(As posted on my personal FaceBook page, earlier today.)
Some will say you were just another scumbag rocker who died too early.
(Or not too early depending on one’s level of judgment and musical tastes.)
To me, however, you were more than that. And no, this is not some crazy-ass rantings of some would-be Groupie with a crush. I’m damn near 40 years old and already married to my favorite rocker, just as you were married to your favorite porn star.
(Oh, the similarities! Except the fame…and money…but whatever.) :-p
This is not about that. This is about what YOU, yes you, personally did for me for the better part of a year, to get me into the right frame of mind for MY “adult” job.
As a webcam performer (which I often make light of, when I speak of it), I had to amp myself up but good, to get in the mood to deal with several hours of jackasses making crazy fucking requests and treating me like a non-human.
*NOTE: Not all of our viewers did that – in fact, I am personal friends with many of them to this day, so if YOU are reading this by way of my FB friend’s list, then rest assured, that you are not the kind of person I am referring to. You probably made my day on more than one occasion, and you probably, even through the sexually charged ether, showed me that you were a true friend.
SO – the good apples, aside, it was a tough job. It CAN be easy, but on the psyche, it’s so challenging.
You start to believe that you are a piece of meat. That you have no feelings. That you do not count.
To prepare for all of this, I had a few things that I did to get all geared up for the night’s festivities. This is where Wayne Static (Static-X, to be more fair) comes in.
“Dirthouse” – after a sip or two of Pinot Grigio – was that special thing that got me focused. Yes, there were other “Go-To” songs too: “Ladies and Gentleman” by Saliva was one of them. We went through an “Enter the Ninja” phase by Die Antwoord.
But, “Dirthouse” was always the one that could pick me back up, give me a second wind, to make it through a few more hours of camming – taking requests, bearing insults, and doing as I was told for mere cents per minute, via the world wide web.
I’m fairly certain the lyrics to this particular melody are not necessarily sexually suggestive, but that groove…that’s what I’ve always been about. I’m a dancer at heart, and I can specifically recall when Industrial music first started becoming popular. I was taking all kinds of dance lessons, and choreographing for talent segments in pageants that I would be participating in. (Yes, pageants. I truly aspired to Miss America status.) I’d show my mom my latest routine – jazz, lyrical and ballet elements all included – but set to something Industrial, my patient mother would watch. Smile. Nod. Then, ever so kindly, tell me that I looked like a Stripper. (Of course spinning around stop signs when we’d take walks, didn’t help this cause, but I think you see where I’m going.) I moved a certain way, from an early age, to a certain sound. It activated something in this brain of mine. And that’s what “Dirthouse” did for me again, some years later.
Bret would fire up our play list, as my sweaty palms started taking hold, and when I heard the opening drum beats, it was like an immediate line of whatever illicit drug that people partake in to feel good, to feel better, when they suspect that things might feel shitty in the near future. It was better than a shot of Crown. (Or Pendleton – Eastern Oregon, represent!)
It worked for me. And it wouldn’t make me klutzy or hung-over. Especially that song. I don’t know why. It just did.
So. Dearly Departed (on this All Souls Day) Wayne Static, leaving your own porn queen widowed, as of yesterday, thank you for the drug you gave to me, during a time in my life, that so few will understand. And because modern technology rules, I can still listen to you.
I can still listen to “Dirthouse” when I need to get amped up for whatever. Probably no more camming – ever – Gawd, I hope. But Just to feel that little nostalgic punch of adrenaline, recalling that even stressful times have their happy components. And getting that groove factor going so I can take my MILF-ass upside down onto my pole, or onto the Burlesque stage, or just because, for no reason at all.
BTW, “Dirthouse” wasn’t their only good song. They have hours of good songs. And Wayne had recently gone solo, and was going out on tour with Drowning Pool – another band struck by tragedy – and on Nov 26, was going to perform at Backstage Live, in San Antonio. It honors me to say that I too, have already performed there. I’m only sorry I never got to see Wayne Static there. But if it’s any consolation (mostly to myself) I hear his voice, nearly every day, when I think of good things that helped during awful times.
Rest in Peace, my rocker friend. My love to your widow. May you entertain on the other side, whatever that may be. My heart will be listening.
