Current Mood: Surprised

So yeah, I was pretty sure I was dying the night before last.

We’d spent the day with Joe’s family, re-settling his mother back home, and generally doing our damnedest to keep her horizontal as she’d just gotten out of the hospital.  And aside from twisting a bit oddly to talk with her in the car so she wouldn’t have to herself on the way home, I don’t recall doing anything particularly strenuous.

But by that night, I was in constant pain.  My upper back was sore, I mumbled “WTF?” to myself and The Man incessantly, but was soon whining it, and by the time Joe’d dropped off to sleep at around 1am, I had stabbing pains in my chest with every breath, was yelping out loud, and was beginning to consider going to the hospital.

But Joe had just dropped off (although if I’d really shook his ass n said “Let’s go,” he would have gotten up).  And I wanted to drop off, too.  I was sleepy, almost comfy despite the increasing pain in my back and chest, and I literally, genuinely hate sitting in the emergency room.  No matter what you’re there for, it takes hours to get through and nine times out of ten, it turns out to be something incredibly stupid and embarrassing you could have cured yourself with, say, a good strong laxative (never mind).  Sigh.

Having decided that, I drifted off to an uncomfortable sleep.

And woke up yesterday morning in utter agony.  Couldn’t get a deep breath at all, constant grinding pain up around my shoulder blades that speared through my chest and out the front, to the point where I seriously was beginning to fearfully wonder about things like heart attacks, blood clots that had broken free and were impishly floating around my chest cavity and, of course, the Big C itself:  lung cancer.

I mean, I DO eat two packs of cigarettes a day, and have done so for at least twenty years.  I know I’m not SuperGirl and I fully understand that it will catch up with me at some point.

So, two hours after Joe left for work, I called his ass back and we went to the emergency room.  By now I was weak, dizzy, in agony, yelling in pain with every movement, distinctly short of breath and mentally planning the first internet funeral.

It took an hour to make it to the Triage counter and then after that, things moved briskly.  So briskly in fact that I began to get some pretty good stinkeye from the other patrons and was well beyond the mental planning stage of that World’s First Internet Funeral and was joking out loud about it with Joe, who um….didn’t think it was a good idea.  Lol.

Apparently what was going on with me looked serious enough.  In the hour following seeing the Triage nurse, I had an ECG, saw a doctor who said my heart looked fine and that we should concentrate on my lungs, and was thus hustled away for chest Xrays.  In the next hour, I inhaled some radioactive stuff (”You’re not pregnant are you?” smiled the tech) and had a 40 minute nap in what looked like a ride at MarineLand after having more radioactive stuff shot into my arm, apparently to facilitate an adequately luminous glow to my lungs.

“Oh yeah,” I thought, fearfully beginning to snuffle and leak around the eyes.  “I’m toast.  This sucks.”  There was no way they’d spend all this time, energy, and nuclear equipment on little old me without some pretty serious cause.  I knew it.  I was fucked.  So, we began to mentally pull for “blood clot,” since we’d heard they can be dissolved with asperin, as opposed to invasive surgery that would leave me with horrid incisions and scars impossible to hide from the camera.

Hey, I do porn, here, remember?  My tits and their surrounding tissues are tools as important to my work as a stethoscope is to a doctor’s.  It’s an Official Issue.

By now I was ensconced in a wheelchair and had my very own orderly to shove it around and still wasn’t breathing very well.  But I had managed to procure a blankee and was pretty comfortable, despite that and the fact that I was obviously dying of some horrible disease.

In the next hour, they took blood from me and in return, gave me 6 pills in a little cup, then fitted me with some dangly stuff hanging from a needle buried in my arm, in preparation for an IV.  “Yep.  Toast.”  I thought, and hoped I’d last long enough to outlive my dad, so he wouldn’t have to deal with the loss.  We were told that the next step was diagnosis, as soon as the results of all this work came back and to piss off for an hour.  So off we went to a fabulous cafeteria that had everything from sushi to mashed potatoes.  “At least when I’m admitted for my final days, I’ll have something decent to eat,” I thought.

The pills were kicking in by now and my, my, my….  If this was the sort of ride I had to look forward to, then this whole “dying” thing might not be so bad.  Lo and behold, I could breathe again!  Tension around my upper torso eased and I could actually yawn, cough, and (best of all, of course) smoke an entire cigarette!!  Wow, neat!

After a light meal of a lovely thick cream of mushroom soup for me and crappy fajitas for Joe, back we went to Urgence.  I was feeling improved enough to be something close to my usual chatty, gossipy little self and observed that considering everything that had been done to me, at least I could console myself that I hadn’t wasted a hospital visit or health care resources (not to mention Joe’s entire work day — he’d picked me up around noon and by now it was almost seven).  Obviously something was up with me, and it’s always best to know, right?  To catch these things early, while they can still be treated?  Although I did add snidely that there were several other people around us who didn’t exactly really seem to need to be there.  People do abuse the health care system most terribly.

