Writing While Pondering

(Warning: this blog post contains irrational capitalization and emphasis, because apparently that's What Needs to Happen Today as if my thoughts are the titles of published articles, or as if I were writing in the 19th century. I assume the urge for caps case will fade, but apparently I couldn't write today without it.)

I don't feel quite THIS helpless today,
but it certainly conveys a need, doesn't it?
Plus, I love my boobs in this picture.

I've been traveling for two weeks (decadent of me... the last hurrah from my windfalls from March), visiting family in Houston (which was comforting and nourishing as always), and seeing a friend in a show in Chicago (I am ashamed that I only seem to support the arts when I know participants, but I guess it's better than never supporting the arts). It was an absurd amount of travel for someone with motion sickness issues.

My mode of operation on the trips was, "Fuck It, I'll Probably Be Fine". Practically speaking, that means I didn't save any energy for tomorrow's activities, instead choosing to recover when needed. It was the equivalent of asking for forgiveness rather than permission between me and my Inner Energy Tank. I did indeed need some recovery times, but I think the anti-worrying approach served me fairly well overall. We'll see if it leads to me working more often (/fingers crossed)

So now I'm back at home, with no injury-level back pain anymore (yay!), with some good fuel in my tank of sexy energy (yay!) and ready to Start Taking Calls (yay!). Exciting!

In theory.

I mean, that's what should be happening, right? It should be my top priority, right? Getting back in the game? Kicking off my summer with a bang of being available 50+ hours / week like in the good ol' days when I first started? Enjoying the luscious boost of energy of being discovered by someone new?

In theory, yes. Absolutely. In theory.

In reality, I'm scattered. And I'm not sure why.

I can easily justify some of the tasks I'm choosing to do today while decisively Not Taking Calls: updating bills and budgets, going grocery shopping, taking out trash and recycling, washing travel clothes, that research favor I promised my friend weeks ago, updating my blog. These are urgent things, necessary things, easy to justify, easy enough to do.

But for 2 hours after I woke up, I did things I cannot justify: Looking up literary agents who represent both erotica and non-fiction to propose a book including some of my more popular blog posts. Researching hosting providers for podcasts. Playing with backgrounds and lighting in case I want to do a video Q&A podcast.

Hmmm. These activities are suspiciously not the same as Taking Calls. These activities are suspiciously not helping move me toward Taking Calls. No, these activities sound like a to-do list for someone who does not want to be Taking Calls at all. Interesting.

It seems that I am now officially Writing While Pondering. Hopefully it's not as dangerous as Dialing While Drunk, but my audience is theoretically larger than one phone call, so it could be even more catastrophic. I'll pretend it'll work out all right. Can you please bear with me while I try to figure out what's going on in my sometimes-non-linear-and-irrational mind? Thanks.

What would have made far more sense: answering the dozens of NiteFlirt emails which have now grown into a Massive Reminder of My Failures In Life so overwhelming that I pretend they're not there. That would get me back in touch with callers I know I love...

But scattered in my NiteFlirt emails are reminders I may not entirely enthusiastic about. Either they are coworkers who send me customer mailings which can drive me into feeling inadequate because I compare myself to Every Single Thing I Am Not Currently Doing, or they are callers who ask me to do things I don't yet feel the energy to do.

(By the way, none of the customers I'm currently avoiding read my blog. Even though it sounds like a lie, I really do like all my blog readers. I think I find it much easier to have energy I for people when I think they might care about me as a person, and not just as a service provider. And let's be honest, at this point, my blog has so little phone sex in it that the only readers I have left are people interested in me as a person, right?)

I have said many times that it is far easier to take a call with someone I know than it is to log on for The Whole World. Logging on blind, not knowing who will call or what they may want... that takes guts. Courage. Self-assurance. Energy. That is, I think, the hardest thing about my job: being ready to answer the phone for The Whole Wide World With All Its Craziness. And courage, self-assurance, and guts are probably in a bit of short supply at the moment after three months of trying not to pressure myself while recovering from a seriously unpleasant back injury.

I'm not quite ready yet to convert humiliation aimed at me into erotic energy. I'm not quite ready yet to make up multiple stories in a row about how I accidentally shrink and swallow someone while the caller remains silent, withholding his responses while I spin tales into a feedback-less abyss. I'm not quite ready yet to hang up on someone for violating the terms of service, my personal limits, and my overall interest in interacting with humanity by blurting out, "And then I bring in a horse to fuck you, and you're all tied up, so you can't stop me!"

I just... can't quite get there yet.

(Thankfully, the day the horse call actually happened, I was in a great mood - I laughed out loud and hung up, then mocked the caller to my husband. The phrase "And then you fuck a horse!" said with a raspy, nasally East Coast voice, is still a common source of laughter in our home.)

(FYI: In general, I don't resent people who have fantasies about taboo subjects, but I need those to be respectfully negotiated to ensure I am on board. If I am not on board, the caller needs to find someone else who is. Taboo subjects sprung on me mid-fantasy, clearly hoping for a shocked response, deserve a good *hahahaha*click*.)

(Also, for the record, being non-consensually tied up and violated by a horse is not a fantasy I am willing to participate in. My apologies and regrets to all you nice guys stuck with unpleasant fantasies you would rather not have. I wish you luck in your search, I do, and sometimes I can be a taboo girl, and some taboos I genuinely love, but not that particular one.)

Okay, so I'm not quite ready to take on The Whole Big Bad Crazy World quite yet. That's understandable, right? Yes. Yes, it it is. It's understandable. My Inner Therapist can deliver that message with a lot of sincerity: It is absolutely understandable to be not quite ready to take on The Whole Big Bad Crazy World.

You know what I think I need to get my head back in the game? Appointments with callers I know and love.

Well. That was simple. Why exactly did it take me all this time to reach that conclusion? No idea. It seems so blatantly obvious now. Share a few luscious orgasms with people I trust -- easy!

So if you've been waiting on me to return, please email me. And please include a few date/times that you would like to talk, and what you'd like to talk about, and I'll make a time for us to hang out. I won't even require a 30-minute minimum to make an appointment - let's say for the next 2 weeks. Other than my chiropractor, and other people taking me up on this offer, I have no time commitments.

Also, if we have never spoken yet, but you've been looking for me, drop me an email describing what you want to talk about - it would be fantastic to have a Fun New Caller Boost if we share things in the center of my Lust Landscape, like... ummm... You guiding my masturbation. Or you describing what you'd like to do to me to make me come. Or you begging to be allowed to climax while I masturbate and tell you keep holding on.

Well, now, all of a sudden, I'm short of breath and wondering where my fresh batteries are. That is lovely indeed.

I'm sure after a dozen or so calls, I'll wonder what the hell my problem was, and fall back into a routine of availability again. I look forward to it, in fact. Very much. I don't like feeling vaguely afraid. It doesn't suit me. I'm more of a Grab Life By The Horns and Don't Let the Crazy People Get You Down kind of a gal. I look forward to being so again very soon.

Bunny Hop Recovery

I seriously injured my back about 2 months ago now, and my recovery has been a bunny hop: two hops forward, one hop back.

I knew I was ready to write a blog post again finally when the thought of putting on pink lipstick and my roommate's bunny ears for a picture didn't confuse or overwhelm me.

(For the record, my roomie is RIDICULOUSLY cute in the bunny ears with her matching pink hair.)

To make a long story as short as I'm capable of (not very), I've been having rolling compensation re-injuries climbing steadily up my back. The first injury was basically compression in my tailbone, so I compensated by shifting pressure up a few vertebrae, which then injured them, but not quite as seriously. So far, it's looked about like this, with the area injured:

* tailbone: 2 weeks out
* okay-ish: 2 days
* between the tops of my hipbones: 10 days out
* okay-ish: 3 days
* just above my hipbones: 7 days out

... and so on.