~Layla Beth, A/K/A “Antigone”~
Easy, quick and simple! (Video Link) Click HERE! *giggle, giggle, grin*
I love how curvy, voluptuous women look. In fact, within a certain weight range, I am one of them.
Yet, for some reason, I am not as pleased when said curvy-girl is me…or at least that’s how I’ve felt, historically.
Yeah, I like the boobs. I LOVE the boobs, as a matter of fact. I like wearing a bra that can’t contain them. I like having a teeny-tiny waist in comparison to my hips – which I’ve had since age ten, mind you.
I was kind of tall and lanky as a small child. I went through a brief “chubby” phase in the 5th grade, but it didn’t last long. By 6th grade, I was all legs, tiny waist, A-cup boobies and over five feet in height. Oh, yeah, baby! I was most certainly headed toward the runways of New York, Milan and Paris!
In the 7th grade, I was exactly the same height…eclipsed by some freak growth spurt that happened to many of my friends, yet somehow passed me by. I started measuring myself. Every day. And I started weighing myself every day too.
As I grew a few more minuscule inches, I’d freak-the-freak out if I gained a pound. 99 pounds was my comfort zone. If I hit triple digits, it was over! I had a nineteen inch waist and still weighed in with double digits, but was pretty much done growing vertically…and everyone else was surpassing me at an alarming rate. (Bye bye, Milan runways!)
By my senior year, I finally crept into those triple digits, but just barely. If at any given time I weighed more than 105 pounds, I’d flip out. But I was okay with up to that because my boobs, butt and hips needed something to help them, well, exist.
A year later, when I first became pregnant with my son, I was 104 pounds pre-pregnancy. I gained 32 pounds, which was a hard pill to swallow each time I’d step on the scale.
Two days after his birth, however, I was back down to 115. That was short-lived, though. This would be my first foray into the whole up and down weight trap that would become my adult life. I got back up to 120, and felt awful in my own skin. Within about a year though, I had managed, due mostly to diet pills (ephedra was still legal) and good old fashioned starvation, to get down to about 110. I was cool with this. (Boobs.)
I have literally gone up and down like that ever since, but usually land back at around 110.
Until 2001, that is.
I got down as low as 88 pounds. This was full-on anorexia and bulimia. The lower my weight would drop, the more I would feel energized and enabled to go even lower. As a result, I was put on Zoloft and as a result I gained over FORTY pounds. (FORTY!) On my frame, non-pregnant, that is NOT cool – at least for me. And losing it this time was not as easy as it had been before, as all of those years of dieting basically ruined my metabolism. I consumed less than 700 calories a day and couldn’t lose a damn pound. I started working out in the mornings. I gained even MORE weight. It took nearly five years (of exercising TWICE a day, every day) to get down to a reasonable 124 pounds, but following my second divorce, I literally woke up one day weighing 112. Now, that I could live with!
In 2007, remarried, I became pregnant with my second child. My pre-pregnancy weight was 112. Again, I gained 32 pounds, and it was just as hard as it was the first time to look, each time I stepped on the scale. After my daughter was born, within FOUR days I was back down to 112 pounds. I was nursing, and nursing a lot, and my weight continued to plummet. I got down as low as 101 pounds during that time, and stayed that way until I started drinking crazy amounts of alcohol. Soon, I was back up to 120, but was still okay with that. (Boobs.) I was dancing burlesque and liked the curves…although when pole dancing, it was harder for me to do inverts. When my husband became ill with a life threatening illness, I let everything go, including dance, and I was back up in my 130s in no time…and miserable.
After he pulled through, and we took back our health, we both went on serious workout regiments. I started out at 132 pounds, and 28% body fat.
Within four months, I was 111 and 18% body fat. In a year’s time I was 11% body fat, to the point of stopping menstruation.
Annnnd…it didn’t end there. Within the next year or two, I was back up. (Surprise!) This time to 138! (The body fat was slightly lower, though, at 26%.) Oh, and my boobs were D cups. D! That part I liked!
