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My mom: So I really need a way to get ahold of you. You don’t answer your phone.
Me: I know!
Mom: No, really, A real way that I can get you right away. Like some kind of signal.
Me: Like a bat signal? Can’t you just, like, shine some kind of a light into the fog with a symbol in it and I’ll see it? Commissioner?
Mom: (…pauses until I stop giggling…) Well, I can just send a patrol car to pick you up.
Me: (gulp)
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via email:
> That [redacted] shit over at [redacted] is so fucked. I don’t even know what to say about it, it is just the adult industry showing its worst side, siding with the “helpless” little deer in the headlights porn star against the big bad enormously wealthy ultra powerful legal machine of the freelance writer. I could make nasty innuendos about [redacted] but it would just be undignified. His implication that you are some loaded bitch is what kills me. As if.
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(walking to a party with a group of tech people)
Boy 1: So, how’d it go with the VC’s?
Boy 2: Alright.
Boy 1: That great eh?
Boy 2: I’m kind of sick.
Boy 1: Maybe you could cough on them and they’ll throw money at you to keep you away.
Boy 2: Nah, it’s better if you cough on them and they get sick because they blow their noses on hundred-dollar bills.
(pained laughter)
#
Party Boy: Do you know Dan Savage? I’m a huge fan.
Me: Yes, he’s *so* cool. I love Dan. He’s such a nice guy.
PB: Wow, that’s so great to hear! I’m so glad to hear that someone I’m a fan of is cool in real life. I mean, if I was gay I’d try to steal him. Do you know Tristan Taormino?
Me: Yes, she’s really cool too. Totally one of us. Very down to earth.
PB: That’s so great! You know, I really enjoy what you do. Don’t stop.
Me: Thank you, you have no idea how much it means to hear that. It means a lot. It counters the personal attacks.
PB: Oh no, do you get a lot?
Me: Not that many anymore, and they’re all from anon commenters. I mean, I know I have two trolls who think they’re anonymous, and I know who they are. But sometimes I get random scary stuff.
PB: Like what?
Me: Two weeks ago I got a long scary Flickr mail from a fundie that threatened me to repent and included hostile things about his big cock. It took Flickr a couple days to respond to me, and it was a form letter.
PB: Oh no! I mean, that’s the worst. I’m a Christian, I’m studying Christianity, and that just really hurts me. Those people make me so mad. I want to know, what bible are *they* reading?
Me: I know. I get lots of positive, even thankful mail from people who self-identify as Christians, Republicans and even both plus “conservative”, but sometimes I get a fundie hater. I’m pretty sure they’re the minority.
PB: Yeah, but they’re such a fucking *vocal* minority!
#
(at a sex-themed gathering: I was talking about how the SF Planning Department is about to reclassify “Adult Entertainment” as Not Permitted throughout the Mission and how it might affect the businesses there, and wondered aloud about the Power Exchange. a young lady told me a story.)
Pretty Slutty Trans Girl: Oh, the Power Exchange. It’s so disappointing. A girl just can’t get fucked and humiliated properly there anymore.
Me: (laughs) I’ll bet.
PSTG: No, really. I was there last weekend and fucked like a bunch of guys but no one would really degrade me. What does a girl have to do these days to get a guy to really use her like a Kleenex?
Me: I dunno. Ask?
PSTG: I tried that and then I left Power Exchange all unfulfilled. So I decided while I was waiting for the bus that I’d just fuck someone to get a ride home. I mean, I have this fantasy.
Me: ?
PSTG: I want to get picked up by a guy in a car and then have him shoot his load all over my face. Then I want to take a picture of it with my phone. Then have him take a picture with his phone for himself. ‘Cause that’s like fair, right?
Me: Totally fair.
PSTG: So anyway I left Power Exchange at like 4am and I’m waiting for the #14. So I pull my top down, I’m only wearing a tube top, and standing there on the street with my tits out waiting. And no one fucking stops. They slow down. But no offers. Fuck! Then one guy stops for a minute and tells me he wants to make me dinner sometime. I’m standing there looking like a hooker at 4am on Mission Street and he wants to make me dinner!
Me: Maybe it was code for something else.
PSTG: No, he said he was a chef.
Me: Oh.
PSTG: I thought maybe I should have seduced the chef into coming on my face, but…
Me: That’s *work*. You shouldn’t have to work for it.
PSTG: So I got on the bus.
Me: Did you blow the bus driver? You could have not paid the $1.50. That’s pretty humiliating.
PSTG: No, I thought about it. But it gets crazier.
Me: What happened?
PSTG: So I get back to my place in the Mission. I’m like two blocks from my house, in my huge stripper heels, still trying to get a ride. And two blocks from my house I get picked up.
Me: Of course.
PSTG: It’s a warehouse worker. He tells me his name is Angel. He asks me where I’m coming from.
Me: What did you tell him?
PSTG: I told him I just came from a club. But it was weird; I started playing all coy and shy with him. I was all hiding my face when I told him I came from a club he might not have heard about, Power Exchange. He said, ‘oh I know that club’. I was all, tee-hee, well, I have this fantasy… And he coaxed me into telling him about how I want a guy to come on my face and take a phone cam pic. He said he could do it.
Me: I’ll bet.
PSTG: Yeah, so he drives me way the fuck up on Potrero Hill, like by some park. You know that park? It’s got a nice view.
Me: Yeah, I know that park.
PSTG: He parks his car by a van and there’s like some homeless guy sleeping on the ground.
Me: That’s so sketchy.
PSTG: I was worried the homeless guy would wake up!
Me: Did he?
PSTG: No. But we get out of Angel’s car and go behind the van. And he does it, and I’m kneeling there on the ground and he jacks off all over my face. And then… he won’t take the picture! I’ve got come all over my face and neck, streaming into my eyes and with one eye open I’m trying to take a picture with my phone cam with one hand and one eye shut. And I can’t because it’s too fucking dark to get a good shot. I think I’ll go over toward the streetlight, and then I figure, fuck it, I’ll just use the light above the vanity mirror in his car.
Me: Whoah.
PSTG: And I’m getting up when I hear him start the car.
Me: What!
PSTG: I’m walking out from behind the van, come all over my face and hair and my fucking top is hanging off my arm. And he drives away. I’m like 27 blocks from my house, and he drives away.
Me: And you were like two blocks away when he picked you up.
PSTG: No shit! That asshole didn’t even take my photo. So I start walking.
Me: Oh no, in those shoes.
PSTG: I know. I get down to the bottom of the hill when some guy hears my heels on the sidewalk, opens the window and says, ‘hey, wait!’
Me: What did you do?
PSTG: It was some really drunk punk rock boy. So I went upstairs and fucked him.
Me: Did you clean up first?
PSTG: No!
Me: Haha. Ew.
