I’m Quitting… 08:30:2007

Mood: Thinking
Listening To: Timbaland f. Keri Hilson – The Way I R
Notes: If you’re offended, leave it in the comments, not my email inbox.  Thank you in advance.

So I wish I knew how to embed youtube videos in my blog, because I find the oddest, funniest, and coolest videos that I have no idea how to show except to link you the way I did with the  song above.   But for now, I’ll be satisfied with linking you.  It’s better than nothing, right?  I hope so.

I’ve been surfing the web tonight, and I’d like to give you guys some more links to check out, from people who were also in the adult industry, in many different forms.  Strippers like JCs Girls, hookers like Annie Lebert, even porn addicts like XXX Church.  It’s all really interesting to me, because for an industry that touts helping people accept their sexuality, on top of earning billions of dollars a year, so many people are coming out to say that it was killing them.  Makes a person wonder, no?

Oh, make no mistake, I’m not here to preach… not in the slightest way.  I think I don’t really have a lot to say about it, because I’m still in the life, and have been for a long while.  Of course, those who are True Christians™ will say I’m going to hell, and those who were Really Bad™ will say because I’ve never sold my body for money that I’m not really included in the adult industry.  Phone sex operators are a weird bunch, really, caught in the middle of not good enough and not nearly bad enough to be included in any group.  It’s a weird caste system, the adult industry.  Oddly enough, just like the church.

Don’t get me wrong, I want to quit, badly.  I’ve wanted to quit for about 8 months now, for my own reasons… but the thing about it is really simple:  The electric company doesn’t listen to, “Jesus told me to quit my job.”

I’ve been told (and I’m not embellishing at all) by Christians and Ministers alike, “Just quit your job!  Who cares if your car is repossessed? God will provide for you!  Who cares if you can’t pay your rent, at least you’re not working in the industry anymore.”

Let me tell you something, that’s easy for you to say when you get a steady check every two weeks from your 9 to 5, and all your bills are paid.  It’s really easy to tell someone else to  screw up their life and credit, in the monetary sense, and quit a job with nothing else on the horizon.  How do I look, needing 3 grand a month to survive, and quitting my job to go work at McDonald’s for $800.00 a month?  I’ve had people say, “Just ask your parents for the money!”

“Okay, dummy, why don’t I do that,” I want to say, “and while I’m at it, why don’t I just subtract 14 years off my age so I can be in junior high school again?”

  On top of that, because it is super cool not to care about anyone else’s financial situation as long as your own is covered… super cool.

I’m not saying God doesn’t provide, don’t get me wrong.  I am saying that everyone’s situation isn’t the same.  Maybe his plan for me is to work and transition myself out, like I am doing.  I’m quite sure his plan isn’t for me and everyone around me to go broke while trying to keep up with my bills and obligations.  I’m quite sure of that one.

I mean… man… we’ve all got a story, and although they sometimes sound alike, they are all different, because we are all different.  So let me do this my way, and please, for God’s sake, don’t send me another email or message on myspace telling me about how I’m going to hell.  I can’t tell you anything about how this is gonna work out, but I can tell you for sure, one thing that isn’t going to happen is me going to hell.  Thank you for your love and concern though, seriously.

The adult industry is one, that oddly enough, usually provides a person just enough to get by, seriously.  Don’t ever let anyone play you and tell you that it’s easy to get rich off of it, because it isn’t easy.  Not by a long shot.  For example, if you go on the right places in places like Craiglist, you can find ads that companies post, saying things like, “Make up to $4,000.00 a month!  Work at home, simple, easy adult chat line, looking for talkative women with great personalities!  Call [number] and leave a message!”

Let me tell you something, seriously (and sometime I will really break it down and prove it to you, but for now…) there is no way anyone is going to make $4,000.00 in a month working a phone sex line.  The truth is, unless you’re a pretty high profile adult model or porn star, you’re not making that kind of money either.  Hookers, unless they are “call girls” (which is just a pretty name for girls who charge more because they have all their teeth and great bodies) , even have a difficult time making that type of money.

I’ll tell you who’s making that money and above though – A pimp.  You can call it whatever the heck you want to call it, I call it pimping.  Whether it’s a big dude who will knock your teeth out when he wants to do so, or a huge company that takes more than 85% of the revenue you make for them while you whore your voice out, it doesn’t matter, it’s a pimp.    $24.00 an hour sounds like a lot, until you realise you’re making the company $300.00 an hour.