I landed a few months ago, after getting back to the gym like it was church, at 123, and 20% body fat. And I wasn’t too upset with that. Sure, I was wearing size 9s – when I wanted to be wearing size 3s, but I was still a C cup. And very fit. And healthy! Because my body has a tendency to shed or gain weight SUPER fast once I’m on a roll, I kept going down. I got to 118 pounds and 18% body fat…and my boobs were definitely no D cup. Not even a C.
I had recently connected with a new burlesque troupe and knew, finally, what I had never admitted to myself all along….that I look BETTER when I weigh a little more, even though I’m highly addicted to weighing less.
I put the breaks on. I ate more food for a few days. I cut down on the cardio. And soon I was back to 120, 19% body fat. I liked it. My boobs? Almost a full, overflowing C – close enough to wear a C cup bra and not look ridiculous.
And it’s been a trip…I can feel myself knowing that 110 pounds is just a few days’ work away…I know 11% body fat can be mine again if I just push it a little more. But I don’t want to.
I’m tattooed…older now, with a more squared off jaw line and a little more age to my face. Frankly, the skinnier I get, the LESS attractive and older I look. (I got carded last summer. I was 38 years old.)
I have had to make peace with, and fall in love with the fact that I’m bigger…I take up more space. I’m extremely fit, but actually HAVE to work to keep this “sweet spot,” where I’m plenty womanly, fit, but not jiggly…well, not TOO jiggly anyway. (Jiggle is a PLUS in the burlesque world!)
I truly believe that this is the end of my up and down, yo-yo weight story.
The love of my cleavage outweighed the love of my 20 inch waist.
It’s a 25 inch waist now. And I have a bit of a tummy. But I fucking rock a corset and a push-up bra.
But better yet, my body and my mind finally agree on what looks…and feels best. And it only took 39 years…and another go at the burlesque world, to get there. ❤
A final note, and hopefully, without bringing controversy or religion into this, I absolutely adore what Anton LaVey said about “burlesque bodies” : “Hopefully by bringing back burlesque, you’ll bring back the kind of body that’s round on top and round on bottom. I love cellulite and stretch marks!”
August – 2014. UPDATE.
In June of 2014, I underwent breast augmentation surgery. I felt that to look proportionate to my “fitness” body (I’m a gym junkie) I needed it, and frankly, I wanted it. I hear both “arguments” as to why I should or should not have proceeded. It was one of the best experiences of my life…I am so happy with the results, and I have finally, learned that at age 39, I am happy…happy, HAPPY that I did this. ❤ Thank you, Dr. Ashley Gordon of Restora, Austin for making my body the way that I always saw myself. The irony, is I have been out of the gym for the last two months, so, I have the jiggly tummy and the ginormous boobs now, and you know what? I’m happy just the same. 🙂
It’s been quite a while since I posted a blog here, and truthfully I’m not sure this is the right place to post this one. I suppose since this is the most in-your-face blog I write, it will have to do.
*Note: This post might be considered NSFW, just FYI*
I am currently writing a few adult-themed books. I started writing about this topic for numerous reasons, one of which is to pen a memoir about my own time in the adult entertainment business. (Yes, I was in the business – no, that’s not what this blog is about. More about all of that later!) Anyhow, many people, men and women alike, view pornographic materials more than ever, these days. In many ways, porn is more “acceptable” than it was in years past, and it is not unheard of for a porn star to make the cross-over from adult to mainstream entertainment work. Even so, the phenomenon of Slut Shaming still exists.
Urban Dictionary defines Slut Shaming as: (In it’s entirety)
Long, semi-humorous answer, yes, but that’s it in a nutshell…and it’s been going on forever.
I once played the role of Juanita in a local theatre production of Splendor in the Grass. For those unfamiliar with this tale, it’s depression era drama centering around a mentally unstable girl and her boyfriend. The girl, a “nice” girl with morals turns down her boyfriend’s repeated requests for sex. Enter MY character (pun intended), the town slut, who happily obliges where our leading lady cannot. Juanita is a supporting character, but after she gives in to the desperate boy, and apparently all of his friends as well, she is shunned in many of her scenes. People–even guys–act like they don’t like her, until they get horny, and then she’s the most popular gal in town. Now, remember, this is set in a time that was pre-internet, pre-Twitter, pre-sexting, etc., etc. But old fashioned gossip was just as fast, and actually more effective as there were rarely any technological glitches, so word about a morally loose female traveled fast in those days. Another example of “early” Slut Shaming is the story of a very dear relative of mine. She was 92 years young when she transitioned from this world, and was one of the most amazing women I had ever known. Apparently, for her wedding, she was given a chest full of quilts. Her siblings were given land. Why was she shorted? She was three months pregnant at the time of her wedding. The whore!
