A few weeks ago, in a two week period, two multi-billion dollar media companies, and, to be clear, I use the term "multi-billion dollar" literally, not figuratively, got to talking to me for a variety of reasons or the other about taking me, or what I do, or the Reverse Cowgirl, mainstream, or monetizing it, or something like that. This was, as these things are, flattering, although, to be clearer, I use the term "flattering" to mean, at this later date, a recipe for insanity. Life is never clear, is it? No, it is not. And yes, that was a rhetorical question. In any case, at the same time, I had a big "something" out, in that "it" was "being read" by "some people," and the entire situation, in which I felt I needed to appear to be "less porny" for one multi-billion dollar company while appearing "more porny" for another multi-billion dollar company, while appearing "something else yet to be determined" for another multi-billion dollar company, to be unpleasant, and here, to be clear, what I mean by "unpleasant," I mean to mean "the whole thing made me feel like my head was going to explode, and not in a good way." Eventually, the entire affair brought back memories of living in Los Angeles, also known as "Hollywood," and sometimes known as "Hell on Earth," a time that while "fun" for me was also "not fun," in that it led to a period of my life that was "less fun," and by "less fun," I mean a time in which I was out of my mind, a period that, to be frank, I'm not entirely sure is over. It is strange, you know, as I'm sure you don't, what it's like to be a sex writer. I mean, my resume is obscene, legally-speaking. What do you do when have never done anything else, and the opportunities presented to you make you feel like you are supposed to bend over like the company whore? I don't know. I suppose that's when you blog it.