That is pimping.  Starving people by giving them a somewhat impressive salary, and hiding how much they are making you with every disgusting word they say… that is pimping.

By the way, any ladies here looking for advice on getting started, I’m just gonna tell you the truth:  Even if you do find a company that pays “up to $24 .00 an hour,” you’re not going to make it.   Just FYI.  I’m sure I’ll tell you why another day, just for now, know that you’re probably going to make $10.00 or less an hour, and most likely it will be less.  I also advise you, if you think you won’t care or that you don’t need to worry about it, you’ll just be one more in the line of silly women who are getting pimped.  Don’t make this your slogan:

I’m not angry anymore, I’m not bitter… I’m just putting the truth out there.  I’m tired of people lying.  Phone sex operators all over will tell you what a great gig it is, and the truth is, it’s not a great gig.  It’s disgusting, you’re treated like a cooch without a brain, they talk to you whatever little way they want to that day, say things that affect your sex drive and your normal life, and you get a paltry, piddly, penny-ante check to compensate you for your trouble. 

I’m quitting.  Not today, maybe not tomorrow, but trust, I won’t be doing this too much longer.

Big Fat Fatty… You Big Fat Fatty! 08:28:2007

Mood: Contemplative
Listening To: Last Night – Diddy f. Keyshia Cole
Notes: If this has a crabby tone to it, it’s because I’m feeling crabby, people!

Is it so wrong that I like Press Play? In fact, my ex told me a long time ago that it was hot, but I don’t have that New York State of Mind, so I wasn’t feeling it. But the song Last Night? It’s just hot. It’s actually so hot that I can forgive P.Did./Diddy/Daddy/-insertnextnamehere- for being so glossy. I mean, let’s face it, I think the brotha probably wears more expensive lip gloss than I do. It’s worth mentioning, that’s all I’m gonna say, people. That’s it. He’s glossy! But I’m gonna let that go, because Press Play is really hot.

I’ll even forgive Keyshia Cole for being the reported diva that “sources” [meaning angry friends] say she is in her daily life. So she’s a diva, who cares? Her voice is amazing, and she’s the truth. You may not like K.C. or P.Did, but you can’t deny when something is fire.

Man, and can I say, I am literally exhausted today? I’m gonna say it anyway, without waiting for an answer. I’m exhausted. That feeling is actually how today’s blog came into existence.

Now Playing: It’s So Hard To Say Goodbye To Yesterday – BoyzIIMen

I do love old school BIIM. Back to why I’m exhausted… Oddly enough, this week in my life, I’d already made the decision to actively join a gym and work my way up to working out 5 or 6 times a week. I’m an aggressive person, so I do everything in an aggressive way, like working out twice a day until I get where I want to be, and then doing some 3x weekly upkeep on where I’m at.

Now Playing: Movin’ On – Elliott Yamin

So today, I went to a little 24-hour spot around my way, no swimming pool or anything, but if I want to go watch cable and work myself into a frenzy on the elliptical, then I can do that, and it’s not expensive either. I’ve been thinking lately, why it seems like all phone sex operators are chunky, fat, or morbidly obese women. Now Now Now… NOW HOLD ON— I hear you already opening your mouth, I didn’t say we all are, I said it seems like we all are chubby ladies. So if you’re a phone lady reading this, or you know a phone lady, hold your horses, because I didn’t just say you were a fatty. I don’t want any mean emails coming through my inbox.

Truth be told though, most guys on the phone ask me, “So are you really 5’7” and 120 or are you fat and ugly like most people say phone sex operators are?

“No, dummy, I look like this all day.”

I’d like to say to them, “Even if I was fat and/or ugly, do you really think after you asked it that way I would tell you that I was fat and/or ugly,” then I’d pause for a long while and whisper, “ya silly son of a bitch.”

But instead I just and try to keep myself calm. Another day maybe, we’ll talk about how horrible the communication level of most of the callers is… but today, I’ll just talk about what simpletons they are sometimes. <laughs>

Now Playing: Stranger In My House (Club Mix) – Tamia

I digress, back to the truthful answer that I never provide to the callers. The truth is, I’m not 5’7″ and I don’t weigh 120 pounds. I’m 5’1″ on a good day, and although I’m not morbidly obese, or even “fat” (which I define as stomach larger than posterior end, has trouble climbing 5 stairs, etc…), I am a curvy girl. Chunky, fluffy, BBW, whatever you want to call it, I’m not a supermodel, and have never been one.

