America 3 and oh dear, the drama. You already know of my love for Hoarders, but Hoarders is all politically correct and sensitive and they bring in psychologists. Clean House is better because instead of all the mental health professionals they bring in some gay guys and a stereotypical sassy black woman to get the job done. I also like that they try to sell as much of the stuff as possible, which seems like a good use for it, but I can't help but thinking that the people who buy it are probably hoarders too and then it just contributes to the cycle of junk for someone else. So the people from Messiest House 3 really need to meet the people from the Wife Swap that I discussed last week because the level of crazy is about equal, though different. Sharon Baglien and her daughter Brigitte lived with so much mess that they couldn't move around in their home. The ceiling actually cracked from the weight of the crap in the attic. There were rats everywhere. Every square centimeter of their house was stuffed with junk and they were in total denial. Well, the mom was. The daughter wasn't as bad and wanted help, but the mother was really abusive and bullied the daughter, who showed some hoarding tendencies herself. Brigitte was only 20, so she's young, but she's lived like this for her entire life. Both mother and daughter threw fits throughout the show and during the big, clean house reveal at the end, the mother threw a fit and stormed off. She wouldn't return to finish the rest of the show. It was astounding to me, but of course I understand. She had anxiety without her stuff. It was too much for her to comprehend. A change that sudden and that drastic scared her. But still. The whole thing was incredibly disturbing to watch (although I certainly did watch it) and like the Wife Swap episode, it left me with a lot of lingering feelings and questions. How do people get like this? Why? How do they not see what they're doing? I wondered where Brigitte's father was and if his absence had anything to do with the hoarding. Did he leave because of it? Or did it start after he left as a way of dealing with the pain of a breakup or death? At one point Sharon mentioned a younger sister who died of cancer. Was the hoarding maybe a symptom of her grief over that, in that she couldn't deal with loss, so she symbolically holds on to objects? Does that somehow give her a sense of control over her grief? The show never addressed these issues, but I wanted to know. I want to know what makes people this way because I have relatives who are hoarders too and I want to feel more compassion for them instead of frustration.
I've always had a terror that I would end up that way, consumed by garbage and junk. I worry about myself at times. I catch myself not getting rid of things that I ought, although my house is clean and organized. Still, once in a while I'll buy something or receive a gift and never ever use it because if I use it, then it will be gone. I can't tell you how many times I've done this, knowing how ridiculous it is. I won't burn candles or use the fancy soaps. Sometimes I'll buy nice jelly and not eat it for the same reason. I grew up seeing my grandmother do this. She still has the same candles in her house. The things are older than me and the wax has gone mushy and sticky with age, but she'll never burn them. I asked her why once and she said if she burned them she wouldn't have them anymore.
But periodically I get fed up with myself and purge everything. I sell a lot of my old stuff, mostly books and clothes. I take food to the food bank if I notice myself accumulating too much. I try very consciously not to acquire too much crap, but sometimes I still slip up. I have to remind myself that the fancy soap is made to be used and that not having it anymore means I enjoyed it, which is its purpose and that it has to make room for new stuff. I also remind myself that memories are not stored in objects. The memories are in me and I can write them down. I don't need a thing to remember. I am the thing.
Sigh. But at least Ali is going to be the new Bachelorette, right? Just kidding. I need to get out of the house.
Categories: Sex Worker Blogs
Throwing Around The Word Whore
Tonight a new guy (NG) called. At first he said he wanted to be dominated. After a few minutes he demanded I talk to him for free. I told him no. “I’m gonna make you get on your knees and suck me bitch,” was his response.
“What?” I asked. Usually the guys who want a freebie at least give me a reason.
NG said he wanted to piss me off so I’d dominate him harder. He again asked me for a freebie. I again said no.
“You’re just a stupid fucking whore,” was his response.
I was getting annoyed and that comment sealed it. But I sensed that cursing back wouldn’t do the trick. I tried another tactic.