When I'm actively injured, I can do very little other than go to the chiropractor, do my stretching exercises, take walks, take muscle relaxers, and fall back into a very deep haze which my husband has forbidden me to call "coma-like" because it freaks him out, so I call it "grog-sleep". We tried other medicines, but either they didn't help me heal, or they made me just as groggy. The side effect of being deeply confused by everything more complex than getting dressed has been worth it for the pain relief and ability to knock myself out so I don't push myself too hard to fast (it would have been worse without the meds, I'm sure).

When I've been okay-ish, I've been tackling my personal to-do list, trying not to do too much too quickly, and being more grateful than I can express for the extraordinary generosity of my in-person lover with sugar daddy tendencies for making sure I could take this time off to recover without worrying about expenses.

I've accomplished a lot, actually, in my lucid hour or two at a time. The biggest emotional victory was: I have no more boxes marked "misc" from any of my five moves in the last ten years - not even "misc electronics" or "misc bathroom". The resulting trips to goodwill and the recycling center felt fantastically satisfying. I know what all my things are, and where they all belong! It's wonderful to feel a little less cluttered and a little more purposeful about my belongings.

And I have taken a few appointments here and there on days when I've been up for it. Slipping into someone else's fantasy has given me welcome respites from the navel-gazing.

What do I predict for the coming weeks? Not even gonna try. I'm officially crappy at predicting my abilities ahead of time. But if the best predictor of future performance is past performance, then this much I know: I will do as much as I can. I've been working hard at my recovery, and as soon I can come back to phone sex more regularly, I will.

The one funny solace I have about all this time off is that now I have proof when I say: I won't get on the phones unless I'm feeling sexy. I won't make an appointment or keep an appointment unless I'm feeling sexy. If I'm logged in, I'm feeling sexy, and I'm ready to play, you can count on it.

If you've sent me a check-in email or a note of encouragement and I haven't responded, thank you and I'm sorry. I will reply to them all some day when it doesn't overwhelm or confuse me - I will, I promise, and I'm deeply grateful.

In the mean time, it's a major fucking accomplishment to hit publish on this blog post, so I'm gonna pat myself on the back and treat myself to some peanut-butter-filled pretzels that I save for special occasions. It's not exactly a life of ease and luxury, but I'm grateful to the point of mushy sappy hyperbole to have the chance to live it.

Family Visit

My mother-in-law is having minor heart surgery Friday (although "heart surgery" never feels "minor" does it?), so we're going to Houston tomorrow (Thursday Feb 2). My husband will be back Sunday Feb 5 to work next week, but I'm taking the opportunity to spend an extra week with my family, so I won't return home until Monday Feb 13th.

I have no idea what this does to my work availability. I think I might log on during the days the week of Feb 6 while my mother's at work, and possibly an evening or two if the gang is all busy, but it's impossible to predict with any accuracy.

However, stranger things have certainly happened than me arranging phone sex calls while traveling to visit family. Much stranger things. So feel free to drop me an email and let me know if you want to arrange a time to play! I know of a parking garage nearby that has remained as secluded at night as when we used to go there to make out in high school...

How'd It Go?

Last Wednesday I had my Social Security disability hearing for my vertigo, covering the period from March 2009, when I got sick, to July 2010, when I started working as a phone sex operator. Beforehand, my lawyer prepped me what to expect, and we went over the evidence to ensure my she had the important findings at the top of her notes.

We discussed whether to tell the judge I do the generic "phone consulting" or to tell him I'm a phone sex operator. The reality is, I chose this profession not only because I'm a giant slut who loves playing with callers' sexual energy, but also because I can set my own hours, I can rest when I need to, and I can't sustain any visual effort longer than about an hour. That leaves... ummm, well, phone sex! My lawyer advised me to play it by ear, but if it came to a choice of "the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth" then of course, I had to tell the judge.

Five minutes into the hearing, I was saying, "I'm a phone sex operator, Your Honor." He snortled, blinked, and asked, "Excuse me?" I repeated myself, "I do phone sex, Your Honor." I could feel myself blushing, and panicking slightly about whether or not it was the right choice. He raised his eyebrows at my lawyer as if to say "Nice curveball, counselor", but declined to comment.

I answered questions: Could I work from home as a PSO? Yep. Why could I be a PSO in July 2010? A combination of physical therapy and medicines improved my condition enough. Why couldn't I be a PSO between March 2009 and July 2010? The vertigo precluded concentrating long enough to sustain intense dialogue. How much do I make as a PSO? I've averaged only a few hundred dollars per month more than if I were still disabled and collecting Social Security disability benefits (my monthly average has been decreased by all the time I've taken off for my moves, but also, my monthly benefit amount was substantial because I made a lot / paid a lot into Social Security before I got sick - I think I maxed out my SS contributions for the last 8 years of my IT career).

Why can't I do my old job, be an IT Manager? I thought about opening a wall of SQL text, reviewing discombobulated spreadsheets with inconsistent data to import into a central database, reading hundreds of emails a day, running a project team meeting starting with "guys, we have a problem, and I have no clue how to solve it"... and I started to cry. Crying made me panic about seeming disingenuous or manipulative, and made me embarrassed to be crying, which, of course, only made it harder not to cry. Great.

There were more questions. The judge had clearly read my medical evidence, and knew what he wanted to uncover during testimony. I didn't interrupt him, I tried to stay on target, summarize without missing critical subtle details, and not let it distract me that I was starting to spin, stutter, feel foggy, drop words. The timing was horrifying, yet poetically impeccable: I was having a concentration-triggered vertigo crash in the middle of my disability hearing. Things were getting blurry, but I had to hang on enough to answer questions.

The judge thanked me for my creativity and willingness to work, which I thought was odd until I considered it later: I'm sure he sees a lot of people who are just trying to scam the system or get out of working to be lazy. But there I was saying, no, I really genuinely couldn't work for 16 months. But then I could work, so I did. I work, making less than a third of what I used to make. I work, making only 10% more than I would make if I were not working and on disability. But I can work, so I do.

Then he said "I'm granting disability for the closed period of March 2009 to July 2010. Counselor, are you all right with that?" My lawyer looked surprised, stammered, and said, "Yes, Your Honor". And then she was gathering her things and the judge was saying "This concludes the hearing" and I had the feeling I should leave the room, but there were things we had reviewed before the hearing that had not been stated, and my attorney hadn't given me the chance to tell the narrative I had been practicing... and what the fuck was going on?

Thankfully, something in my rational mind overruled my panic and said "follow your lawyer" so I packed up, stood up, turned around, stumbled into the wall, and drunkenly made it into the attorney consultation room. "What happened? Why didn't we... my narrative..."

She said calmly, decisively, and slowly, "You won. He said yes. He granted your disability. You're done."

"What? When? You said that wouldn't happen..." Then she laughed as my brain caught up, and trying to look professional instead of delightedly happy as she explained that the phrase "I'm granting disability" means he affirmed my total disability in the months I couldn't work, and granted me benefits.

My legs gave out; I had to sit. For two and a half years, I faced repeated denials of benefits because neurological vertigo is wickedly hard to prove. A part of me didn't believe the day would ever come when anybody would give me any disability benefits whatsoever.

Over the past few days, I keep having a feeling of dissociation from the reality of what has happened, followed by huge rushes of emotion: relief, gratitude, anger, joy, frustration, peace, and giddy giddy giggling.

The money will be exactly enough to: repay my mom and sister the money they've loaned us, pay off the last of my student loans from my MBA classes (I didn't finish my MBA because I got a management job without one), pay for the last step of the dental work I've been putting off for months, and then pay for about 10 celebratory dinners at in the $50-and-under range. Perfect.

So, how'd it go Wednesday? It went perfectly. I'm barely starting to come out of my shock at how perfectly it went.

I deeply appreciate each and every note of support I got. Thank you. Thank you more than you know.