I know lots of ladies who have the same job I do, and they are all, without fail, heavy ladies. Now, I must pause and say, that word “heavy” is a blanket term and I’m using it to cover women who are 30 pounds overweight to 100lbs overweight as well. It’s always weird to me that people are so shocked that phone sex operators are big ladies. I mean:
1. She works 10 or more hours per day, sitting most of that time,
2. She doesn’t have to walk to her office from her car, she only has to walk from her bed to her office, if she even leaves the bed,
3. She doesn’t have an active job. She works, sits, eats, sits, poops, sits, sleeps, sits, reads, sits, watches, sits, emails, sits, works, sits… get it?

I mean, when it all comes down to it, it’s a great recipe for gaining weight.
You don’t do anything but sit and eat.

I have to confess, I fell into that pattern as well. I mean, a phone girl who is really about her money is working the craziest hours anyone can think of, because guys who call lines don’t call at “normal” hours. I mean, peak money-making hours are between 10p.m. and 4a.m., between 6a.m. and 7:30a.m., and between 5p.m. and 8p.m. (and that last one is kind of iffy, depending upon if the guy has a family he has to pretend he cares about, then there’s dinner to be served, people!).

Now Playing: I Drove All Night – Celine Dion

So we sleep odd hours and when you’re cooped up inside your house… well, let’s explore that, shall we? How many hours does the average person who works 40 hours per week and spends 30 minutes in the car each way spend away from the house? That would equal 45 hours for you slowpokes out there. Well, that’s 45 hours that I’m inside my house. Then, if I sleep 6 to 8 hours a day, that’s 42 to 56 hours… wait for it… in. my. house. Lastly, don’t ever let anyone tell you that this job doesn’t separate a girl from normalcy. If she makes friends, then great for her, but most phone ladies aren’t the most popular people you’ll ever meet, so the rest of her time is either with her kids, family, or by herself.

What am I getting at? It’s depressing. It’s a depressing job, and life, when you do it full time. Stress eating, depression eating, stuffing your face to stuff the feelings. It happens, and I’m a firm believer that the things I’ve said today are probably a huge part of the reason why most phone ladies are fatties. I say that word with love, because although I’m smaller now, I still consider myself a chubby bunny.

So, having said all that, I’ve decided to fight it, actively, before I wake up and find myself weighing 400 pounds, praying that I don’t choke on an Oreo while I talk to some stranger about adult activities. I jest! I kid! … I’d probably choke on a Fig Newton. I don’t like Oreos.

-Geisha

Are You Really The Man, John-Boy? 08:24:2007

Mood: pensive… reflecting
Listening To: I Will Always Love You – Whitney Houston
Notes: Names are always changed to protect the not-so-innocent and my checkbook.

So there are a few things on my mind, but I don’t feel like making an outline… so I’ll just freestyle it like I do when performing in such luxurious venues as my bathroom as my alter-ego M.C. Chickn Biscuit. Today I found a partner in crime, MC BOO TEE, and we’ve decided that when we drop our first LP on wax it’ll be called Chickn N BOO TEE.

Sucka MCZ betta watch out! Break yo-self, FOO!

And… now that we’re done with that, back to me acting like I have some sense. A 7 year old kid told me I was immature today. Sadly, that made me feel great about myself, because I’m 28. She even called her mum on her brand new “RAZR wit tha K” phone and told her that she’d met (and I quote), “A really cool lady that acts like a kid from school.” Which then made me feel really bad because she’s in second grade.

I’m singing along with Whitney Houston at the top of my lungs, and I’m thinking about the caller presently known as John-Boy. That is nothing near his real name, but I had to talk with him for 40 minutes today, and I figure someone should benefit from our conversation, other than him of course. So while Whit sings about getting so emotional and being shocked, I’ll tell you about John-Boy. Chatty Chuck, I might even call him from time to time… Loquacious Lawrence, even. Talkative Terry… I mean good heavens, it’s rare for them to even want to tell a girl their names, he wanted me to know his blood type, last 4 of his social number, his mama’s name, and the best food she’d ever made for him.