Slut Shaming goes back even further than that. My final example of these ye olde cases will be just two words. A name: Mary Magdalene.
I could go on and on, detailing my own experiences, as a middle schooler who had never even been kissed by a boy, yet because of how I looked, how I carried myself, how I dressed, I was called a “slut.” Or how I was treated by certain friends and family members after it was discovered that I was working as a webcam model. (It was once suggested that I needed rehab for “sex addiction.”) Yes, yes – Slut Shaming is something I am all too familiar with, and frankly, I’m sick of it!
It seems that not a day can pass without a headline somewhere saying that Slut Shaming is responsible for the suicide of some young girl, somewhere.
It makes my mind wander…where does this high-horse, moral need to judge a female for liking sex come from? I may be way off, but it all seems to stem from religion. I’m not here to bash religion, but I have met more than one overly-religious female who has never even experienced an orgasm…and invariably it’s discovered that her husband has had an affair. Or two. Just like Juanita from “Splendor” there is always someone willing to oblige…but is then looked down upon, while the repressed wife, who is too afraid to even have an orgasm, takes back her offending husband, and offers forgiveness. He is now back in the good graces of his spouse AND God, but Slut Juanita is bound straight for Hell. Wifey is still sexually unsatisfied, but such is her life as a moral woman born of original sin. Of course, she did manage to put out enough to spawn a few children. For the sake of argument, let’s say, some boys. Boys who grow up being told that they need to marry a virgin, but that doesn’t stop them from having a few Juanitas of their own before settling on yet another repressed woman who reminds them all too much of dear old ma.
And the cycle continues…
It goes beyond the Juanitas, too…it includes women who actually have the audacity to…dare I say, LIKE sex!
So, if you’re morally questionable, you’re a slut. And if you like sex, you’re a slut.
And if you’re a slut, then you’re probably going to wind up in Hell, in a salacious gang-bang with Satan and a few (hundred) of his closest cronies. Or at least that’s what people who like to “slut shame” tell us sluts.
Yes, I’m one of them. I love sex. And…I’ve had sex in front of people. A lot of people. On film. And I got paid for it. I have orgasms and think masturbation is healthy and necessary. I believe in open sexual dialogue between parents and children. I believe in sex education. Like I said, though – it wasn’t always that way. I was a virgin for MUCH longer than many of my friends, and my “numbers” are much lower than what people might think they are. (Also, I am in a monogamous relationship with my Beloved, who was the only one to perform with me back in the ol’ webcam days, just so you know.)
Nonetheless, I am a Slut Shamed slut. but I am not ashamed. In fact, I am taking back the word “slut.” It no longer hurts me. It hasn’t hurt me in years. It’s a joke to me now. Call me a slut and I’ll laugh in your face. Call me frigid though, and we’ll have a problem. 😉
In all seriousness, it’s time for the Slut Shaming to end. I HATE TO BREAK THIS TO THOSE OF YOU WHO ARE ANTI-SEX, BUT YOUR JUDGMENTAL ASS WOULDN’T BE HERE IF IT WEREN’T FOR THE FACT THAT YOUR DADDY CAME INSIDE YOUR MAMA.
Yes, I said that, and no, I do not apologize. In fact, if YOU have Slut Shamed someone, YOU can apologize. Not to me. But to the person who you hurt. And if you cannot do that, make a promise to yourself to stop the derogatory, hurtful and negative behavior, five minutes ago. It’s not too late to change your ways. And it’s not too late to realize that girls who like sex should not be targets for your hostility.
Get the f*ck over it. Literally.
PS. One last thing, I humbly apologize for NOT including the fact that Slut Shaming is relevant to and in the Gay community, as well. I’d like to share a comment about this post from a dear friend of mine, which prompted me to make this update: “I love it, there needs to be less sex shaming period – I think part of shaming sex is tied to homophobia as well, the minute that someone starts talking about gays, hell and sin it comes back to sex…. not the person. At this point all I can say is if we don’t sin, didn’t your Jesus die in vain?!?” – D.L.M.