So. Now I need to figure out how to get this damn blog back on track. Phone sex, Galiana. That's what people are here to read about, phone sex. Try to write about phone sex next, would you?

You know I don't make promises, but I'll try.

On The Road Again

Tomorrow, I'm traveling back to Austin to have a disability hearing. Although the timing was unfortunate, I'm very glad it's been scheduled and that I get time to explain my weird, complicated case.

I spent the first six months of my vertigo visiting 17 doctors and a physical therapist, looking for diagnosis and a cure.

In months 6-15, I tried a series of medicines, to varying degrees of less-than-total-success, but I also extended the lessons I learned in physical therapy to try to develop coping patterns of activity / rest.

In month 15, I felt good enough about the balance of occasional medicines and my physical therapy gains to attempt to make a living at phone sex. I was not at all sure I could do it. Some days were better than others. I'm still so grateful I was able to make it work.

The hearing will ONLY cover the time period before I started working (months 0-15). I genuinely believe that I could not have worked any sooner - it took that long for the right medicines and therapies to do their thing. Plus, Just Say No to attempting to defraud the government.

So the hearing will be hard: I'll have to remember in vivid detail a difficult period of my life.

And it will be wonderful: I'll get to remember in vivid detail how much more I can do now, and celebrate being the kind of person who chooses to do everything I can do. I choose to work, even at 1/3 of my former salary most months, because I can, and I love that about myself.

And I am traveling on my own, something I feared I could never do again. I'm not gonna lie, it's gonna suuuuuuuck to be on a plane again. But it sucks less than never traveling again. By a lot.

In the meantime, we're happily unpacking our new home to make one room functional at a time. The bedroom works REALLY well!! Yay me!

The Fuckatorium 3.0 will be spectacular, but has not yet been properly equipped or decorated. I can't wait to show it to you! I'm going for a very sparse look, with only necessities. The idea is to keep as little as possible in the room so it's video-ready at the drop of a hat if I get the urge. Less clutter = more videos (I hope). It's a unique room, with deeply sloped walls that obviously used to be part of an attic, 9 feet wide by 22 feet long with deep red walls - it's striking!

So I'll be offline and unavailable for calls Tue, Wed, Thu, but available by appointment only Friday afternoon. I'll probably be offline Saturday, and back on Sunday. Then next week, well, next week is when the real fun starts again: establishing my new pattern. I am so incredibly looking forward to next week!

I'm Stuffed

Paddle In Hand

Summary (extra-short): My stuff has arrived in my home, so I'm all stuffed up.

Summary (medium-short): After 10 days of hearing nothing from our movers, we got a call Saturday saying they would hold our stuff hostage unless we paid them $800 more than the estimate. Sunday, after they arrived at 6:30 pm, we refused to pay it, called cops, had a 3-hour stand-off in our front yard, took video, measured the truck, I cried, and they eventually agreed to the $1600 originally estimated plus the $200 tip I had always intended to give them. Monday, they arrived at 11:30, took our money, then informed us they were in too big of a hurry to reassemble our furniture or put any furniture or boxes where we specified ("for $1800 you get your stuff dumped"), we took more video, I cried more, but we have our stuff.

A few details: My husband and I figured out a pretty clever Good Cop (him) / Hysterical Cop (me) routine where we blamed my medicines and the general condition of Being Female for my over-excitability. We used my Hysterical Condition to manage to get everything we need on video to sue them for serious breach of contract, as well as fraudulent charges (they charged us for over 500 cubic feet they admitted we did not have).

Justice will happen through the courts, and through our very eager army of non-smut friends who are, at this moment, filling review boards with factual, non-slanderous reviews of their company.

But I haven't spent that much energy faking a one-down position to anyone in a long time. It was the right thing to do to get through the day, to have our stuff safely returned to us (nothing was intentionally damaged, and the dryer not working is probably electrical).

But here's the deal: If your fetish is humiliating women, calling women stupid, or in any way whatsoever suggesting that the woman you're talking with is anything other than an amazingly capable, whip-cracking, intelligent, funny, productive, bad-ass-motherfucker? Do. Not. Fucking. Call. Me.

Also, I'm not at all your girl if you need me to beg you, cajole you, nag you, manipulate you, or coerce you. I'm all out of Bad Cop juice at the moment. Well, or else I'm allllll filled up with it, but it's not the kind you'll like.

Seduce you? Bring it. Kick you in the nuts while humiliating you? I'm totally your girl. Edge you until you're begging and writhing and leaking a steady stream of pre-cum all over your own hand (or whatever I'm letting you stroke with)? Aww fuck yeah.

My bold diva self should start being available on phone sex again tomorrow night. Or maybe tonight. Or who knows? Whenever the hell I want, dammit! /grin

My nice, normal, sweet, accommodating self should return in a few days. Maybe...

A Bit Better, and Amusements

My current mood

We still don't have our stuff, but our movers have at least called us now. We are no longer playing the game of "maybe they stole all our things." Now we are playing the game of "they claim we owe them a lot more money than they initially estimated before they will deliver our things." I hate playing chicken.

Thankfully, my husband and I play a pretty damn good game of Good Cop/Bad Cop. Usually we just play it alone with each other, but in this case, it comes in handy externally as well. Heh. That made me grin.

We've researched the law and helpful tactics, but if you have suggestions, feel free to shoot me an email and advise away. My legal-name FB has been bombarded with helpful hints from many of our non-smut friends, and I have gotten supportive and helpful emails from the smut side of my life as well. Our communities have been fantastic.

So, to thank you for suffering with me through my tales of woe, I will now share amusing anecdotes:

Thursday evening, an ex-coworker passed close enough to us in his drive cross-country that he stopped for dinner, during which, I confessed my phone sex career to him. He was thrilled for me, and had lots of fun questions and enthusiasm without being specifically titillated because he is solely and voraciously attracted to men.

After discussing how some people use my services in a pseudo-therapeutic way, he started pondering aloud some fantasies he had from early in his sexual development which he felt like he hadn't explored because of his shame around them, but he was being purposefully vague.

This led to me asking him, "Specifically what do you think about when you're jacking off?" He laughed, hard, and said, "It's just like working with you again! I can see you pulling the door to your office shut, and you turning around and asking me that question exactly that way!" Yep. I probably would have.

The next day, I relayed that story to my mother, who has asked not to be told too many specifics, but finds some level of bawdiness amusing. Upon regaining her breath after a burst of surprised laughter, she said, "Oh dear, no. Wait, why? Was that one of your interview questions?" No, no, no, no, no. No, it wasn't. But it sort of is now, isn't it?

In other encouragement, in that same conversation with Mom, when I said "I think I'm ahead of schedule with having made all my major life mistakes twice before the age of 42", she replied, "Oh, honey, I'm sure you're not done."

I'm pretty damn sure she's right.

Control, You Fickle Bitch

Now why would you want to leave me?

I had a lot of control when I lived in Houston - my husband was traveling for work 10 days out of every 14, my family and local friends were trained to call before dropping by, and I was finding my ability to adapt to the unexpected kind of, well, atrophying, because the unexpected was happening so rarely in my daily life.

I mean, sure, there was the whole thing with "you're moving - you're not moving - you're moving - you're not moving - oh okay really you're moving", and anyone would have found that disruptive, but aside from that ennui, I could manage my dizzies, my dogs, my time, and my energy as I wished.

Oct 2, I arrived at my new home in Central Illinois (I've decided I can safely say "Central Illinois" now that I've been here and determined I am not quite at The Godforsaken Ends of The Earth)(plus Central Illinois could be any one of five "metro" areas, so it's still not all that specific)(could we finish this sentence without more parenthesis, please?)(maybe, if you ask nicely...)(ohfuckit)(what was I saying?)(I arrived at my new home...) to find that Control has forsaken me.

Frank Sinatra sang to Luck, asking her to be a Lady and stay with the guy she came in with. I feel like I'm attempting to serenade Control in much the same way, and, as a shocking surprise to absolutely nobody, she ain't playin' along.