Keeping my voice calm I said, “Actually I’m not a whore. But some of my friends are so I don’t really see that as an insult.”
There was no immediate response. Then I heard a subdued “oh”. NG hung up after that. Usually with jerks like him it’s best to just curtly end the conversation. But having the final say certainly felt sweet.
Categories: Sex Worker Blogs
swopusa: Are you a fan of us on Facebook? You should!: http://bit.ly/c4sjfQ
swopusa: Are you a fan of us on Facebook? You should!: http://bit.ly/c4sjfQ
Categories: Sex Worker News
Already there
I’m thinking about my grandmother in the hospital, and whether the doctors there are sad that she’s leaving. I’m sad that she’s leaving. I’m not sad that she’s leaving the hospital. I know she doesn’t want to be in any more pain. I don’t want her to be in any more pain. I don’t want to be in any more pain either, but it’s different: I’m not dying. I’m not dying, and I don’t want to die, and I don’t want my grandmother to die either, except that maybe she’s ready, so then it’s okay, it’s okay that she’s dying and still I wish for more.
My mother says: I have not been able to cry; I admire that you’re able to -- I’m not able to mourn. Anytime I feel it coming up I get really anxious and then it doesn’t happen. Believe it or not, this is almost harder than it was with Dad and it makes no sense because I had all the responsibilities with Dad and it was way more emotional and it went on for much longer and I was losing a husband and here I am losing someone who’s lived a very full life and it’s still very difficult.
I ask my mother for the number at the hospice, she was supposed to call with it earlier, but she says: I didn’t call it the number because she didn’t make it to the hospice. What do you mean, I say? My mother says: they were supposed to take her there last night but then someone who wasn’t a nurse did the evaluation, and then it couldn’t be approved, and then they were worried that if they put her in the ambulance she would die there and she would be in a lot of pain, way more pain, so now she’s in hospice but she’s still in the hospital. I say did she agree to that? My mother says yes, she didn’t want to be there, but she agreed. But she can’t really talk, I’d say -- right? You’re right, my mother says, but she can communicate: I watch her body language, I can ask her a question and she can raise a finger.
I’m thinking about what my mother learned from my father’s death. I asked her if they took Rose off of the fluids, like she wanted to, and my mother says yes, now she’s on morphine and she’s doing much better. Yesterday Jarod and I were leaving and I got a call and so we turned around and went right back to the hospital and she was awful, I’ve never seen her like that, she was in so much pain, but now she’s doing better. Ask my mother for the number at the hospital, my mother says you want to call her now, before she dies? And I say well it wouldn’t make much sense to call her after, right? And my mother starts this high-pitched laugh that sounds like her sister, or maybe it sounds like her because I haven’t seen my aunt in years, when would I have heard her laugh? And mother says let me call the hospital, it will take a while because I don’t know her extension yet but I’ll call you back. I say you mean a few minutes, right? And my mother says oh yes!
When I call my grandmother, I tell her I want her to know that I love her, and then I start crying but I’m trying to stop myself because my mother said my grandmother doesn’t like it when people cry, but why am I listening to what my mother said? I’m worried that my grandmother won’t be able to understand me if I cry too much, I mean I guess I could slow down and take my time, but there’s an aide holding the phone at my grandmother’s ear so I’m worried I might be taking too long and so I say: I love you so much and I want you to know how important you are to me, how important you were to me as a kid, you made me believe I could be an artist and even if later you didn’t understand my art I’m glad you’re not going to be in too much more pain and I want you to know how important you are to me, maybe you were even the most important person in the family in a way because you helped me believe in myself and I’m going to miss you, I’m going to miss you so much and I love you and I wish you weren’t going to die but I know that maybe it’s time and I want you to know that I love you.
