I think I have about a dozen laughs, a hundred quirky facial expressions, and a thousand little sounds that spring out of me in ways I can never predict.
Everyone makes different sounds, and I love causing them, those spontaneous noises. That little breath catch. That little moan. That little growl.
But I admit: I have a favorite. Every once in a while, when a man has just climaxed, especially if it was long or powerful or surprising in some way, just after the initial intensity passes, there's a little laugh. It's usually followed by a big exhale, then a few words of gratitude, but really, thanks aren't necessary at that point -- I heard it in that fucking awesome little laugh.
Friday, September 3, 2010
Closure Day
Yesterday (Wednesday) was heart-wrenchingly devoid of closure. Today was gratifying full of it.
Yesterday, six calls either got cut off early by system glitches, ended early because the caller got interrupted by life, or otherwise left me feeling like the story hadn't been fully told.
I HATE not knowing the ending to stories. Watching half a movie bugs me so badly I have to look up the ending. I lack the genetic material to put down a novel, so I can only read them on vacations, or else I'll severely sleep-deprive myself.
When I have one non-closure call, I can deal with it. Shut it out. Let it go. The next call helps, because it's a new story, and the closure there helps me distance.
But six? Yes. Six. Damn. By six... I was a bit drained, confused, insecure, and wondering if I really had the emotional stability to handle the job full-time, because all six kept flipping through my mind, and I couldn't stop caring.
I heard from three of them today. All three had fully resolved endings. And I helped a new caller completely through a full, rich, complete scenario with zero interruptions. I realized I had let go of yesterday's angst when I found myself thinking up new fantasies for someone. I breathed a sigh of relief, and another of gratitude.
Yay closure.
Yesterday, six calls either got cut off early by system glitches, ended early because the caller got interrupted by life, or otherwise left me feeling like the story hadn't been fully told.
I HATE not knowing the ending to stories. Watching half a movie bugs me so badly I have to look up the ending. I lack the genetic material to put down a novel, so I can only read them on vacations, or else I'll severely sleep-deprive myself.
When I have one non-closure call, I can deal with it. Shut it out. Let it go. The next call helps, because it's a new story, and the closure there helps me distance.
But six? Yes. Six. Damn. By six... I was a bit drained, confused, insecure, and wondering if I really had the emotional stability to handle the job full-time, because all six kept flipping through my mind, and I couldn't stop caring.
I heard from three of them today. All three had fully resolved endings. And I helped a new caller completely through a full, rich, complete scenario with zero interruptions. I realized I had let go of yesterday's angst when I found myself thinking up new fantasies for someone. I breathed a sigh of relief, and another of gratitude.
Yay closure.
Thursday, September 2, 2010
Galiana's Inner Dialogue
I'm probably overdue to explain my inner dialogue, and my Inner Cast of characters.
First, I have been psychiatrically evaluated enough times to assure you that I do not have any real-life split personality disorders. It's a literary convention for me, but it's a darn handy one.
In college acting class, we listed our life roles: daughter, sister, friend, dancer, lover, student, teacher, writer, voice of reason, voice of temptation... All our lists kept growing as we shared them and recognized, "Oh yeah, I play that role too."
I was chosen to play "daughter" with a big burly guy as "father," and I was explaining my classes to him, all clever and guarded and unappreciative, as 20-year-old daughters can be. Then she said "now you're boyfriend and girlfriend" and the instant switch was shocking. Observations flew during post-exercise analysis: we stood closer, our bodies opened up, I touched him more, he looked at my breasts, and I laughed more freely. Both conversations were me, just me in different roles.
So I started referring to my "Inner Cast". I have an Inner Editor, an Inner Therapist, an Inner Brat, Inner Adventurer, and of course, our favorite girl, my Inner Slut. And dozens more.
How I behave depends on who is driving the bus. When Inner Worry Wart is driving, I choose cautiously. With Inner Perfectionist at the wheel, tasks rarely complete. And with Inner Hedonist in charge, I savor textures and sounds and tastes and scents, and clocks cease to exist.
The Inner Cast never fully agrees on anything. Sometimes, the disagreements get heated. My Inner Chief of Operations sometimes has to tie up Inner Slut and Adventurer to get any work done at all (between you and me, they kinda like that -- it gives them time to plot).
I differentiate "myself" from the cast by calling "me" my Chooser. Chooser decides who is driving, so therefore, Chooser is really always, silently in the background, in charge.