Sigh.

Finally the big moment came.  By now I fancied I was getting looks of sympathy from the other patrons, as opposed to the “Why the fuck does SHE get to go through so fast?” looks I’d been getting before, and my name was called to get a verdict.  Bravely seating ourselves and gearing up for whatever horrible news they were about to tell us, a little brunette doctor who looked all of 22 told us everything looked fine and that it was definitely a muscular issue.

“WHAT??” I shrilled.  And I do believe I threw a few OMG’S in there, too.  Yep, I’d pulled or strained or twisted something in my upper back that was basically restricting my torso and causing that suspiciously impaired breathing action and by the way, how were the meds doing?

“Fine, I feel great!” I stammered like Porky Fucking Pig.  I was utterly flabbergasted and felt a giggling fit coming on.  Joe’s mouth was already twitching, and the doctor no doubt thought we were nuts, although she was kind enough to bestow a prescription on me for more of those fabulous painkillers.  And basically, at that point we were done, except for needing another nurse to yank out the arm jewelry dangling out of my vein.  I felt incredibly stupid, and was already mentally swearing up and down that this was IT, goddamnit:  until I actually started puking up gouts of blood and maybe a few mangled fetuses, this was my last trip to Urgence.  “People who abuse the health care system,” indeed.

My embarrassment and paranoia kicked back in and I was pretty sure I was getting Stinkeye Syndrome again, especially when my name erupted three more times over the PA system.  Only the third call got me freed of the IV line hanging off me.  The first two calls were to go for more Xrays, and then to get more meds because they were pretty sure no one had done these things yet.  “No, really I’m fine.  The doctor said I’m done, I can go,” I told them.  “Then what the hell are you doing here?” their bemused faces replied.

By now, the absurdities were killing me, and I was certain we were on Candid Camera (or maybe TV’s Just For Laughs sketch show, where they set up local Montrealers to go through silly hidden-camera situations) and was bubbling with shocked, embarassed laughter.  Now that he’d learned I wasn’t dying and he wasn’t going to have to be a common-law widower by 38, Joe’s amazing 8-hour long run of patience ran out and all he wanted was the couch.  So home we came to supply him with one.

But once again….oh…my…god.  I’m still embarassed as hell, but man, I have totally gained a whole new appreciation for being Canadian.   When I imagine what it would be like to spend 8 hours sucking up medical resources somewhere without a public health care system, only to find out I’m suffering from a goddamn backache, I shudder.  Wow. “Here’s a bill for $138 000 and by the way…it’s a backache.”  Yowch.

Just thought I’d share that little saga with you…partly in praise of my amazingly patient honey, my country’s killer health care system and because I thought it was funny as hell (in retrospect).  Now I return you to your regularly scheduled porn.

Mina xoxoxo

Current Mood: Playful

Well, well, darlings happy Weekend and it’s update time again here at Ye Olde Smut Centrale.  I’m happy to finally have some good news to report, as the last few weeks have rather sucked fucking ass, except for a few aforementioned highlights.  Between having my main computer crap out, the merry-go-round it took get another one with spex that were actually agreed upon, and other irritating trifles, I’ll say again what I’ve said before:  doing porn for a living rocks!  Mostly because if I’d have had to deal with a “REAL” job on top of all the other shit, someone would have been a hurting unit.

Mostly.

Having indulged my last (hopefully, hahah) public rant for the month of July, let’s get to what was great about July:

Smoking Mina members thought a recent smoking phone sex video was pretty great:

Joe is out of town but calls just as I’m about to light a Misty 120.  We’re both horny and he just loves hearing me smoke as I play with my pussy:  those deeply audible drags, my sensual moans….  But if he wants anything more, he’ll have to get his ass home!

Montreal Dream members thought seeing sexy tattooed French chick Coccibee naked again and crawling all over my kitchen counters was really great:

XxxMina Members thought it was totally great when we were invited over to visit a friend’s hot new condo and enjoyed a proper peek at my new red hair’s latest incarnation:

A friend of ours invited us over to hang out in his hot new condo one night. Of course, being us, I always carry a dildo and Joe always carries a camera. As soon as the guy stepped out to grab a fresh baguette, I just had to get Joe to shoot me during a little sneaky self-pleasuring!

And Glamour Smokers always think natural-tittied Christina is great, especially when she smokes a sexy 120, exhales pretty white clouds and does it in a red hot corset:

Wow, I don’t know about the rest of you, but in retrospect, July is looking pretty fucking hot to me now!   See, it’s all about perspective and that’s another thing this whole “indie smut for a living” thing does for you:  puts all the petty and trivial bullshit into perspective.  How bad can things reeeeeeally be?  We do porn!!