I stop. I think that’s all I needed to say, and the aide says: did I take the phone away too quickly? And I say no, I’m done, is she awake? The aide says something that sounds kind of like no, but not quite. I say I know she probably can’t respond, but do you think she could hear me? The aide says: yes, the hearing is the last thing to go. And: if you need to call again, you can call any time. And when I get off the phone, I don’t know if I said what I needed to say or whether my grandmother could hear me anyway, and then I call my mother back and she says I’m glad you could have some closure, that was a good idea, and I wish she didn’t tell me that my grandmother doesn’t like it when people get emotional. Maybe then I wouldn’t have thought about that, and then maybe it would have felt like closure.
How long is she supposed to live, I say, and my mother says they haven’t said exactly -- it could be in hours, or days, or a week, but definitely not a month. I say maybe I’ll call her again tomorrow. And then I’m crying again; I kind of wish they took her to the hospice anyway, because she didn’t want to die in the hospital, but then I don’t want her to be in more pain and I feel like a little kid when I ask my mother if she could take some flowers to Rose for me, and then I’m crying more and my mother says that’s a great idea, no one else thought of that, and I say maybe some irises, Rose liked irises, and my mother says how many irises? I say a dozen, and some lilies, because then if she can’t see them then at least she’ll smell the fragrance, she always liked lilies, maybe peach or pink lilies, and my mother says how many lilies? Eight, I say, and then whatever else they think would look good to fill up the bouquet, and my mother says maybe I can get them to take the flowers over tonight, I have the numbers for a few florists.
My mother leaves to call the florist and I think about how present I am in all this grief, way more grief than I thought there would be and I would like to spend a few minutes in the room with my grandmother, but I don’t think I need to, especially since she might die in the next few days and so I probably wouldn’t get there in time anyway. Maybe I’m already there.
My mother says: I have not been able to cry; I admire that you’re able to -- I’m not able to mourn. Anytime I feel it coming up I get really anxious and then it doesn’t happen. Believe it or not, this is almost harder than it was with Dad and it makes no sense because I had all the responsibilities with Dad and it was way more emotional and it went on for much longer and I was losing a husband and here I am losing someone who’s lived a very full life and it’s still very difficult.
I ask my mother for the number at the hospice, she was supposed to call with it earlier, but she says: I didn’t call it the number because she didn’t make it to the hospice. What do you mean, I say? My mother says: they were supposed to take her there last night but then someone who wasn’t a nurse did the evaluation, and then it couldn’t be approved, and then they were worried that if they put her in the ambulance she would die there and she would be in a lot of pain, way more pain, so now she’s in hospice but she’s still in the hospital. I say did she agree to that? My mother says yes, she didn’t want to be there, but she agreed. But she can’t really talk, I’d say -- right? You’re right, my mother says, but she can communicate: I watch her body language, I can ask her a question and she can raise a finger.
I’m thinking about what my mother learned from my father’s death. I asked her if they took Rose off of the fluids, like she wanted to, and my mother says yes, now she’s on morphine and she’s doing much better. Yesterday Jarod and I were leaving and I got a call and so we turned around and went right back to the hospital and she was awful, I’ve never seen her like that, she was in so much pain, but now she’s doing better. Ask my mother for the number at the hospital, my mother says you want to call her now, before she dies? And I say well it wouldn’t make much sense to call her after, right? And my mother starts this high-pitched laugh that sounds like her sister, or maybe it sounds like her because I haven’t seen my aunt in years, when would I have heard her laugh? And mother says let me call the hospital, it will take a while because I don’t know her extension yet but I’ll call you back. I say you mean a few minutes, right? And my mother says oh yes!
When I call my grandmother, I tell her I want her to know that I love her, and then I start crying but I’m trying to stop myself because my mother said my grandmother doesn’t like it when people cry, but why am I listening to what my mother said? I’m worried that my grandmother won’t be able to understand me if I cry too much, I mean I guess I could slow down and take my time, but there’s an aide holding the phone at my grandmother’s ear so I’m worried I might be taking too long and so I say: I love you so much and I want you to know how important you are to me, how important you were to me as a kid, you made me believe I could be an artist and even if later you didn’t understand my art I’m glad you’re not going to be in too much more pain and I want you to know how important you are to me, maybe you were even the most important person in the family in a way because you helped me believe in myself and I’m going to miss you, I’m going to miss you so much and I love you and I wish you weren’t going to die but I know that maybe it’s time and I want you to know that I love you.