I wanted to ask him why he didn’t just talk to his mama, because it seemed like they were close, but we can’t bring up the mamas… or the papas. Which is odd because I think it’s okay to talk about Puff Daddy… maybe because he’s shiny? Face it, ladies and gents, the brotha is glossy.

Back to Verbose Vincent, after telling me about his childhood dream of becoming an airplane pilot, he not-so-smoothly segued into “adult” subject matter, which is fine with me, because it’s what I deal with 110% of the time. I don’t mind guys who come in and chat a bit and then get to rubbing one out, it’s part of it. What I mind are losers who call and .. well… the conversation goes something like this:

The Geisha: Hello?
Random Guy #9382372: I want you to tell me how you’re going to [adult activity]
The Geisha: What?
Random Guy #9382372: I want you to tell me how you’re going to [adult activity] *moan*
The Geisha: Uhm… what’s your name?
Random Guy #9382372: YOU DON’T NEED TO WORRY ABOUT MY NAME, SLUT.
The Geisha: Okay… well, I’m… Vivian. What do you look like?
Random Guy #9382372: *click*

And that’s the end of that call. </fake happiness>

But John-Boy, he wasn’t like that all, in fact quite the opposite… so much so that I began to think he’d never called a line before (they all have to start somewhere), but if you’re seasoned at all in this, a girl quickly learns never to make a final decision about the caller until they hang up. I’m not joking.

For example, some guys will call and they’ll sound really down, like frighteningly down, tell you they have this big problem or some such nonsense. If I was dumb, I’d fall for it from time to time, because they sound so convincing that I believe they could win academy awards for the performance. So you play along, see if he really has a problem (.00001% of the time, this actually happens) or if he’s running some sort of crazy, weird, non-acceptance-of-my-own-sexual-fixations game (the rest of the time, this is what happens). They’ll cry, they’ll tell you they are suicidal, depressed, they drink a lot, take drugs, or whatever is on their list of reasons you should feel sorry enough for them to listen to some oddball story that they will wank it to, while you listen like the poor, stupid sap you are.

I remember once, a guy called me sobbing. He told me that his best friend had been assaulted sexually the day before this call he’d made to me. He was crying hysterically, talking about how he’d always loved her. This was the first time I met a Story Guy. I felt so bad for this man. He asked me if I’d ever been through it and I said yes I had, because I have been assaulted in the past. He asked me what had happened to me, told me if I felt like talking to him about it and telling him how he could support his friend… and for a minute I actually believed this dude… until I heard the tell-tale shortened breath of a man in the throes of “passion.”

This man was actually going to have me relive one of the most painful moments of my life so that he could rub one out to it. It was really at that moment that I realised lying was the best thing I could ever learn how to do. I have since then, never told a single person on a line anything true about myself. I’m not even a part of that crazy equation, only the made up girls who moan for them exist while I’m on the line.

But I digress: John-Boy is tonight’s spotlight star, and he definitely deserves it. I was truly thinking this guy was shy, maybe he’d never called before, maybe he’d never even been with a woman before, and didn’t know how to go about talking to one. So I was more gentle with him than I usually am with the usual abusive, lonely caller. Then it happened; John-Boy flipped on me. I mean… this cat flipped it upside down like Diana Ross sang about in that disco song.

All of a sudden he was saying, “Tell me I’m the man, whore.”

I actually said, “Okay. You’re the man, dude,” because I had no clue what was going on… at all.

Then… John-Boy did it… this mugafooka asked me to cheer for him. Like a cheerleader. He wanted me to jump up and down, and clap my hands while I said, “YOU’RE THE MAN, JOHN-BOY!” over and over… like a mantra.

He wanted me to cheer.

I have had some of the dumbest requests known to man in the time I’ve been a phone girl, but I have never had someone ask me to get my round ass up and cheer. This mofo asked me to do a cheer and say, “You’re the man.”

I wish I would have cheered for his ass. I wish I would have been dumb enough to stand up and jump up and down and cheer for him, for any amount of money. I mean, can you see that on the headlines? “Chunky Girl Shatters Entire Left Leg While Cheering For Sex Caller .”

I think I must have mumbled the words, “You’re the man, John-Boy,” something like… 60 times before he finished his business. After he finished, he told me he was in love with me. <shaking head>

Yes, John-Boy, wherever you are tonight, you’re the man.
-geisha