This simplifies conflicting interests for me. Inner Socialite wants everyone to like us and think we're sane, and responsible, and cheerful, and polite, especially in public. Inner Hedonist wants to open that can of whipped cream in the grocery store, toss my head back, and suck half of it down, right here, right now, let's go. Chooser lets Socialite win that little spat. Well, usually...
Look for more Inner Dialogue in posts to come!
First, I have been psychiatrically evaluated enough times to assure you that I do not have any real-life split personality disorders. It's a literary convention for me, but it's a darn handy one.
In college acting class, we listed our life roles: daughter, sister, friend, dancer, lover, student, teacher, writer, voice of reason, voice of temptation... All our lists kept growing as we shared them and recognized, "Oh yeah, I play that role too."
I was chosen to play "daughter" with a big burly guy as "father," and I was explaining my classes to him, all clever and guarded and unappreciative, as 20-year-old daughters can be. Then she said "now you're boyfriend and girlfriend" and the instant switch was shocking. Observations flew during post-exercise analysis: we stood closer, our bodies opened up, I touched him more, he looked at my breasts, and I laughed more freely. Both conversations were me, just me in different roles.
So I started referring to my "Inner Cast". I have an Inner Editor, an Inner Therapist, an Inner Brat, Inner Adventurer, and of course, our favorite girl, my Inner Slut. And dozens more.
How I behave depends on who is driving the bus. When Inner Worry Wart is driving, I choose cautiously. With Inner Perfectionist at the wheel, tasks rarely complete. And with Inner Hedonist in charge, I savor textures and sounds and tastes and scents, and clocks cease to exist.
The Inner Cast never fully agrees on anything. Sometimes, the disagreements get heated. My Inner Chief of Operations sometimes has to tie up Inner Slut and Adventurer to get any work done at all (between you and me, they kinda like that -- it gives them time to plot).
I differentiate "myself" from the cast by calling "me" my Chooser. Chooser decides who is driving, so therefore, Chooser is really always, silently in the background, in charge.
This simplifies conflicting interests for me. Inner Socialite wants everyone to like us and think we're sane, and responsible, and cheerful, and polite, especially in public. Inner Hedonist wants to open that can of whipped cream in the grocery store, toss my head back, and suck half of it down, right here, right now, let's go. Chooser lets Socialite win that little spat. Well, usually...
Look for more Inner Dialogue in posts to come!
Time Management
I haven't completely figured out the time management rhythm to this job yet. Every job has one. In my last job as a tech manager, I figured out to manage my inbox and task list so I could address 5-minute issues between meetings, but save my longer, more complicated tasks for mornings and evenings when I was less likely to be interrupted.
This job has tasks that are easier to do with long uninterrupted stretches. Well, at least the way I'm choosing to do the job. Write blog entries. Put together packs of pictures to sell. Plan more photo shoots. Send follow-up mails.
(Off-topic bunny trail: I'm so far behind on follow-up notes right now that I'm attempting to convince myself that it's actually BETTER to send a follow-up a few days later. After the glow has worn off, when they might be ready to call again. It's smarter strategically, right? Right? Please? Someone needs to pat me on the head and tell me condescendingly, "You just keep believing that, Chance.").
Those longer tasks make sense to do while I'm logged in for calls, because I have long uninterrupted stretches sometimes. Hours go by without a call, almost every day. If I only did those tasks when I wasn't logged in, I would miss probably an hour / day of log-in time, and that feels like an unacceptable loss.
But here's the trixie part: I can't predict when the uninterrupted hours will be. Will this particular break be 3 minutes or 3 hours? So I'm reluctant to get started on "big" projects if then I'll just have to restart them later, especially if they're the type of work that depends on me keeping my place in a list. It's so much more satisfying to just rip through the whole list at once than to back-track and trace where I was.
Sooooo. I haven't figured it out yet. I'm a horrible multi-tasker: my attention goes full-bore on whatever I'm doing, so if I don't manage my tasks, I end up following endless unproductive bunny trails. After our first home photo shoot, it took a week to get new pictures up on my listing, and I still haven't put them together into picture packages yet. Which is silly, because that's good hearty passive revenue I'm passing up there.