I stop. I think that’s all I needed to say, and the aide says: did I take the phone away too quickly? And I say no, I’m done, is she awake? The aide says something that sounds kind of like no, but not quite. I say I know she probably can’t respond, but do you think she could hear me? The aide says: yes, the hearing is the last thing to go. And: if you need to call again, you can call any time. And when I get off the phone, I don’t know if I said what I needed to say or whether my grandmother could hear me anyway, and then I call my mother back and she says I’m glad you could have some closure, that was a good idea, and I wish she didn’t tell me that my grandmother doesn’t like it when people get emotional. Maybe then I wouldn’t have thought about that, and then maybe it would have felt like closure.
How long is she supposed to live, I say, and my mother says they haven’t said exactly -- it could be in hours, or days, or a week, but definitely not a month. I say maybe I’ll call her again tomorrow. And then I’m crying again; I kind of wish they took her to the hospice anyway, because she didn’t want to die in the hospital, but then I don’t want her to be in more pain and I feel like a little kid when I ask my mother if she could take some flowers to Rose for me, and then I’m crying more and my mother says that’s a great idea, no one else thought of that, and I say maybe some irises, Rose liked irises, and my mother says how many irises? I say a dozen, and some lilies, because then if she can’t see them then at least she’ll smell the fragrance, she always liked lilies, maybe peach or pink lilies, and my mother says how many lilies? Eight, I say, and then whatever else they think would look good to fill up the bouquet, and my mother says maybe I can get them to take the flowers over tonight, I have the numbers for a few florists.
My mother leaves to call the florist and I think about how present I am in all this grief, way more grief than I thought there would be and I would like to spend a few minutes in the room with my grandmother, but I don’t think I need to, especially since she might die in the next few days and so I probably wouldn’t get there in time anyway. Maybe I’m already there.
Categories: Sex Worker Blogs
Sex News Update: Ashburn Comes Out Of The Closet
From the Advocate:
Calif. Senator Ashburn Comes Out
“http://www.advocate.com/News/Daily_News/2010/03/08/Roy_Ashburn_Admits_He_is_Gay/
“The California state senator who was arrested for driving while intoxicated after a night at a gay bar announced Monday that he is gay.
Roy Ashburn, who has had a decidedly antigay voting record, made the announcement on KERN radio. Ashburn, a Republican from Bakersfield, said his votes were a reflection of his conservative district.
(snip)
Ashburn had voted against bills on such issues as the statewide Harvey Milk Day and gay marriage, and had even hosted an anti-gay marriage rally.”
From Gay Politics:
Conservative California state senator comes out
California State Sen. Roy Ashburn, a conservative Republican with a solidly anti-gay voting record, came out as gay today on a Bakersfield radio station talk show. Ashburn’s sexual orientation had been the talk of Sacramento since the legislator was arrested for drunk driving after leaving a gay bar in the state capital last week.
(snip)
Radio talk show host Inga Barks wanted assurances that Ashburn would continue to vote in a conservative manner on LGBT rights issues. Ashburn responded, “I believe firmly that my responsibility is to my constituents. I will take a careful look at each measure and apply that standard. How would they vote on this? How would they want me to vote on this,” adding that most people understood what that means.
“I don’t know how else to ask this, but are you going to live this lifestyle now in the district?” Barks asked. Ashburn, who announced he is not running for public office again, said, “I pray to God I can find peace. I want to go back to the senate and work hard for the people of my district…Now you know everything about me.””
—
That didn’t take long. I first blogged about Ashburn here. I expected him to deny it.