In ascending order of emotional impact, from lowest to highest levels of reinforcement of the idea "you really are not in control here": (1) I have to travel unexpectedly back to Austin in two weeks (2) my movers may have stolen all our stuff and (3) a good friend lost a close family member in an accident.

I'm very glad to be a support for (3), especially since I lost my father at age 22, and I remember how helpful it was to talk with people whose immediate family members had passed away when they were far too young. The best advice given to me in that time was, "You're a smart girl, and you're usually able to figure things out, but if you try to figure out Death, you'll make yourself crazy. This is a feeling thing, not a thinking thing. Just feel." She wins the prize for best advice ever. I still thank her periodically.

Control: Big Fat 1, Galiana: Big Fat 0.

As for (2), it's been nine days now since we've heard hide nor hair from our movers, and one of the numbers we were using to reach them has been disconnected. Gulp. I did a lot of research in early September to choose the company, and yet, in the past 30 days, there seem to be dozens of reports suddenly of them doing a horrible job, which has been a big shake to my confidence as well as a big huge giant fat massive annoyance to be living in limbo wondering if we need to start buying replacements to stuff, or if we can hold out Denial and Hope one more day (Hope and Denial make such a cute couple, don't they?) So I'm researching civil and criminal options to recover my things, from a thousand miles away, and trying not to blame myself for picking a horrible mover.

Dear Victim, don't blame yourself. Love, Everyone Sane.

Control: Whopping Hellacious 2, Galiana: Serious 0.

Then for (1), it seems that my change of addresses didn't reach all the right offices, and I'm having a disability hearing about my vertigo in Austin in two weeks. Surprise! The hearing is about the 15 months when I couldn't work before I figured out the right pattern of low-dosage, occasional medicines and resting that allowed me to start doing phone sex. Don't worry, I'm not defrauding the government. If anything, I'm being militantly forthcoming (my lawyer probably didn't need to know I do phone sex now - maybe I could have said "telephone sales", right? But it was kinda fun to tell her). But the practical thing in the meantime is that we had to scramble to get funds and plans for me to travel again, just exactly when I thought I'd be settling down, and it's possible that if I known the date of my hearing before we moved, I would have waited another 4-6 weeks to move at all.

Control: Pow! Pow! Pow! That's 3 in a row, to Galiana's 0... and that looks like a Knockout, folks!

Oh, and my allergies have been bad, too, but that seems miniscule by comparison. Apparently, though, I needed to whine about it. /whiiiiiiiine

I would like to think that I would have learned my lesson not to hold onto control too tightly had it been applied slightly more subtly than via sledgehammer. But perhaps not.

In the meantime, I'll log on for phone sex when I'm able to shuffle these worrisome details out of my busy head enough to feel sexy.

And of course, a reminder: a good number of delicious callers have dropped me an email to let me know a specific date/times they would be available, which I find MUCH easier to accommodate than to log on for Anyone In The Whole Wide World. There's a 30-minute minimum for appointments, but I have been loving those little eagerly anticipated getaways.

And, indeed, writing this, I can feel my mind and body longing for the verdant, luscious, all-encompassing escape of immersing myself in someone else's sexual energy. Maybe I need to stop sleeping as a coping mechanism and do more phone sex instead.

Like, for example, on Tuesday night, before any of this happened, I had an amazing time teasing and guiding the new caller who found me through this blog, the one with the gentle voice, the one I introduced to a few pleasures available from the belt of his fuzzy robe... My mouth just watered, and what was that? It seems to have been a little grin.

So write me already, you slacker. It's the least you could do, really, isn't it? Here, I'll make it easy: galiana@ymail.com

The Best Laid Plans

Early Morning Snuggles

The best laid plans of mice and men / Often go awry (or something like that, depending on your translation to modern English).

For the record, I'd rather be the best laid girl than have the best laid plans anyway.

But on to the actual topic of this blog post. As plans go, it was a fine one: arrive in my new town on Sunday, have my stuff delivered on Mon or Tue or Wed, and have a friend visit to help me unpack on Thu-Sat while hub had to be out of town.

The tiny little complication to the plan? Our stuff hasn't been delivered yet. In fact, we don't know when it will be delivered. We do know our truck has not yet left Texas. We've been told someone else canceled their move, so they have to wait until they have another full container from Houston to the Midwest before we get our belongings.

In the meantime, we're living off the spartan furnishings hub had acquired while in his temporary apartment, plus some things we bought from our landlady when she moved out. It's a bit inconvenient, but not impossible.

Still. Better. Than. The Last Move. A bajillion kazillion times better.

Since hub was heading out of town anyway, my friend still came down to visit, and we got The Plan together for where all the big furniture is going to be placed once it arrives, which has provided me a giant measure of mental relief.

As an added bonus, she loves taking pictures, especially of dogs, so when my pit bull mix and I were snuggling on the couch this morning, she captured us. No shower, no makeup, not the most flattering of angles, but I love it.

The original plan was to unpack necessities and feel a bit settled before I started taking calls. The new plan is to take calls until our movers arrive, then take a couple days off again to unpack necessities, then figure out a new schedule and attempt to pretend that my life is stable for a while. We can dream together, can't we?

I started writing this blog post at the same time as I logged in to take calls. I was nervous nobody would find me unless I blog-announced and mail-announced my availability, but I was wrong. I've had three calls so far: and old friend for teasing and ball-busting, a semi-regular for tickle torturing, and a new caller on my hypno line who completely resisted my first induction attempt, but sounded so gratified by the second attempt that he hung up on me after breathing intensely for a few minutes. /grin We'll have to work on his etiquette, but it sounds like the induction worked well. /flex

Welcome back (again), Galiana!

Care and Feeding of Galiana

Too much want

In the probably-forgettable movie Made In Heaven, seen in my impressionable youth, a new soul falls in love with a guy named Mike in heaven, and then, after she's born and grows up, although she doesn't remember him directly, she writes a children's book called "The Care and Feeding of Mike". The sweet little phrase stuck with me, and now when I think of care, I think "The Care and Feeding of..."

Urg. I have so much want.

I want to continue the dialog I entered into with my celebration of male submissives post, reading others' spectacular writings and leaving comments that make me seem like I know what I'm talking about. I want to keep engaging with Fizz and Chaos of Lab Coats & Lingerie, lose myself in the archives of KittyStryker's recently-Janes-Guide-approved PurrVersatility, help Alisa research to fill in the blanks of her archiving efforts at KinkInExile, encourage Tomio to keep writing, and pathetically attempt to keep up with all the insights and research spread by the inspirational maymay, knowledge worker extraordinaire, the one who drew me into this particular dizzying world of rhetoric and ideas to begin with by the brilliantly evocative MaleSubmissionArt...

Maymay, by the way, is also the one who helped me realize the value of contextual linking. I recognize the irony of having no links in that sentence. (trivia: I am always certain I have used the word "irony" incorrectly)

But back to my insatiable want... I want to write more about fairness and negotiation and respect in relationships, BDSM and vanilla. I want to share my observations about community-building from years of church and BDSM groups and playing MMORPGs. I want to start podcasting. I want to release more videos that are like visual podcasts. I want to open an Ask Galiana blog so I can pretend to legitimize my compulsive need to share my perspective.

I want to take series of pictures enjoying my body as I strip out of constrictive clothing to show that I can still celebrate my physicality even though my medicines packed on an extra 15 pounds I didn't intend to gain.

I want to spend every moment with my family for these last couple of weeks while I still live in Houston with them. After 21 years away, it has been soul-nourishing to live in the same town again for 6 months, just barely long enough to develop habits of including each other. I will miss the casual ability to help, and to feel feel caught up.

I want to be spending enough time over the phone with my husband, who is away from our current home, working in the place where I'm moving at the end of the month, to stay emotionally connected to him during this busy time, so we don't get too snappy or resentful.