Ugh, “duck footed” standing and walking…a phenomenon that just won’t go away…
(I’m about to sound a little harsh here, so bear with me. And just know, kiddies, I’m saying this for your own good…)
I noticed it again just yesterday…she was a tall, somewhat retro-dressed woman who, yes, was carrying about 30 extra pounds, but was dressed quite well. She was walking in a way that could not have been easily replicated, so clearly she had been maneuvering herself around like that for quite some time – years, I’m thinking. Each foot pointed out in their respective directions to such a degree that she was literally taking up twice the space in those narrow book store aisles than she needed to be. Poor thing.
I saw it on a woman of much smaller stature, recently, as well. She was petite and not heavy at all. But her pelvis jutted forward, her feet pointed outward and her shoulders rolled forward in almost a caveman-like fashion! She was wearing a very flattering swimsuit (we were at the pool) and had very nice hair, nice features and pretty hoop earrings. Yet, she instantly added the look of being out of shape and overweight to herself just by the way she walked.
If EITHER of these ladies had simply adjusted their posture and gait, it would have gone a LOOONG way to reshaping their physiques. For the woman who was overweight, it would have immediately slimmed her. For the petite woman, it would have added an air elegance, quite possibly helping her to appear taller than she actually is. This simple adjustment wouldn’t just help them in the looks department, it would also help their clearly stressed hip joints and their overall spinal health. I’m no chiropractor, but I’ll bet that it would alleviate a whole other host of issues, too.
Sometimes I feel like such a relic, but I recall times when women (men too) were actually taught how to walk. I don’t think anyone teaches these techniques anymore. I might catch a good deal of hell for saying this, but if one would like to learn how to walk, YouTube some fashion shows. That’s right, Victoria’s Secret, New York Fashion Week – check ’em out. See how the models are walking. No, no, I’m not advocating everyone starve themselves, I’m simply talking about HOW TO WALK, at this point. You won’t see any of those men and women walking duck footed. (Although you may see a large occurrence of “duck face,” however. Ugh – another horrifying phenomenon that just won’t DIE!!!)
Another pet peeve of mine while we’re at it…DON’T STOMP when you walk! The neighbors shouldn’t have to become aware of your presence every time you enter a room. Besides, it’s bad for the joints! Call me old fashioned, but I think a lady should “glide” into the room. Saunter. Float. But don’t stomp, bounce, or roll into the room, for Dog’s sake! What the hell is wrong with you people?!
…sorry, I get carried away sometimes…
Anyhow, there you have it. Go get yourself a book and a full length mirror. Place the book on your head. Then walk, standing straight, one foot in front of the other, keeping that book balanced on your head, the whole time. Repeat until you can make it across the room without the book falling off your melon, and then you will have a decent start. You’ll find that you cannot successfully do this with duck feet, pigeon toes (why are all the bad postures named after birds?) and any other stance-related malady.
You’ll look slimmer, exude confidence, and your feet, hips, spine and shoulders will thank you for it.
And that is all for now. NO MORE DUCK FEET!
Helpful Hints & Common Sense posts will appear periodically, featuring photos, memes and other thoughts that are fairly self-explanatory. Some are tongue-in-cheek, others are more “in your face.”
Ummm, with all due respect, I’m not sure that praying is the answer…unless it is a prayer to NOT vomit in public. As for the other solutions, although a bit antiquated, appear quite effective. 🙂
There is only ONE acceptable excuse for NOT flushing. AND THAT IS THAT THE DARN TOILET IS BROKEN. People who don’t flush await the worst kind of karma…or at least I hope they do!
I’m going to talk about a subject that is a no-brainer to many of us, but sadly, others have seemingly missed the memo.
It’s a concept called “Hygiene” and according to Dictionary.com, is defined as: “a condition or practice conducive to the preservation of health, as cleanliness.“
In layman’s terms, it means KEEP YOURSELF CLEAN! And I’m not referring to the abuse of illicit substances, I mean it in the most literal sense. Wash your hands, brush your teeth, wear deodorant, yadda yadda yadda.
