Two rules by which to live

I have decided that there are two relatively simple rules by which I am going to try to live.

"Don't be a dick." Wil Wheaton's sage advice to all.

"Don't be creepy." R's mantra in the film version of "Warm Bodies."

I would love to think that I've got "don't be a dick" pretty much down, but to be fair, I have my moments. I have very few outlets for frustation or anger in my world. I'm generally either here at home, or at work. With some outings to see family thrown in. On rare occasions I might go to church (Unitarian Universalist Pagan right here) or even more rarely, the movies with the hubby. I have no life.

So imagine if you will, who bears the brunt of my frustration and stress and moments of dickishness.
If you thought "oh god her poor husband," you would be right.

And yes, he has his share of dick moves, you've seen the most impresive of them in these posts. But he also weathers the storms of my rage and frustration and batcrap crazy episodes. Not necessarily well, but he does manage to stick around. So let's give him points for steadfastness today.

I'm a really a great friend though. I can't necessarily help you move (never have a car, always have a toddler), or bail you out of jail (no money), but dammit if I won't be the one to talk you down at 1:00 a.m., or help you suss out the appropriateness of your romantic relationship, or just listen while you rant about, well, anything. I've been told I'm a fantastic therapist. And even if it is on the cam site I'm cheaper than conventional therapy.

I can be sarcastic, snarky or the Devil's Advocate. But I'm rarely a dick.

I seem to have a slightly harder time not being creepy.

If you haven't noticed, I can get a little bit obsessive. I get an idea in my head, or attached to something, and it consumes me for a while. Like the time I spent almost an entire week trying to find youtube tutorials on painting with acrylics. Or how often I reference, or tweet to, Isaac Marion. Or when I named my dildo after Daryl Dixon.

If I'm interested in something or someone I will try to learn everything I can about them. I'm very detail oriented and will notice things that many people might not. With long time cam playmates (never on the first session) I might comment on something in the environment that I can see or remember a random detail. This is how I found some outstanding music. Or figured out that another playmate is a physical trainer.

I swear I am not a stalker. Although as it was pointed out to me earlier this week, a stalker probably wouldn't admit to it.

Still, I'm not a stalker.

What I am, is interested. And lonely.

I've made more connections with people who pay to see me naked and orgasming in the last six months, then I have with anyone in the "real world." And I've been absolutely and completely blessed that some of these people actually appear to care about me. As a person. Not just a pussy they can fantasize about fucking. But an entire person with a mind and heart and feelings and yes, sexuality, but all of it together. As well as nice sexy fantasies about fucking. I like those too.

This is fucking fantastic!

And to be honest, I tend to over share. I mean this entire blog is about over sharing. So people learn so much about me, and then I feel a knowledge vacuum. And I start to seek out details. I'm not demanding, and if I don't manage to learn anything it doesn't distress me. I don't get all depressed about not knowing real names or where people are from or what they do. It is simply a bonus. A few of my friends I know quite a lot about, not everything, but a lot. A few of them I'm even in touch with as friends, not just playmates.

I'm really trying to not be creepy.

And then there's my love of insects, zombies, gross medical stuff, cats (yes I have 9), body modification and ritual and true crime stories.

There's absolutely nothing creepy there.

I mean this is just gorgeous right?

Blue Mud Dauber Wasp
They feed black widow spiders to their young!

How can you not love an iridescent blue wasp that specializes in killing black widow spiders? That's not creepy, that's just obvious.

I explained my love of zombies in this post a while ago. But to recap, zombie stories are ultimately about survival and being connected to those around you. If you don't have a good team, you will not live. These tales are accessible and in some cases remotely plausible and just damn good. Also even the CDC thinks you should always prepare for the zombie apocalypse. (No, I'm not even close to prepared for the zombie apocalypse. Anyone want to buy me an emergency kit?)

I was a veterinary technician for three years. Early on in my tenure as a vet tech, a dog came in carried by her human. He was yelling and sobbing for us to help her as blood absolutely poured out of the dog's mangled front paw. He had been mowing the lawn on his rider mower, and she ran up to it to reach under for a ball he hadn't seen. We ran her back to surgery prep to stop the bleeding and asses the damage. As the vet probed and prodded what was left of the paw, I kept pressure on the leg and held it out in front of her as other nurses monitored her life signs and anesthetized her. At one point, an almost completely severed toe was clipped off by the vet, and landed in my shoe. Where it stayed, until we the doctor had the foot bandaged for the time being until x-rays and further evaluation could take place. 

That day was awesome. 

There was blood behind my ears, and a toe that wasn't mine in my shoe, but that dog healed beautifully minus a bit of her foot and was up and wagging her tail in days. She was a very sweet dog and I'm so glad we were able to help her. 

Also, abscesses are awesome. I once helped drain one the size of a lemon, on a guinea pig. Seriously. So fucking cool. 

As for cats, come on! What would the internet be without cute cat images and videos? I just get to live that every day. And I don't have double digit numbers of cats. Just nine. And of those nine, four are a mother and her three kittens that I couldn't find homes for, three are sisters abandoned at the veterinary hospital, and two are singles. All are rescues. All are spayed or neutered. All are inside only. All are loved. And I used to have more. So this is an improvement. And I think you would have known I'm a cat lady if you've seen my show based on the very large tattoo on my right leg. 

My famous tattoo

Those are two of my cats. The one on the bottom is still alive. She is one of the three sisters. Her name is Penelope Jane. I know you didn't need to know that. But I can talk about my cats all day.

Body modification and ritual is a very important part of my life, but it makes some people squeamish. I'm obviously tattooed. But I'm also branded on my upper right thigh and I've performed two suspensions and I lost track of how many flesh pulls before I had the Wildflower Child. And I would do it again in a heartbeat. Pushing my body to those limits allows me to stop thinking so much and just feel. To strip away all the bullshit and pain and frustration, and just be in that moment, supported by the ropes and hooks, and the group that has made the ritual possible, and whatever friends I have around me, but most of all supported by myself because only I can make it through the ritual to the other side. It is a cathartic and healing experience that I love. Another topic I can talk about all day. 

And last but not least, my love of all things true crime. I'm the daughter of a retired police officer. Seven years ago I actually applied to become a police officer. Would have made it too if it weren't for a lung infection that killed my ability to run. I think it was a response to having a father that was a police officer, to absorb anything I could about famous crimes, trying to make sense of why people do such horrible things. I've gotten away from it a little bit since becoming a mother, but it is still something I find fascinating. 

So. How am I doing? Am I a dick? Am I creepy?