I want to sort through the crap in my home that we didn't have time to sort through when we moved here in March, and I want to recycle, donate, sell, and throw away as much as possible before we pay by the pound to move it cross-country. I am disturbed by how many belongings we have moved multiple times and never used.

And I want to keep feeding off the energy of my callers, take luscious escapes of fantasy and pleasure, lose myself in the delicious focus of luxuriating in the erotic rhythms of wants and needs and secrets and lusts. I feel useful and sexy and empowered and strong and capable when I spend time having phone sex.

And on the days of the move, I want to be at the top of my game, ready to do whatever needs to be done, strong and willing and able.

Days? What do you mean day? The next 3 weeks include these separate days: hub's last 4-day trip where he has to finish packing everything that is his and sorting everything that is ours, 4 days of paying an underemployed friend to help me pack, movers taking our stuff, my hub driving away with the car and the dogs, my flying up to *static* and him driving me to our new home several hours from there, our stuff arriving at our new place, and a great friend from college arriving to help me unpack for a few days.

Oh, and I'd like to do all that without having any vertigo crashes, please. Because having massive physical limitations is completely inconvenient right now. Could I just not have vertigo for a bit?

Dear Galiana,

Please read The Care and Feeding of Galiana. It goes something like this: Galiana needs, at a minimum: water, food, down-time to let her brain rest, and, separately from the rest, sleep. If you could also work in "having reasonable expectations for herself," that would be peachy.

Love, Galiana

I feel like I'm considering dropping out of a bunch of stuff that just finally got rolling, and I don't want to let any of it go. But that is the thought pattern of people who drive themselves crazy from inexperience, and, for better or worse, I know better.

So I will put my activist urges on a shelf, carefully schedule blocks of time with family, resign myself to still having clutter after we move, watch my days-between-blog-posts climb again, savor the escape with the callers who catch me on the phone, email the ones who let me know they missed me, and do the best I can to get through this as productively as possible.

Moving Right Along, Again

Can't I just lounge and masturbate?

Hey, long-time blog readers, remember this blog post from mid-February called "Moving Right Along"? How I announced I was moving, but I said I'd be up and running again in a few weeks, so no worries? And then, as it turned out, everything went to hell in a handbasket and it actually took me like ... four or five months to really get my groove back?

Well, hey, guess what I found out today?

Those of you playing along at home who guessed, "Ohhhhhhh noooooo you have to move again?" are absolutely correct! You get a gold star! But this time, the circumstances are better. By far. Here's how it went:

Hubby's Job: (in a secret rural Midwestern location) Turns out, you're awesome, and we need you to do this big important thing, and work more hours, and not travel back to Houston to visit your wife nearly as much.

Hubby: Cool, as long as you pay to relocate her, and the dogs, and all our stuff, here.

Hubby's Job: Sure, we can do that. Because, you know what? You're awesome.

Galiana: So, I get to have movers do most of my packing for me? And the whole move is free for us? And I get to live with my husband again? Awesome!

Well, mostly awesome. I am moving away from my mother and sister and nieces, who I will miss like crazy. That part sucks.

But I'll be traveling back to Houston more often, for holidays, plus every couple of months, so I'll spend a lot of time with them then. And by "spend a lot of time with them," I really mean, "I will probably crash on their couches to ensure I spend every moment possible with them." So when when I travel back to Houston, I'll probably be offline, but I'll warn you when that happens.

I may end up with less energy to log on for phone sex because I will have less financial pressure after the move. Or more energy because I have less stress and a more consistent schedule. Or more energy because my husband will take care of the dogs in the morning. Or maybe less because my sleep schedule may shift earlier. Or maybe more because I might feel socially isolated. Or maybe less because I'll make a ton of friends and hang out with them all the time.

In other words, I dunno what's gonna happen after I move. In fact, I don't know yet when exactly I'm moving. Probably some time in October.

I do, however, know I will have much more time than I had last time to prep and pack, and I will be able to afford a lot more help, so I should still be able to log on for phone sex between now and when I move. Yay!

I have a confession: in the last six weeks, I have thought I might be moving 3 times. You're moving! You're not moving! You definitely are! You maybe are! You ... oh, no, nope, you're not! Oh, hey, lookit, yes, you are!

And in that six weeks of bouncing uncertainty, I have managed to log in a lot for phone sex, reconnect with callers from my past, rewrite listings, pick up the pace of blog posts, publish pay-to-view content, and sometimes even hit my daily goals on the phone. That means (a) my medicines are really helping me and (b) the thought of this move is much less stressful for me than the last.

Also in the past six weeks, with help from my mom and sister, I've been able to sort and organize most of the stuff we didn't have time to sort through in the last move. Three carloads have been hauled away already, and there should be another carload or two after this weekend's visit.

Oh, I almost forgot... this part will be weird: I won't tell you exactly where I'm moving to. I'll refer to it as the Secret Rural Midwestern Location (SeRMiL). That's an amusingly horrible acronym. But one of the BDSM groups in Austin used to meet at a place they called the "Secret Rural Location" and I can't think of another name for the place we're moving, because that name is so firmly stuck in my mind because I think it's funny. SeRMiL, USA, here we come.

The reason for the uncharacteristic secrecy is that the town is small enough that I am pretty sure it wouldn't take long for my blog to show up on town-related internet searches, which violates everything I have read about ensuring your safety when you're doing online sex work. I'm sure you're supportive of my safety. Thank you for your understanding.

So, as I'm sure it's not hard to imagine, I won't be logged in much this weekend, because the hubby and I will be up to our ears in boxes and bins marked Keep / Sell / Donate / Trash. However, my sleep schedule is usually later than his, so if you want to hang out late at night, drop me an email, and I'll let you know if I'm up for it!

A Year and A Fortnight

Galiana A Year and A Fortnight ago

I started taking phone sex calls July 15, 2010, a few days after my husband took this picture of me in our kitchen to test the camera on his new phone. I hadn't yet started writing my first version of my listing, because I didn't yet know about NiteFlirt, but I had applied with a couple of dispatch phone sex services.

I wrote blog posts about my quarter anniversary and my six-month anniversary. Then on July 15, 2011, I completely forgot to write about my 1-year anniversary. When I realized it, two very socially busy days later, I figured I'd wait until my blog anniversary (8/15) and do something then.

On July 24, 2011, I got an email, with the subject line, "No?" and content of, "No big, one-year anniversary blog post?"

I felt so loved. When I saw the email on my phone, I was having lunch with my mom, casually checking to see if anything time-sensitive had happened in the past hour, and she immediately said, "Well, THAT got a reaction, what was that?" I got choked up while explaining it to her. Although she certainly wishes I were physically able to do other types of work, her response was a very supportive, "Awwww. That's very sweet. I like him."

So much has shifted since I started being a phone sex operator.

A year ago, both my husband and I were working from home in Austin, where he could be in charge of letting the dogs in and out of our quarter-acre back yard. The big yard also meant that ensuring they had enough exercise was as simple as taking a 15-minute break to play fetch, or rile them up via tug-of-war until they chased each other along the well-worn path around the perimeter.

My husband also took care of all the shopping for groceries and necessities. So I was free to lounge in the Fuckatorium for 10-12 hours a day, waiting for the phone to ring, writing blog posts, and hanging out on IM chat in case I could entice someone that way. We had friends in Austin, but I rarely went out socially more than twice per week, so most of my time was free to feel sexy and take calls.

Since then, we've moved to Houston, where I am more social, because my family is close by, which is awesome and emotionally nourishing, but puts a strain on me vertigo-wise. My husband got a fantastic job which requires a lot of travel, so I have much less financial pressure, but more responsibilities: chores, groceries, dog parks.