How about his cop out though? Would an Evangelical Christian politician vote for what his constituents wanted if they were all atheists? Ok, they probably wouldn’t have voted for him but still I think Ashburn is copping out here. And his little pray for me comment seems to indicate he’s only half way out of the closet.
Categories: Sex Worker Blogs
swopusa: Poem for March 3rd, read by Robyn Few in CA: http://bit.ly/9PY9Fu
swopusa: Poem for March 3rd, read by Robyn Few in CA: http://bit.ly/9PY9Fu
Categories: Sex Worker News
Syria: Dancing for Their Lives
Dancing for Their Lives
Making an undercover visit to an Iraqi expat nightclub in Syria, where the refugee crisis’s illicit economy is on full display.
BY DEBORAH AMOS | MARCH 9, 2010
Um Nour checked her watch. It was close to midnight and my guide to the Iraqi refugee underworld in Damascus wanted to get to the nightclub [...]
Categories: Sex Worker News
Did You Lie About Reading THAT Book?
The unsinkable Michelle Kerns has just written a story about the "Top Ten Books People Lie About Reading." It also quotes a recent British study about the authors whom readers really DO gobble up, regardless of their claims. Let's play, shall we? I'll list the "Top 10 False Brags" and...
Categories: Sex Worker Blogs
Seeing me
Now I’m crying on the fire escape, first I’m crying because my grandmother is dying, and then I’m crying because I’m a little kid and I want to talk to her about art. Or, I’m not a little kid and I want to talk to her about art. I want her to understand that she was the only person who told me I could be an artist, and even if she took it all back I still believed her. I want to sit down and talk about this work I make that she refuses to understand. None of that will ever happen now. She’s dying, and it’s happening fast. She refused the operation to remove fluid from her lungs, and tomorrow she moves to hospice. Today I got the other call from my mother, the one that said my grandmother’s dying. She wants to die; she’s ready. Or, if she’s not ready, she wants to die anyway -- she doesn’t want more any more operations, any more pain; she doesn’t want to live if she can’t make more art.
I’m crying on the fire escape in my pink sun hat, first I’m crying because my grandmother is dying, sobbing actually, and then the sobs get deeper and that’s the part like a little kid, the part about what she means to me. I will call her on the phone in the hospice tomorrow and she won’t be able to talk but I’ll tell her anyway, someone will hold the phone up to her ear, and I will probably start crying again.
After the fire escape, I go to the post office, where they tell me that the money orders my mother purchased at the post office might be counterfeit. They won’t cash them. There’s no book to look up the numbers anymore, and even though the money orders went through the scanner there’s no Benjamin Franklin hologram. I thought the point of a Postal Service money order was that you could cash it at a post office. I go to the bank to deposit checks, but most of them are more than six months old so they won’t deposit them; I need to call and get new checks.
I should’ve gone earlier, but I guess it took me more than six months to get a new bank account, I wanted a smaller bank because the big banks are robbing the country, they can cash their checks any time, their money orders are never questioned. Now I’m back at the larger bank, because the smaller bank returned these checks but I thought they would be fine here. Some of them are even issued by this bank. Today I feel like I’m not the type of person to live in this world, I want to go back to that cash economy where you count your twenties for every payment. Or, I just want to have more energy, so that I don’t end up waiting for the bus on the way back so hypoglycemic that I’m flattened, until I remember that I didn’t bring a bag so that I could walk. So I walk.
When I get back inside, I’m crying again. This time it’s on the phone with my mother, when she says -- what does she say? My grandmother is dying. Not in those words, but then I say hold on, and then when I get back on the phone I say sorry, my mother says you don’t have to say sorry, and then I’m sobbing again I say hold on. I walk into the other room, I’m sobbing and choking now too and my mother’s saying something into the headset, I can hear her voice vibrating and then I hear a call waiting click, and then when I get back on the phone she is saying something: you can take as long as you want and then I’m sobbing again, and then I take longer, and then I’m back on the phone.