And August is set to be even hotter, and you need to stay with me right through it all.  Pick your favorite pretty poison, and then get your ass inside.

In other news, I think we’re looking at a quiet weekend here at home.  We’ve got some family dinner action in a couple of hours, but otherwise, both of us seem to be on what I call “work kicks.”  All we really want to do is play with our porn, me especially now that I’ve got a “main” workhorse of a computer again.   Sooo much hot dirty indie action to catch up on, not the least of which is a little communique with my Strokers and Minions.  Not having had email the last couple of weeks, I’ve been mostly staying in touch via Twitter and the members area messageboards, and I’m sure I owe several of you a note.  And I’d also like to thank Mina Members for their patience with SpyCams popping on and off because I had to share a laptop with Joe.

Your patience is rewarded, I’m back up and running to full capacity, max output and of course, now that the storm has passed, am ready to celebrate it all with a higher sex drive than ever.  My goodness fucking me, the rest of the summer is indeed going to be a hot and sticky one.

Happy weekend, Mina xoxoxo

Current Mood: Esctatic

..fuck, we had a good time last night. Considering what this post is about, I couldn’t resist that for an opening line. I mean, we did just watch Tarantino’s Death Proof again and “Jungle Julia’s” soliloquy on appropriate hook-ups remains a favorite bit.

I often tell people with questions about what it takes to do porn on the internet for a living, full-time: “Mostly a good streak of hermit.” But with the Just For Laughs Festival in town, it’s a good time to grab some friends and get the hell out.

Which is what we did a week or so ago, to take in The Nasty Show (look it up), and again last night to see Patrice Oneal

with some friends at the Theatre Ste. Catherine. I have no idea how big this guy is worldwide or anything, but he’s American so you may know who he is. If not, find out. Scout out some clips on the internet. Then go see him. My favorite comic growing up was Eddie Murphy (remember, before he had kids and went all PG-13 and shit?) and this guy’s one of the best I’ve seen since him.

He’s funny as hell, puts on a great show and relies on more than just the usual shit-talking, misogynistic shock tactics a lot of comics think they can get by on today. Oh, don’t worry, there’s plenty of that, but he somehow manages to do it intelligently, with a sense of fun, and without coming off as an angry asshole who’s had to fight for too many blowjobs. Aside from having us in stitches, his last bit pretty much had me in tears, too — laughing that hard, with that much mascara on is always risky, but it was worth each sticky black smear on my cheeks.

So the show ends, we file out, and the Big Man Himself (and he IS a big guy, and I think the female half of the couple we went out with…um…likes it, heehee…) is already outside at the door for a little meet n greet n Thanks For Comings (which I thought was very fricking cool. It rocks catching performers who are good enough to pay to go see, but not so big yet that they’re pulling celebrity diva shit. Joe got a handshake in, too, yay you, baby!). We hung about outside with our friends and the rest of the crowd, milling around, reminiscing our favorite bits and squawking “Omigod, I KNOW!”, when lo and behold, my honey says to me, “Isn’t that…um…that guy you like from… He’s on (This Hour has) 22 Minutes.”

Now, I’m actually not crazy about that show. It’s what Joe watches while I clean up the kitchen after supper, but I looked around, then embarrassingly (yet delightedly) burst into full jumping-jack mode in my long bad-ass leather coat, with half my tits out, hyperactively burbling, “OMG! OMG! It’s…..it’s….um….that guy! It’s Shaun Majumder!!!”

pretty much totally ruining the Goth Sex Kitten thing I had going on.

That’s right, Shaun. And you missed it! Actually, what I think I said was “Majunder.” I suck at names, and was semi-proud to remember more than just “Shaun” or “that hot half-Indian/half-Newfie guy.”

And that would have been the end of it, although I did confide a dorky desire to go play goofy fan. But I stalwartly resisted, despite a distinct bit of girly giddiness. I’ve sworn 100 times that if I ever saw a celebrity I liked, my mission in life would thus become NOT to swarm them (unless it’s Jonathon Davis

in which case I might try to make like a liana vine. Sorry, hon.)

But Majumder’s pretty much my favorite active comic right now, and I recall mentioning his act to Joe like 2 years ago during a conversation about comedians, and I’m always riveted when he’s on Just For Laughs on TV. Except then we got to debating whether or not he was on Vince Vaughn’s Wild West Comedy Show (which we’d rented recently, and by the way: he wasn’t), went back and forth a bit, until finally I said “Fuck it, I’m going to ask him.” Joe cracked up and came along to watch me dork out, lol.