I started taking horse tranquilizers, which has obliterated my capacity to multi-task (thus the death of my casual IM chatting), but has helped ease my vertigo symptoms drastically, allowing me to go from about 30-40% pre-vertigo capacity to 50-60% pre-vertigo capacity. My increased ability to get stuff done means I regularly overshoot my medicines and wear myself out like the overachiever dork I am. Silly Galiana.

So these days, I'm logged on for phone sex less often. Although there still are bills relying on my income (including the extremely motivating category of "my spending money"), the reality is that I'm not a full-time phone girl anymore.

I think one reason I missed my anniversary is because I couldn't figure out what to put here. It seems anti-climactic to say I've gone from full-time to part-time. I still can't tell which story needs to be told. So I'm making this up as I write, feeling my way along, hoping it turns into something coherent here soon. (We can tell, it shows)(Oh hush, there's no need to be rude to yourself)(Ummmm, too late for that).

Plus, I wanted to have something special to offer, or announce, like a commemorative picture set or a "if you do this then I'll send you free minutes" kind of a thing, but nothing stood out to me as The Perfect Celebratory Offer.

In fact, I meant for this blog post to end a few paragraphs back until I figured out The Perfect Celebratory Offer, but now my Inner Therapist and Inner Writer have conspired, and have momentum, and well, who am I to stop them on the principle of posting an anniversary blog post on an actual anniversary date? Pffff. Details. So on we go.

Of course, there are numbers I could share, because I'm a data girl:

* Callers I've blocked (which means they can no longer contact me): 4 - I am happy that number is so low.

* Customers: 781 - although people who delete their accounts don't show up, so it's actually a tad higher than that.

* Most times someone has called me: 57 - I am supremely confident in my ability to get him aroused and leave him satisfied.

* Highest amount I've made from one customer after NiteFlirt's percentage: $2707 - and it is a different guy than my 57-calls customer, and about a quarter of that amount is from pay-to-views and tributes. Not bad for a girl who doesn't advertise for financial domination, right? And if you're wondering if it's you, then no, it's not you, because he knows his financial totals with me, because the money is part of his fetish.

* Verification of the 80/20 rule (80-ish% of my revenue comes from 20-ish% of my customers): yep, almost exactly.

* Overall Revenue from non-calls: about 5% - pretty good considering I don't do nearly as much to advertise my pics and videos as I could, and I never ask for tributes unless I'm doing something custom.

* Times I have rewritten my main listing: 18. Well. That's just embarrassing.

* Calls: 1840, which technically averages out to a little less than 5 per day, but I've taken off a lot of days (Slacker)(Shut up)(No, you shut up)(No, you shut up yer shuttin' up)(/giggle), so really it's a bit higher than 5. (And yes, these parentheticals are real conversations I have with myself)(Psycho)(No YOU!)

Although numbers can sometimes tell a story, in this case, they don't do justice. Not by a long shot.

A year and a fortnight ago, I thought I was more submissive sexually than dominant. After repeated exposure to the raw, powerful lust I can inspire by bringing my leadership and management skills into the bedroom, I now find the thought of a man kneeling before me, offering his mind and body as my plaything... distractingly, exquisitely, deeply arousing.

A year and a fortnight ago, I thought I would never find sexual stimulation in humiliating another person, and even if I did, I wouldn't be very good at it. After making someone come twice in ten minutes from scathingly deriding his lack of sexual adequacy, leading to an adrenaline-fueled big fat POW of an orgasm for me while I told him he could never get me off that well, I concluded I had been mistaken.

A year and a fortnight ago, I thought I was pretty savvy about kinks. After weekly exposure to new fetishes and the fetishists who crave them, I am no longer surprised when I am surprised.

A year and a fortnight ago, I wondered if my size XL body would keep me in such a small niche in the market that it would not be worth the effort to be a phone sex operator. After being begged to get on cam, produce photos, and shoot videos, I have found even more to appreciate about my body.

A year and a fortnight ago, I didn't know if I would ever be able to financially provide for myself in case of an emergency. After I knew I could, the relief and sense of empowerment has been profound.

A year and a fortnight ago, after a year of not working and not being able to go out in crowded public spaces very often, my circles of social and professional connections had contracted, and I missed the feeling of meeting new people. After developing at least a dozen crushes on callers, and at least a dozen mutually supportive co-worker relationships, and making so many connections that I have to turn off chat because I can't multi-task enough to keep up with the barrage of friendly interaction requests, my social meters are pleasantly full any time I wish.

A year and a fortnight ago, I deeply missed feeling useful. I can't explain how frustrating that was for me, and how much energy I spent trying not to feel useless.

Now, after a year and a fortnight of listening to confessions, playing catch with complex balls of emotional and sexual energy, gaining proficiency in dozens of kinks, and - most importantly - helping hundreds of callers make the transition from "I'm so horny I can't fall asleep, but I'm too distracted by thoughts of my crappy day to finish myself off alone" into the far more pleasant "Oh, wow, that felt good and /yawn and /stretch and /whew, finally I can sleep! Thank you, I needed that", now I feel extraordinarily useful as a buddy, a confessor, an outlet, a supporter, and very clearly, as a sleep aid.

(Oh, no, really, this blog post does not need the Galiana Sleep Aid commercial now playing in my head. Please turn that off. Seriously.)

You, and you, and you, and you, and especially you, you all made my first year and a fortnight as a phone sex operator possible, and fun, and exciting, and enriching, and sexy as fucking hell. Thank you.

(So what's the special offer gonna be?)(Oh, for fuck's sake, I just wrote a lovely little ending. Can we leave it at that until I figure out a worthy offer later?)(Sure thing... ya slacker.)(NO, YOU!)

Perfectionism, Insecurity, and Nakedness

This is why I don't do more videos and pictures: perfectionism and insecurity. Well, and the effort.

Logistics first: to get paid for spending an hour on the phone, I need to: (a) feel sexy (b) make sure my dogs are well enough taken care of that if I have to suddenly leave them alone for an hour, they won't starve or dehydrate or chew anything valuable (c) make sure at least one phone has been charged (d) log in (e) wait for an hour's worth of calls.

To get paid for making a video or a picture set or being on cam, I need to: (a) feel sexy (b) shower, do my hair, put on makeup, put on a sexy outfit (c) make sure the lighting and camera and room are set up correctly, including picking up the guts of any toy the dogs have recently shredded (d) try not to lose my sexy while cleaning (e) decide what to say/do (f) make sure dogs... same as above (g) shoot a take (h) watch the take, and about half the time, decide I need to re-shoot it (i) piece all the good takes together into a coherent video with open/close titles (j) upload the video (k) write a blog post / email to announce the creation of the video (l) absolutely die of insecurity until someone tells me it looks great.

In theory, it should take me about an hour to make a 15-minute video. In reality, because I haven't set up a smooth-running content machine yet, and my computer is slow to render, and I can't work on the computer too long at a time without nauseating myself, it takes me a whole day. At least.

Ideally, I'd shoot more than one video in a day, after all that prep, but again, the reality is, once I've done an hour or two of setup and then shot for an hour or two, I need a break, my makeup is getting smudgy, and my creativity is starting to run dry.

All this stems from a video I shot on Sunday, which in theory, I should have released yesterday, but as long as I'm being totally honest and whiny here... deep breath...

I've gained weight since I went on my medicines, and this was a custom video, and he wanted me naked, which I was fine with until about an hour after I shot it, and then all my Inner Cast, all at once, basically started yelling at me, "YOU'RE NAKED ALMOST ALL THE WAY THROUGH THIS ENTIRE VIDEO AND YOU LOOK FAT!"

I know, fuck those voices. I'm trying. I'm doing my best. I actually did just hit send to the person who ordered the custom video, so he has the link.

Now I need to break it up and post it for sale. It's 25 minutes, and it needs to be broken into either two or three shorter videos, because most clips are simply nowhere near that long, so the pricing expectations are geared for shorter videos, so I need to break them up, or else my brain will fucking explode from trying to figure out what to charge.