My mother says that’s what we should all be doing, it is sad, you’re crying for all of us, and I don’t know what I think of that but I say that I’m glad she’s doing what my grandmother wants, that she’s not trying to force her to stay alive, some people do awful things to their relatives just because they want them to stay alive, not because of what their relatives want, and my mother says like what? I say I don’t know, she said she didn’t want any more operations, right? She doesn’t want to be in any more pain, and I’m glad you’re respecting her wishes.
When we got off the phone, I say I love you, just because it’s what I’m feeling, it’s not something we usually say to one another and my mother says I love you, and then I go into the bathroom to run a bath, and when I get back in the kitchen there’s a message from my mother: I just wanted to call to say goodnight.
Maybe the ringer isn’t on; I’m using the corded phone, because even a cordless landline with a headset emits a certain amount of radiation -- there are two cell phone towers across the street from me, there’s wireless everywhere, and I wonder if it matters that the covering of the cordless phone antenna fell off. I wonder about the high-pitched shrieking device that human ears can’t hear, the one that keeps mice and rats away -- could that be affecting my health too? Yesterday, when I talked to my sister, she told me she was trying to stop eating sugar because she didn’t want to get cancer; our father ate a lot of sugar, drank a lot of Diet Coke.
Did he eat a lot of sugar? I can’t even remember that. The phone rings, and it’s my mother again, she says I wanted to tell you that I really admire you and you’re important to me and I love you, and I say thanks. We talk more about my grandmother, and I wonder if she knows why I was crying. I wonder if I know. I mean I do know, but I’m surprised; I’m surprised that it’s affecting me so much. I get in the bath, and when I get out of the bath Hilary calls -- I just read your blog, are you okay? No, I’m not okay -- I just got out of the bath, and I need to take a nap. I’ll call you later.
Hilary and her sister are waiting for the results of their mother’s biopsy. I get in bed; immediately my stomach bloats up, maybe I shouldn’t ever lie down. Eventually I fall asleep; I could sleep longer, but I want to sleep later on too. I get up; I feel horrible; my stomach hurts so much. I’m crying again. I’m crying because do they ever give you what you want, this thing called family, does it ever work? I just want to talk to my grandmother about color and texture and light and the open feeling I’m trying to create in my work. Mostly that open feeling. She will never allow herself to understand. I didn’t even realize how much it would mean to me.
Randy calls, he says you won’t believe this but I’m in the emergency room. What? Yes, Randy says -- I was in Buena Vista Park, and someone hit me in the face. I didn’t even see him, but then he hit me in the face and I was running and telling people help, someone hit me, and there was all this blood in my face and I got scared but the first three guys just stared at me and then the fourth one took me to the emergency room. I’m okay now, but I don’t want to look in the mirror-- they have to do stitches. I think I should go -- they’re about to see me.
I’m crying on the fire escape in my pink sun hat, first I’m crying because my grandmother is dying, sobbing actually, and then the sobs get deeper and that’s the part like a little kid, the part about what she means to me. I will call her on the phone in the hospice tomorrow and she won’t be able to talk but I’ll tell her anyway, someone will hold the phone up to her ear, and I will probably start crying again.
After the fire escape, I go to the post office, where they tell me that the money orders my mother purchased at the post office might be counterfeit. They won’t cash them. There’s no book to look up the numbers anymore, and even though the money orders went through the scanner there’s no Benjamin Franklin hologram. I thought the point of a Postal Service money order was that you could cash it at a post office. I go to the bank to deposit checks, but most of them are more than six months old so they won’t deposit them; I need to call and get new checks.
I should’ve gone earlier, but I guess it took me more than six months to get a new bank account, I wanted a smaller bank because the big banks are robbing the country, they can cash their checks any time, their money orders are never questioned. Now I’m back at the larger bank, because the smaller bank returned these checks but I thought they would be fine here. Some of them are even issued by this bank. Today I feel like I’m not the type of person to live in this world, I want to go back to that cash economy where you count your twenties for every payment. Or, I just want to have more energy, so that I don’t end up waiting for the bus on the way back so hypoglycemic that I’m flattened, until I remember that I didn’t bring a bag so that I could walk. So I walk.