Then there's other stuff to remember, too. Like eating (I still forget sometimes) and drinking (boo dehydration). Thankfully, It's been a few days since I answered the phone, recognized the caller, realized it was going to be a long call, and simultaneously became conscious that I needed to pee. Yay for progress on that front. Seriously.
I'm trying to truly believe that it's okay to rest for 15 minutes after a long call. That anybody who was waiting for me will continue to wait, or that if they don't, it'll all work out fine in the big picture. I've started a little after-call checklist in priority order, until I have it memorized, and I try to look at it every time I hang up:
1. bathroom / food / drink / should you go to sleep now?
2. notes about the call
3. thank people for new feedback, respond to blog comments
4. other maintenance: track that money's getting deposited, follow up mails after calls
5. new stuff: blog entries, picture packs, etc etc etc.
Notice: nowhere on the list is: browse other women's listing in utter fascination for hours on end. Maybe someday I'll actually pay attention to my little list, instead of just having it.
This job has tasks that are easier to do with long uninterrupted stretches. Well, at least the way I'm choosing to do the job. Write blog entries. Put together packs of pictures to sell. Plan more photo shoots. Send follow-up mails.
(Off-topic bunny trail: I'm so far behind on follow-up notes right now that I'm attempting to convince myself that it's actually BETTER to send a follow-up a few days later. After the glow has worn off, when they might be ready to call again. It's smarter strategically, right? Right? Please? Someone needs to pat me on the head and tell me condescendingly, "You just keep believing that, Chance.").
Those longer tasks make sense to do while I'm logged in for calls, because I have long uninterrupted stretches sometimes. Hours go by without a call, almost every day. If I only did those tasks when I wasn't logged in, I would miss probably an hour / day of log-in time, and that feels like an unacceptable loss.
But here's the trixie part: I can't predict when the uninterrupted hours will be. Will this particular break be 3 minutes or 3 hours? So I'm reluctant to get started on "big" projects if then I'll just have to restart them later, especially if they're the type of work that depends on me keeping my place in a list. It's so much more satisfying to just rip through the whole list at once than to back-track and trace where I was.
Sooooo. I haven't figured it out yet. I'm a horrible multi-tasker: my attention goes full-bore on whatever I'm doing, so if I don't manage my tasks, I end up following endless unproductive bunny trails. After our first home photo shoot, it took a week to get new pictures up on my listing, and I still haven't put them together into picture packages yet. Which is silly, because that's good hearty passive revenue I'm passing up there.
Then there's other stuff to remember, too. Like eating (I still forget sometimes) and drinking (boo dehydration). Thankfully, It's been a few days since I answered the phone, recognized the caller, realized it was going to be a long call, and simultaneously became conscious that I needed to pee. Yay for progress on that front. Seriously.
I'm trying to truly believe that it's okay to rest for 15 minutes after a long call. That anybody who was waiting for me will continue to wait, or that if they don't, it'll all work out fine in the big picture. I've started a little after-call checklist in priority order, until I have it memorized, and I try to look at it every time I hang up:
1. bathroom / food / drink / should you go to sleep now?
2. notes about the call
3. thank people for new feedback, respond to blog comments
4. other maintenance: track that money's getting deposited, follow up mails after calls
5. new stuff: blog entries, picture packs, etc etc etc.
Notice: nowhere on the list is: browse other women's listing in utter fascination for hours on end. Maybe someday I'll actually pay attention to my little list, instead of just having it.
Wednesday, September 1, 2010
Might As Well Practice
Since I have a lot of calls involving giving head, I decided to get out the Vac-U-Lock dildo that is a bit thicker than my husband or my lover and keep it by the bed in the Fuckatorium (aka guest bedroom) where I work.
As long as I'm sticking something in my mouth, I might as well be working on my deep-throating skills, right?
As long as I'm sticking something in my mouth, I might as well be working on my deep-throating skills, right?
Welcome To My Birthday Season!
I turn 40 this month! I'm so excited!
I've never minded getting older. When I was in college, working hard both in acting class and therapy, I did a visualization exercise of "the person I want to be". And the image that stuck with me is a 50-year-old woman, outdoors, enjoying the land and the sun and the day, at peace with herself. And she was wearing unnecessarily chunky jewelry, probably turquoise. I have always found self-possessed 50-year-old women fascinating company.
So for 20 years now, I have thought that my 50th year will be the best of my life. It's probably setting me up for a huge nervous breakdown the day I turn 51, but oh well, I'll cross that bridge when I come to it.