HOLY FUCKING SHIT, DID I MENTION I'M NAKED IN THIS VIDEO? Like, I have on NO CLOTHES AT ALL. None. Not even earrings. Just inordinate amounts of silver/grey makeup and some pretty awesome silver glittery nail polish.

The nails rock. I'll admit that much. Even though you can't see them for long in the video, they're fucking awesome. Here, I'll distract myself by taking a picture and sharing it with you (which, of course I took 3 times before I just gave up and decided this was good enough, even though my fingers look oddly disproportionate to me, because I'm so fucking neurotic):

I curse a lot when I'm trying to force my way through my insecurities into action. Fuck hell shit damn yeah I do. Oh, and cunt, for good measure.

Well, at least I can still crack myself up. Always. In fact, that is my favorite thing about myself: I can amuse myself endlessly.

Soooo. Back on topic. The poor guy who requested this custom video ... he asked for it almost two months ago, and I said I thought I'd get it to him in a week or two (that was the week before I started taking my new medicines, before everything went haywire for a while). The guy who asked for custom audio asked for it the week before that (I also recorded that on Sunday, two months overdue). Clearly, I have no business making estimates of any kind.

So, if you want a custom video from me, I would be happy to do it, as long as you don't mind waiting approximately forever, and you don't mind if I have a full-fledged insecurity attack before I send it to you. Especially if you want me naked.

Naked. Pudgy. Insecure. Did I mention I was naked? Deep, deep breaths, Galiana. Inhale. Exhale. You'll be fine...

Looooooopy

My husband (via text, from the Midwest where he's consulting this week): Tornado sirens going off, announcement to move to the back of the store.

Me (in Houston): Today seems like a fantastic day to see what happens when I take a second dose of my horse tranquilizer within a 24 hour period. In fact, right the fuck now seems like a perfect time.

Husband (20 minutes later, after many updates): All clear!

Me (starting to feel looooooopy): Whew!

And that is the story of Why Galiana Isn't Logging In Today... although if someone emails me and says they'd pay to talk to me in this state, I'd totally log on, but it would be QUITE a different version of me than usual. Amusing, but different.

Slow Down, You Move Too Fast

As long as I'm doing old songs as blog titles, this is the one that fits me today.

Yesterday, I filmed four custom videos, and got the right links sent to the right people. Yay me.

Today, I'm trying to edit those videos to put them up for sale, which involves:
* editing out personal stuff like names from the custom version
* mixing a large and small version
* uploading large and small version with a unique user name and password
* making payment buttons on NiteFlirt
* updating my "Stuff To Buy" page on my blog
* taking screen shots for the blog entry
* writing up a blog entry
* and with robot videos, posting about it on Fembot Central

Each of the four videos is at a different place along that task list, and I've been attempting to multi-task, to keep all of them moving forward, hoping to use the "dead time" wisely when videos were mixing down or files were uploading.

In the process of doing so, I sent the wrong link to all the people who bought the first Galiana Demo video (what do you mean you don't want to buy the first video twice?), so I had to re-send that.

Then in Galiana Demo #02 email, I had the link to the small version of the video twice (instead of the small and the large). And the wrong username and password for the Demo #02 (I sent out the username and password for the Demo #01).

Seriously, Galiana, in fifteen years as a technical professional, you didn't figure out how to "copy and paste AND THEN FIX"?

And then one of custom videos from last night was corrupted on the web site, so I had to re-upload it, which failed on the first try... Okay, so that one wasn't my fault.

I'm good with details, usually, but I am facing a sad truth: I need to work on one of these at a time, or else I make mistakes.

I would rather feel like this:

I've got no deeds to do, no promises to keep
I'm dappled and drowsy and ready to sleep

Wouldn't that be lovely?

I'll work on it. Really. Right after video number 4 is out the door, I'll get right on that next.

Buried Blog Post

Because I feel like I've written about my vertigo too much lately (and had too much vertigo lately, which has caused me even more erratic schedule than usual), I buried a new blog post by "publishing" it on Feb 1.

Plus, by burying it, the post won't hit rss feeds (they only look back 30 days), so nobody will stumble on it - I only want people to read it if they are genuinely interested in the topic.

The blog post is Meeting In Person, and it spells out, in extraordinary detail, every single last one of my complicated thoughts about the complicated topic of meeting a caller in person. Help yourself if you have way too much time on your hands.

Buried Blog Post

Dear Galiana

Dear Galiana,

I know you love doing things in sequence (and good for you for writing down the steps to creating new picture packages in the right order, so you don't have to figure it all out again every time you do it), but getting stuck on one task is not terribly efficient when there are other things to do.

... especially when the "getting stuck" part involves trying to upload large files while simultaneously populating your new offsite storage location ... with 2.5 GB left to go... How much bandwidth do you think you have, young lady? Hmmm?

Now please stop watching percent-loaded meters stall out, and get some things done.

Love,
Galiana

Another Reason to Love the Job

If you've been following this blog, you know a few things: (1) I've been inconsistent lately because I've just moved and (2) I have a mysterious neurological vertigo that makes me feel like I'm drunk all the time, and makes some things tricky for me. Some things like... moving, for example.

Yesterday, I'd had a day where it felt like there were too many decisions coming at me from too many directions, and the feeling of chaos increased my vertigo significantly. I didn't do well collaborating on tasks, even collaborating with people I love a lot, and I ended the afternoon by drawing the only-sort-of-kidding conclusion that I no longer know how to play well with others.

It was not surprising that I had a difficult day; difficult days happen. I'm adjusting to a new home, a new rhythm, and being close to family who love me a lot, but who haven't been with me day in and day out with this crazy brain-drunk thing I have going on, so they're not sure what I need yet, so we're all learning together how to be in closer proximity and make it work for all of us.

It was very surprising, however, to feel how strongly I wanted to get into my not-quite-fully-set-up-yet Fuckatorium and turn on the phone sex lines. Really? That seemed illogical... I should have been wiped out and cranky, but no, there was an almost overpowering urge to have sexy time on the phones.

When my first caller said hello, I consciously understood what my sometimes-not-so-addled subconscious must have already worked out: it felt fucking fantastic to narrow the whole world down to the energy of one person.

On the phones, I can do: just. one. thing.

Turns out, that after a complicated day of having to fight with myself, and sometimes with others, to remember to keep my focus, keep my cool, stay on target, use the Force... after pulling out all my Jedi mind tricks to try to figure out whether or not these were actually the droids I was looking for...

He said his name, and it felt like the rest of the world melted away, and I found myself with just one thing to do: talk with him. Just one thing to focus on: his lust. Just one thing to concern myself with: this exchange of delicious emotional and sexual energy.

Wow. I needed that.

So, to all six gentlemen I talked with last night: thank you. You were exactly what I needed. You reminded me of why I can do this whole crazy phone sex gig, even when there are other things in my life that I can't do as well as I used to. You reminded me of why I feel stronger and braver and more whole now than I did eight months ago. Thank you.

Reluctantly Considering Time Limits

The business of phone sex is wildly unpredictable on an individual level, as I've proven by my unsuccessful attempts to find trends in my calls, and as backed up by the anecdotes of other phone pros.

So I was pleasantly surprised Thursday night by having an almost-3-hour call (cock-teasing and the philosophy of orgasm denial). Whew! That's a great way to come back online! Plus I had a couple of shorter calls (a guided masturbation and a fun "pleasure genie" fantasy), all from regulars who had been awaiting my return.

Last night started with a common rhythm: a 34-minute call, followed by a short break, followed by a 10-minute call, followed by a short break. That's a pattern I can easily sustain, especially since the callers were people I already knew I enjoyed talking with.