Again, this might be old news to most of us, which is why it amazes me when I come across people who reek of B.O. or who have days of crud stuck between their teeth…or in their eyes…or, yuuuuck, nevermind…you get the idea…
An interesting twist on this concept is the fact that there are many otherwise hygienic folks out there who seem to forget this concept when they go to the gym. They figure “Heck, I’m-a get all sweaty anyway. May as well just roll out of bed and go as I am.“
I’m not saying that a person has to get all dolled up before the gym. (I’ll cover that particular phenomenon in a future post.) But what I am saying is that OTHER PEOPLE ARE GOING TO BE NEAR YOU. BRUSHING YOUR TEETH AND PUTTING ON DEODORANT IS THE LEAST YOU CAN DO. IT WILL ONLY TAKE A MINUTE. THERE IS NO EXCUSE FOR NOT DOING THIS.
See how passionate I am about this? I was forced to use caps lock!
If you are not a gym goer, but plan to do ANYTHING that requires you being in close proximity with others and don’t have time to shower, shave, exfoliate and all of that fun stuff, then a simple face, hand, underarm and “other parts that may need it” washing will suffice. Brushing your teeth or simply rinsing with a non-fluoridated (flouride=the Devil) mouthwash is a step in the right direction. Going completely overboard and dousing yourself with perfume in hopes of concealing any funk is as bad, if not worse than, skipping the shower altogether. As my hubby says, “that’s just like spraying a perfume on a turd.”
I realize “turd” is a word that might not be considered so…ladylike. But sometimes we take extreme measures to illustrate the point!
Long-story-short, all religion aside, cleanliness is INDEED next to Godliness! (Goddessliness?) Bathing a minimum of once per day, wearing clean socks and flossing are all things that should be done. And at the risk of sounding like everyone’s mom circa 1950, don’t forget to wash behind your ears!
Also, in today’s age, we are often pierced, for aesthetic purposes, in areas that we were never pierced in, back in the old days. Just as we were taught to clean our ear piercings, the same needs to be done to other piercings. Tongue rings can develop a layer of…stuff…and belly rings can get a little crusty, too. You paid for them, now wash them, care for them and keep yourself infection and funk free! Those standing downwind from you will thank you for it.
…and when they do, be sure to say “You’re welcome.” After all, it’s the polite thing to do. 😉
When I was a little girl, I became obsessed with the idea of “finishing school.” Old movies, books and older people talked fondly of this type of institution, and even then, I found the idea appealing.
Of course, this was during the 1980s and it soon became obvious that these old fashioned places that taught young ladies how to become, well, ladies, had gone the way of the dinosaurs.
Yes, I went through my Aqua Net hair phase, where I sported a minimum of twenty bracelets on each arm, and blasted cassette tapes by Poison and Guns’n’Roses, late into the night, but my manners remained intact.
Even as an adult, covered in tattoos and with my share of piercings, manners, etiquette, and charm remain near and dear to me.
The love of old world charm isn’t enough for me to create a new blog though…not with my busy lifestyle – multiple jobs and projects; a family; my many hobbies – But the fact that it’s apparent to me that we live in a society in desperate need of those antiquated finishing schools, is!
I go to a gym regularly…and I see rude people.
I go shopping or to a restaurant…I see rude people.
I hang out online, on various social networking sites…and you guessed it. Rude people.
And it really goes beyond “rude,” friends! It’s a general lack of old fashioned charm. It’s the absence of that little je nais se quois that seemed to flow in abundance in days of old, but is as good as extinct, in this day and age.
I had been toying with the idea of penning a few blogs about manners, etiquette and poise but hadn’t been able to bring myself to quit clicking “Like” on FaceBook long enough to do so…until yesterday.
A kindly waitress at a funky Austin eatery came by to refill my iced tea as we ate lunch yesterday. “More tea for the Lady?” She asked. Being silly, I looked to both sides and said “Where is the Lady?” She laughed, and said “Right here” as she filled my cup with Hibiscus Mint tea.
It was a sign from the Finishing School Gods to start this blog and see if we can’t bring a little old fashioned charm into a fast-paced, new fashioned world that not only needs it, but is literally begging for it, as well.
What’s old is new again.