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.

And Now, With a Special Segment: 08:23:2007

Mood: Planning, Conspiring
Listening to: Celine Dion – I’m Alive
Drinking: Hot Coffee [yum!]
Notes: All my links open in a new window. My blog is best viewed in Firefox with CoolIris or another preview extension. There will never be any adult oriented photos on this blog.

In the time that I’ve typed that introduction, things have changed, I’m now currently listening to I Drove All Night by Celine Dion, because I love her and she is <French accent>The Greatest Singa in De Wuhld</French Accent>! I guess I’m the only one who saw that SNL episode? I should hope not, that’s before it became UnFunny™.

I’ve spent the first part of this morning cleaning, taking out garbage [ugh… Thursdays], thinking about lying, and flat ironing my hair. Can I just say it looks fly? Seriously. My head looks awesome… I almost want to kiss it, but that’s somewhat impossible. Regardless, I only wrote that as a way to fish for compliments from unsuspecting passer-by about how beautiful I must be and that he [or she] can’t wait to see the photos I’m putting up after I finish with some upcoming shoots. I’m currently experimenting with hairstyles that will look good in print.

Also, this is why you should never lie:  one has to continue to lie to cover up one’s initial lie.  If “one” (that would be me) is a bad liar, one eventually has to swallow … screw this.  I was kind of ashamed of telling so much of myself, especially to some of the coolest people I have known in a while.  I didn’t know if they would really visit, and i didn’t want them to think bad of me if they found out more about me than they’d known.  God only knows if they’ll visit again, but if they do,  I’m sorry I lied to you guys.  In the future, I will grow a pair and just say what is true, and nothing more.

Ah, the small things are what make me happy. Now over to “Linda” [who is really me, there is no one else <LAUGHS>] for the special segment I’ve been stewing on for about 8 hours.

It’s about … ooooooooh… taboo. I said taboo, people! That means someone needs to make an audible gasp, please. <Cue Audible Gasp> I won’t discuss specifics this time around, just the general practices of what I do. I don’t know if most of you could stomach specifics, to be honest. I don’t want to mislead any of you, this isn’t a pretty place, where I work, and because most of you either don’t work here or call, I don’t think I should force the specifics onto the uninitiated readers.

There’s a link above, but for those of you lazy ones who didn’t click, taboo is loosely “defined” (meaning: in my own words) as something banned because of values, morals, and/or law. In the case of my job, it means things that are illegal in most, all, and/or any state in this great US of A in which I live… somewhat happily.

This blog really isn’t about what I think about it, but rather that I worked (for a long time) for a company that dealt with it openly and almost exclusively. There are only a few companies in America that deal on what is called a “No Taboo” policy, which is a nice way to say, “Free For All.” Anything goes, and believe me, when I say anything, I mean anything. I’d never in my life been subjected to listening to such… garbage. Disgusting garbage, where people said the most… frightening, sickening things, and were basically congratulated for those deviant fantasies, and rewarded by stupid women who didn’t know a face from a hole in the ground by being given exactly what they asked for, down to childish voices that would make someone normal say, “Is your mother home, little girl?”

Where I worked, that was okay. That was better than okay, it was… employee of the month stuff. If a person was like me in refusing to do it, and instead chose to act like a woman of intelligence by redirecting the call to another subject (which the majority of callers would grudgingly accept and begin to talk about another subject which was just as deviant but legal), they were abused. I wasn’t, because I’d learned tricks that I attempted to teach the other women when I started to train them, but they were abused… hardcore abuse, too.

I had women call me at devilish hours of the morning crying, telling me someone had yelled at the top of their lungs, screaming at the girl, “You’re worthless, all you’ll ever be good for is talking about [fellatio] all day, you can’t even do porn because you’re probably [fat].” Young mothers would call me and tell me they could no longer bathe or breast feed their children after working a long shift. Older women would call and say they were depressed because someone had suggested they end their lives because they were over the hill and worthless anyway. I mean, these people did their best to take out every frustration they had ever had on these women, who would in turn take it and cry because there was no way they would leave their paycheck behind, wondering where else they would go to make as much money as they made with this company.

The sad thing is, most… and by most I mean 75% of them weren’t even making $10.00 an hour. I’m not kidding. These women were so beaten, so broken, that they believed all that abuse plus the subject matter was what they deserved in life. Some of them were proud of it, wearing their ability to mimic those little voices like a badge. Yeah, some of them were proud… but most were just broken.

It amazes people to know that there are places in America that pedophiles can go and be not only accepted but loved, and I’m here to tell you, from first-hand experience, those places exist, and are making money hand-over-fist.

Andy over at Misanthropy Today had a great blog, which caused a bit of a stir, about To Catch a Predator (he called it To Catch A Pervert) and his opinion on it. I’d chimed in, which is how we met -great guy by the way- and told him of my feelings on the subject. I firmly believe, from hearing some of the conversations I heard that after so long, a guy with those fixations and obsessions can only talk about them so long, with someone who sounds so young, until he needs to go out and fulfill those fantasies. You can’t wave drugs in front of a junkie for months and expect him never to shoot up. You can’t wave Jack and Coke in front of an alcoholic for long and expect her to stay sober. Yes, I said her, I talked to women who had those deviant fantasies as well.