I was pleasantly surprised when the third caller was new - he had found me while I was away, and we'd emailed back and forth, but it is always encouraging to attract new friends. Imagine my surprise when I realized we'd been on the phone for three hours! The time was flying getting to know him: he's a delightful mattress-humping humiliation junkie who shared his exquisite fantasies of extraordinary emotional degradation. I had no idea we were going to go that long! 

(side note: understandably, once again, I did not send out a mass email on the phone sex system announcing my return. Nor did I double back and send a more personal response to the nice emails I got while I was gone. I will send those emails some day soon, when my schedule is a little more consistent, and the phone isn't ringing steadily, because I'd hate to send that email and then be completely unavailable - it seems (a) rude and (b) counter-productive as a marketing technique.)

When we were done, I flopped into bed, happy, but exhausted, and I stayed there for 13 hours -- sleeping, then being brought "breakfast" in bed by my hub, then snuggling with the hub and the dogs, and then, unbelievably, going back to sleep! So although I didn't feel like I was pushing too hard, last night, I was probably was pushing a bit too hard. Phooey.

(side note: "breakfast" was a Gino's East deep dish pepperoni pizza, sent by a friend as a housewarming gift -- YUM -- I have the most awesome friends)

I usually sleep 9 hours at a time, tops, and when I'm fully rested, my average is more like 7.5 hours. Because of the vertigo, I have to rest more than most people, but even so, 13 hours is crazy, even for me.

A possibly contributing factor: my husband and one of my nieces is fighting off a sore-throat version of The Crud (my nickname for flus and colds and other unpleasant short-term maladies), so it's possible that my body is fighting off an impending crud attack as well (so far, I'm blessedly crud-free, but sniffly from mild dust allergies, so I'm monitoring my health).

So. I'm considering imposing a time limit for a while to ensure that I rest enough. But I hate the thought of it. But I probably should.

I'll never answer the phone if I can't talk for at least an hour - that's my minimum limit. But even at the beginning of my evening, I'm considering a 90-minute cap for a while, until I feel like I'm 100% post-move back on my feet, and free and clear of threat of the crud.

Part of me despises the idea of time limits. Ugh. A long call is the very essence of using your time efficiently: with a multi-hour call, you're not wasting time being ready, waiting for the phone to ring. And since my long calls tend to be people I genuinely enjoy spending time with, having conversations I genuinely find interesting, it's also somewhat emotionally painful to cut the conversation short -- I don't want to convey personal rejection! I have had a time limit caller call back after I took a break, and that worked out fantastically, but I feel guilty... entitled... princess-ey... grrrr.

Plus, enforcing time limits sucks. If the caller is someone who I know likes to talk for a while, I can say up front, "I need to take a break after 90 minutes" but then it's up to me to keep an eye on the clock, and I hate having to tell someone, "I'm sorry you haven't finished yet, but I have to go."... so I tend to push for a finish, which sometimes just backfires into both of us feeling frustrated... Byuck. Pthththth. I don't like it.

But long calls have down sides: you don't get to take a break to catch your breath, go to the potty, get a drink, get a snack, check email, and breathe deeply and ask yourself honestly if you have the energy to keep going.

Blarg. I hate having to have boundaries and limitations. Can't I be Superman and simply fly a little closer to the sun to recharge back to full? Surely I don't have to do anything icky like admit that I'm human, do I?

This is the best kind of problem to have as a phone sex operator -- people wanting more of me than I have to give at the moment. I totally understand that I am very fortunate to have such a concern.


I also understand that a day / week / month from now, with no explanation or warning, I'm likely to be feeling full of energy, staring at my phone, wondering why it's not ringing, and thinking I was crazy to ever think of imposing time limits on long calls.

In conclusion: if I tell you that I can't talk for more than 90 minutes, or 60 minutes, I promise promise promise that it is not at all personal. And I will trust you to ensure that you get what you want from me in that time.

Back On Phones, and Stories from a Move

After last night's calls, I was surprisingly not obliterated today (in fact, I got most of my clothes unpacked, some laundry done, and some keys duplicated), which means I am comfortable saying that I am back on phones.

The calendar is back up-to-date-ish with my approximate expectations for log-in times.

My cam listing is still inactive, although I hope to activate it next week. Setup in the new Fuckatorium is well underway -- the furniture is in place -- but I want the whole room settled and free of boxes before I cam again. I know, I know, you don't care if I have on makeup or what I'm wearing or if there boxes in the room... but I do, and it's important to me to feel like I am offering my best.

Besides, before I re-start my cam, I want to do a little "Welcome to the Fuckatorium" video / pictures to kick it off right in the new digs. The way you start a thing makes a difference, and I want to start it right.

So. How was the move?

Even though we were surprisingly well prepared for the move, given how little time we had to plan and execute it, the day of the move (Mon Feb 28) was the worst move day I've ever had. We were on track for an okay move day when the movers realized they should have brought a bigger truck. We ended up going to U-Haul and getting another truck, with a tow dolly for our car, so we could fill the second truck, my husband could drive it, and we could tow our car behind the truck.

That unfortunate miscalculation had several unfortunate consequences:
(1) the put-stuff-into-the-truck(s) portion of the move took almost 8 hours, instead of the 3.5 they had allotted, so the day got much longer, and we were all much more tired.
(2) it cost us an extra $200, which theoretically, the moving company "paid us back for" but the move took so much longer than estimated that it didn't feel like it
(3) instead of riding comfortably in the front seat of my car with the two dogs in the back seat (where normally they fall asleep on longer trips), the dogs were on my lap in the U-Haul, pressed against me, shaking and whining, so I spent 3.5 straight hours attempting to calm them instead of resting.
(4) my husband had to concentrate way harder to drive the U-Haul towing a car than he would have if he'd only been driving a normal car, so he was more wiped out when we arrived than he hoped to be.
(5) the jockeying of vehicles at our destination was far more confusing than it needed to be; we had stuff in our car, my father-in-law's pickup truck, the U-Haul, and the movers' truck, and what got unpacked when turned into a grand old time-sink of a conversation.

All in all, I collapsed -- perhaps only partially figuratively -- with the dogs about 11:30 pm, with only about half our stuff in the new place, while my husband stayed up with the movers until they finished at 2 am. TWO A M. /blink /blink ... we were supposed to be finished around 4 pm...

So that wasn't a fun day.

And yet, much fun has been had along the way. My family, my in-laws, and most of my friends are easily amused and readily amusing, so the packing and unpacking processes have been filled with much merriment.

The best example: when I assured my father-in-law I could drive the U-Haul back to the house, despite my vertigo, by saying, "I can do anything for 15 minutes," he got a naughty twinkle in his eye, then politely said, "I ain't touchin' that line..." Yes, it's creepy for your father-in-law to sort of flirt with you, but he wasn't being creepy, and he wasn't flirting, he was just keeping himself from taking bait that I had set up so well that it almost hurt him to avoid it. Most importantly, though, it made me laugh hard on a rough day. 

The place is great: the closets are all about twice as large as I remember, the rooms and back patio are all bigger than I thought they would be, and the relatively low ceilings feel cozier than I thought they would. The neighborhood is full of fantastic restaurants, and handy shops of every kind are within blocks. Yay for urban density (we were in more suburban residential sprawl, where almost everything was at least 15 minutes away).

The unpacking has gone well: my uncle (also now my landlord) did a bunch of cleaning and gardening stuff, so everything looks fantastic. Plus, he gave us the run-down on our neighbors, their dogs, and nearby shops, and showed us all the quirks of the townhouse. My mother and sister have been here to help, so the bathrooms, the newly christened "Sleepatorium", my husband's office, and the Fuckatorium are all functional, and well on their way to being fully unpacked. The downstairs is still a wreck, but we've had enough food brought over to be okay even if we take the weekend to get the kitchen unpacked.

Overall, we feel loved and supported by our family in the area, grateful for our new home, and excited about this new phase of our lives.

As long as I don't have to step foot outside in July or August, we'll be good!  :)