In the meantime, I'm another year closer - only ten years away now! It's time to start preparing in earnest, because the day I turn 50, I plan to wear unnecessarily chunky jewelry every day for the rest of my life. There is no good reason for this plan, and yet, I've been certain that I would do exactly that for years now. Maybe it just feels too self-aggrandizing to be full-on eccentric before 50, but after 50, it seems perfectly appropriate.
Growing up as a divorced kid, all holidays were seasons - celebrated at least twice (once with Mom, once with Dad, and sometimes again with grandparents or cousins). So my birthDAY isn't really as important to me as my birthday SEASON, which is very clearly: all of September. Obviously, September is mine. Which makes my birthstone sapphire. How can sapphires be chunky, you ask? Like this awesome dangly set right here, of course.
An important disclaimer: expensive jewelry freaks me out - I lose and break stuff too easily to spend a lot of money on wearable decorative art. I'm not freaked out by jewelry under $40, though. That seems about right for an indulgence.
Now you're asking yourself, "Galiana, how can I help you celebrate the kickoff to your birthday season?" ... aren't you? No? Well, I'm not surprised. After all, I haven't known any of you very long at all. And the whole gifts part of the phone sex culture still confuses me a little. But I'll tell you anyway, just in case you're so inclined.
You can:
 |
| Chunktastic turquoise & coral |
So for 20 years now, I have thought that my 50th year will be the best of my life. It's probably setting me up for a huge nervous breakdown the day I turn 51, but oh well, I'll cross that bridge when I come to it.
In the meantime, I'm another year closer - only ten years away now! It's time to start preparing in earnest, because the day I turn 50, I plan to wear unnecessarily chunky jewelry every day for the rest of my life. There is no good reason for this plan, and yet, I've been certain that I would do exactly that for years now. Maybe it just feels too self-aggrandizing to be full-on eccentric before 50, but after 50, it seems perfectly appropriate.
 |
| Dangly is an acceptable substitute for chunky |
An important disclaimer: expensive jewelry freaks me out - I lose and break stuff too easily to spend a lot of money on wearable decorative art. I'm not freaked out by jewelry under $40, though. That seems about right for an indulgence.
Now you're asking yourself, "Galiana, how can I help you celebrate the kickoff to your birthday season?" ... aren't you? No? Well, I'm not surprised. After all, I haven't known any of you very long at all. And the whole gifts part of the phone sex culture still confuses me a little. But I'll tell you anyway, just in case you're so inclined.
You can:
- Leave me feedback. If you've made calls or bought pics and haven't left feedback, go do it! I read them for fun. It's truly a gift I will love.
- Leave a comment here on my blog. It's irrationally gratifying to me.
- Send me a happy birthday email and tell me nice things about myself (Hmmm, a theme has emerged: I love nice written words about me...)
- If you feel compelled to send something physical (which would be surprising and a little baffling, but I admit, it would also be fun), email me at galiana at ymail dot com (not yahoo.com, ymail.com) with three choices and let me pick! It'll be like shopping together, which is another family tradition - shopping together means usable gifts plus pleasant company! Then send me an Amazon gift card for that amount, I'll buy the thing with the card, and I'll send you pictures of me opening/wearing/using it. (I don't do an Amazon wish list because of this)
- CALL ME! This is honestly what I want most :)
I expect this temporary and caveat-laden foray into the "spoiled princess mistress" type of phone sex worker to fail miserably, but it amuses me, and I don't think anyone will be hurt. Therefore, given my value structure (1. Do No Harm 2. Have Fun), I must.
Me On The Phone
I was on the phone the other night, after my fondue extravaganza, so I had bothered to put on makeup, and he asked me to take a picture of myself right then and send it to him.
If you click on the picture, it'll get bigger. Not any less blurry, of course, because I was holding my cam phone over my head and guessing where it was aimed (iPhone 3G... I know, I'll upgrade eventually).
I wasn't expecting to get a picture I'd distribute, but I like it. Relaxed, happy, and surprisingly well-lit.
I haven't had this many pictures of me taken in a year since I graduated high school. It's taking some getting used to.
 |
| Galiana's chat grin |
I wasn't expecting to get a picture I'd distribute, but I like it. Relaxed, happy, and surprisingly well-lit.
I haven't had this many pictures of me taken in a year since I graduated high school. It's taking some getting used to.
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