When I get back inside, I’m crying again. This time it’s on the phone with my mother, when she says -- what does she say? My grandmother is dying. Not in those words, but then I say hold on, and then when I get back on the phone I say sorry, my mother says you don’t have to say sorry, and then I’m sobbing again I say hold on. I walk into the other room, I’m sobbing and choking now too and my mother’s saying something into the headset, I can hear her voice vibrating and then I hear a call waiting click, and then when I get back on the phone she is saying something: you can take as long as you want and then I’m sobbing again, and then I take longer, and then I’m back on the phone.
My mother says that’s what we should all be doing, it is sad, you’re crying for all of us, and I don’t know what I think of that but I say that I’m glad she’s doing what my grandmother wants, that she’s not trying to force her to stay alive, some people do awful things to their relatives just because they want them to stay alive, not because of what their relatives want, and my mother says like what? I say I don’t know, she said she didn’t want any more operations, right? She doesn’t want to be in any more pain, and I’m glad you’re respecting her wishes.
When we got off the phone, I say I love you, just because it’s what I’m feeling, it’s not something we usually say to one another and my mother says I love you, and then I go into the bathroom to run a bath, and when I get back in the kitchen there’s a message from my mother: I just wanted to call to say goodnight.
Maybe the ringer isn’t on; I’m using the corded phone, because even a cordless landline with a headset emits a certain amount of radiation -- there are two cell phone towers across the street from me, there’s wireless everywhere, and I wonder if it matters that the covering of the cordless phone antenna fell off. I wonder about the high-pitched shrieking device that human ears can’t hear, the one that keeps mice and rats away -- could that be affecting my health too? Yesterday, when I talked to my sister, she told me she was trying to stop eating sugar because she didn’t want to get cancer; our father ate a lot of sugar, drank a lot of Diet Coke.
Did he eat a lot of sugar? I can’t even remember that. The phone rings, and it’s my mother again, she says I wanted to tell you that I really admire you and you’re important to me and I love you, and I say thanks. We talk more about my grandmother, and I wonder if she knows why I was crying. I wonder if I know. I mean I do know, but I’m surprised; I’m surprised that it’s affecting me so much. I get in the bath, and when I get out of the bath Hilary calls -- I just read your blog, are you okay? No, I’m not okay -- I just got out of the bath, and I need to take a nap. I’ll call you later.
Hilary and her sister are waiting for the results of their mother’s biopsy. I get in bed; immediately my stomach bloats up, maybe I shouldn’t ever lie down. Eventually I fall asleep; I could sleep longer, but I want to sleep later on too. I get up; I feel horrible; my stomach hurts so much. I’m crying again. I’m crying because do they ever give you what you want, this thing called family, does it ever work? I just want to talk to my grandmother about color and texture and light and the open feeling I’m trying to create in my work. Mostly that open feeling. She will never allow herself to understand. I didn’t even realize how much it would mean to me.
Randy calls, he says you won’t believe this but I’m in the emergency room. What? Yes, Randy says -- I was in Buena Vista Park, and someone hit me in the face. I didn’t even see him, but then he hit me in the face and I was running and telling people help, someone hit me, and there was all this blood in my face and I got scared but the first three guys just stared at me and then the fourth one took me to the emergency room. I’m okay now, but I don’t want to look in the mirror-- they have to do stitches. I think I should go -- they’re about to see me.
Categories: Sex Worker Blogs
A new Stranger column is up -<a href=
A new Stranger column is up - this one about that very annoying "You're Kinky? You Must Have Been Abused As A Child" myth... Enjoy!
Categories: Sex Worker Blogs
swopusa: Sex workers question police DNA collection across Canada: http://bit.ly/d2BfH1
swopusa: Sex workers question police DNA collection across Canada: http://bit.ly/d2BfH1
Categories: Sex Worker News