And dork out I did *sigh* but he very nicely let me interrupt his conversation with friends and introduce myself and Joe, shook both our hands and I’m relieved to report that I managed to

• refrain from poking the front of his VERY tight shirt to see if his chest was as hard as it looked.
• make myself shut the bloody fuck up after only 2 “We love youuus!”
• curb an absolutely moronic urge to announce that I do porn at the top of my lungs.

So I maintained a little self-respect, not to mention boyfriend-respect, lol. Yay me. I stayed cool.

His shirt really was pretty tight, though. *Ahem*

Joe also very sweetly reassured me, as we were walking to the car, that he really did look as though he appreciated being recognized and complimented, when I squirmed out loud about just how lame that might have been. So much for my Celebrity Mission In Life.

And of course, only later did I realize that Oneal had been standing right there, part of the group Shaun had been chatting with and, despite paying to see him, there I was at Majumder burbling “We love youu!!” Oops, lol. Sorry, Bigman.

But anyway, we had a great time, and should you catch either of them playing anywhere or Shaun in a movie or on tv (seems to act as much do stand-up), bloody well see them. And Shaun and Patrice, should you remain mortal enough to still be Googling yourselves (hell, I still do) and find this post blurbing your praises, I just want you both to remember…

…that I do porn.

No! *Ahem* I mean, you both rock! Lol.

In other news, today we’ve got a BBQ to go to, with some other friends. Should be a good time and I hope it doesn’t rain.

*Insert dorky girlie moment here:* Yay, another opportunity to wear my sexy new red jeans. *End dorky girlie moment.*

In other other news, my fricking main computer is still in the goddamn shop and the one they’re building for me now has suffered a setback. I’ll spare you the details, but basically I still can’t get at my email, am still stuck on this laptop, if you want to contact me, you STILL have to do it via Twitter or the members area messageboards, and I’m beginning to go insane from the mess on my desk. Monday, maybe? Motherfuck! I mean *ahem* le sigh.

Everyone have a great weekend, and remember that I do porn!

Mina xoxoxo

Current Mood: Playful

Just had to dash in here quickly to tell you all that live right now on my LivingRoomCam is fab gothabilly babe Violet Manson:

I’m sure you’re all with me when I say, “Welcome back, darling!”  Joe’s got her modeling today for Montreal Dream and Glamour Smokers for the next two hours.

Myself, I’m holed up in the office and about to work on hot new video smut, but I did want to take a moment to brag…er blog….yeah, brag, hehehe.

Enjoy, Mina xoxoxo

Current Mood: Cool

…hot new live smut that is.  It’s rainy, crappy, and muggy as hell so what better way to combat a grey day than to crank up the air conditioners, get some lights blazing and strip my hot round ass down in front of the cameras?

In other words, we’re shooting hot new galleries and videos today.

Not only is that cool simply because I love what I do and still get a kick out of creating sexy new indie porn to support it, or simply because I’m horny (which I am), or because we haven’t yet shot the new new hairstyle (which we haven’t — did I mention it’s a flippy little chin-length bob now?) but also because I love the idea that every time I get naked or take a shower or fuck Joe or masturbate or do something utterly goofy and silly for no good reason at all, I’m entertaining our website members in some way, or even to a certain degree, my surfers.

It’s a kind of “pride in my work” thing, except that I can achieve it merely by indulging my own desires.  Every time I slip The Man’s dick into my mouth, there’s a fleeting moment in the back of my mind that acknowledges the probability that someone is watching and enjoying it and feeling that they got their money’s worth when they joined whichever of our sites they joined.

Mind you, that moment is brief, more of a flickering across my consciousness than any sort of concrete realization.  I’ve got enough healthy selfishness in me that when I do take dick in my mouth, it’s because I frankly want it there, not because it entertains anyone else, and to a certain degree, that even includes Joe.

As wife/girlfriend/life partner etc, sure, I take my role as sexual partner seriously and genuinely believe I have a responsibility to do my part to ensure our sex life remains alive and kicking (and frankly, if more people felt that way, I think more relationships would be in better shape — I consider one’s sexual responsibility to a partner to be as clear as one’s responsibility to fidelity or honesty or not to blow your week’s paycheck on booze or come home and take a bad day out on said partner), but not quite to the point where I’ll selflessly sacrifice my own tastes and priorities just to fulfill that role.  Neither of us has ever expected the other to subjugate our individuality, nor would either of us want the other to “put out” just because he or I “should.”  There is enough natural heat between us that I can’t imagine what sort of shape our relationship would have to be in for things to ever come to that.

No, it’s just a brief little glow of self-satisfaction (or smugness?  Hell if I know, but I do take a somewhat smug pride in my estimation of myself as an erotic entertainer of sorts….come to think of it, as an erotic partner, as well) that flares quietly in my breast. Then my focus returns to the sensation of dick in my mouth and how much fun it is to do porn for a living, and especially with someone who wants my ass as much as I want his.

Enjoy the show.

Mina xoxox