Without fail, every time, until I left that place, I redirected calls, and gave the guys [and gals] a choice: You can talk about [deviant subject matter] or you can choose someone else. Of course I didn’t say it that way, that’s why it’s called redirecting instead of shuttin’ ’em down. I refused, every time, to put on that voice, although I can, and do very well. I refused to help someone grow that fixation until they needed to hurt someone who couldn’t fight back. Beyond that, even though I usually ended up making $14.00 or $16.00 an hour [more than most women], it wasn’t enough to make me sell my soul.

I’m one of the few that can say this: My soul is worth more than a paycheck, no matter the amount.

I don’t work for them anymore, I’ve since moved on to a more established company that does not deal with that subject matter at all. I won’t lie and say it’s any better, but I’ll explore that in another blog. For now, at least someone has finally said that there are, indeed, places that wave children around like drugs in front of junkies. For now, that’ll do.

Until we meet again,
Geisha

Can Someone Remind Me…

That WORK = PAYCHECKS?

Mood: uninterested
Listening to: Jamie Foxx – Love Changes f. Mary J. Blige
Notes: All links open in a new window, and my blog is most easily viewed in firefox with a CoolIris or other such previewer exetension.

I need to work today, and I’ve made a few decisions. Firstly, I’m going to write in a more relaxed manner from now on, using ‘you’ and such when I type, rather than a more formal way… unless people have an issue with that? Leave a comment and tell me. Secondly, I’ve realised that it’s perfectly okay for me to tell you that I hate my job. It’s perfectly okay for me to tell you the truth, and hopefully, some poor, sad sap will see this and realise that either:

a. She doesn’t want to do this, or
b. He doesn’t want his girlfriend/wife to do this.

So those are my decisions and what I will be blogging about today. Dammit, I don’t want to work, I mean who really does? Regardless of what your job is, unless you’re a workaholic, and even then it isn’t a surety, no one wants to go to work. We still do it though… and why? I think the answer is clear: We’re gold diggers. I think we’re all gold diggers in a way. Whores for a paycheck, some of us just moan for them.
I mean, I’m not saying my job is all glamour and ooh-la-la… because trust me, it’s not. This job sucks ass, and not in the good way that you don’t tell your friends about the next day at the water cooler. It sucks ass in the bad way… the bad way where you wash and wash… and never feel clean. The bad way. I will also say though, that I think most jobs suck ass… in the bad way. Mine just happens to be a job where I have to talk about sucking ass. <laughs>

and by the way… if anyone wants to make me very happy for a very long time by purchasing me these fabulous… fabulous Christian Louboutins… be sweet and contact me. <giggles prettily>

“Thanks for the weather, Chuck, and now, back to talking about sucking ass… -_- “

Lately I’ve been feeling very happy, looking forward to my relocation to the NYC area, networking, getting representation to make this craziness into a book</shameless plug>, and being happy with The Geisha as she exists. I’m happy with The Geisha now, so that when I’m even better, I’ll be just as happy. Love to say it ladies, small asses do not equal happiness. In truth, they don’t even equal more penis, so why think that a small ass will make you happy? It won’t.

“No seriously, CHUCK, back to the damn news about sucking ass… -_-“

People always say, “How can you hate your job? You work at home, you can go to work naked!”

Trust me, ya’ll, I do. Every day. Okay, not completely, but I do go to work in panties and my hair looks like Don King shoved his finger in a light socket, but that’s not a good point about my job. It’s a good point about being lazy. I have to alternate between polishing my nails [for the 5th time that day], reading books, drinking dinner [when you don’t do a lot at work, you can’t eat a lot… unless you want to have a heart attack from moaning and eating a chicken sandwich at the same time], watching movies, and rolling my eyes just to stay awake while these nasty bastards tell me about their pantyhose fetishes and need for someone to vomit on them to do their business.

It’s a nasty job, filled with nasty people, who talk about nasty subjects. It’s actually, point of fact, a disgusting job, filled with … well you get it. I mean, the list of things I have to talk about/listen to… it’s endless and never normal. By normal, I mean the guy calls and says, “I just want to have sex with you.”

Because they never say that. They say, “I want to have sex with you and choke you until you pass out, you whore.”

“Thanks for that, Chuck.”

They’re all so angry and lonely. They’re all so hopeless and alone, that they literally can’t communicate normally. They seem to need to be evil to get themselves going toward an orgasm. The thing is, though, that even though some of us are smart and realise it isn’t really us they’re railing at, but themselves, after a while it starts to grate on me. I mean really dig at me, that I have to make such a paltry amount to have someone call me anything but a child of God.

When I say paltry amount, trust me, I make the most a phone lady can make, and I always have. Always will, actually, because I know what I’m doing, but…. there are some women who go through this and only make 7 or 8 dollars an hour. I’ll be damned if anyone is gonna call me a fuckslut while they jack it for 7 bucks an hour, when he’s paying 5 bucks a minute to do it.

“On the news at 10, we’ll be discussing paychecks and the shitty wages phone sex operators make, back to you Linda!”