Wednesday, March 29, 2006


Hi all!

I had fully intended to post pictures, and tell a few tales of my trip. Apparently, however, that wasn't in the cards for Monday, Tuesday or today. WHY, you ask? Well, you can blame it all on the bastards at British Airways. I'll tell the full story soon, but basically, they fucked me over. Hard. I got home a day late, and sans luggage.

Now I'm playing catch up at work. So, please, be patient with me. I'll be back soon. I SWEAR it!

Hugs and kisses,


Saturday, March 25, 2006

Yes, I'm Still Alive

My travels are quickly coming to an end, and now it's time to go back to my life. I'm not quite sure how to go about returning to normal. How does one do that after enjoying so many amazing experiences?

I don't think I'll ever be able to put the joy I feel in to words...nor do I care to. It's mine, all mine, and I'll keep it with me always. So, for the next week, you'll have to settle for photographs while I settle back in to my life. Besides, they say a picture is worth a thousand words. I'll beging posting them on Monday.

To all of you who requested a postcard...I sent them, though I'm not sure if you'll get it. Apparently, the Roman mail system is quite awful. It took me three days just to find a working mailbox. I apolgize if you don't receive it.

Finally, to all of you who have sent me "I miss you's" and "Come back soon's": Thank you. Trixie's back, and she missed you all very much.

Ciao, e un bacio.


Wednesday, March 15, 2006

Will You Even Miss Me When I'm Gone?

I'm off, boys and girls. I'm heading for the Eternal City, and I'm not looking back. So, in the immortal words of John Denver...

All my bags are packed
I'm ready to go
I'm standing here outside your door
I hate to wake you up to say goodbye
But the dawn is breaking
It's early morn
The taxi's waitin' He's blowing his horn
Already I'm so lonesome I could die

So kiss me and smile for me
Tell me that you'll wait for me
Hold me like you'll never let me go
Cause I'm leavin' on a jet plane
Don't know when I'll be back again
Oh babe, I hate to go
There's so many times
I've let you down
So many times I've played around
I tell you now, they don't mean a thing
Every place I go, I'll think of you
Every song I sing
I'll sing for you
When I come back, I'll bring your wedding ring
So kiss me and smile for me
Tell me that you'll wait for me
Hold me like you'll never let me go
Cause I'm leavin' on a jet plane
Don't know when I'll be back again
Oh babe, I hate to go
Now the time has come to leave you
One more time
Let me kiss you
Then close your eyes I'll be on my way
Dream about the days to come
When I won't have to leave alone
About the times,
I won't have to say
Oh, kiss me and smile for me
Tell me that you'll wait for me
Hold me like you'll never let me go
Cause I'm leavin' on a jet plane
Don't know when I'll be back again
Oh babe, I hate to go
But, I'm leavin' on a jet plane
Don't know when I'll be back again
Oh babe, I hate to go

Monday, March 13, 2006

The Continuing Saga of L & A

A while back, I wrote this post about my dear friend L, and her miserable son-of-a-bitch husband. If you haven't already read it, I suggest you start there before reading this any further. Since then, she's been (notice I said SHE, not THEY) attempting to work on the problems in their marriage. Of course, this doesn't do a damn bit of good. Nothing one-sided ever does.

In the latest bit of news, she found out A has a page on Myspace...further proof that he's a complete and total tool. I checked it out, and it seems he's been soliciting the favors of many of the pathetic sluts who post to that loser-infested wasteland of a website. Am I the only person who sees something wrong with a married man, father of a small child AND self-professed cheater playing around on that site?

What's worse is that she still won't kick him out. Listen, I'm no angel, and far be it from me to judge anyone. Everyone has a story to tell, and you can never know what curveballs life will throw at you. Each situation is different. But the fact remains that he has a loving wife at home, and he cheats. And he lies about it.

So I ask you, how many more times do I have to hear the same old story from her? How many more times do I have to tell her to leave him? How many more times do I have to help her pick up the pieces? At what point do I say, "Enough. I'm tired of this. I love you, you're my friend, but if you're not going to help yourself, I can't help you anymore."?

Please. Someone tell me what to do. I'm at a loss for answers.

Sunday, March 12, 2006

Have You Seen This Heart?

: October 29, 1972

Sex: Female

Date Last Seen: February, 2006

Last Known Location: Chicago, IL

Description: Kind and generous, with an enormous capacity to love. Tender and sweet, but with a hint of mischief. Not easily fooled, but capable of being broken if handled incorrectly.

Primary Suspect: Wonderful, thoughtful man. Charming, intelligent and handsome. Known to steal women's hearts with nothing more than his words.

Possible Location of Suspect: Far away, across time zones and continents.

If you see this heart, please notify the proper authorities at She'd like to know just how the hell it was stolen so quickly.

Wednesday, March 08, 2006

There's a Story Behind These Eyes...& Happy HNT

They say a picture is worth 1000 words.
I know the story...but tell me what you see.

I've got no post in me tonight, boys and girls. I have too much on my mind. So I had hoped you could write it for me. What do you see behind these eyes?

Until tomorrow,


Tuesday, March 07, 2006

Rat Bastards!

I'm in the wrong line of work.

For the past two years, I've thought I was the luckiest girl in the world. I have an amazing job working on the highest-rated (and one of the longest running) television shows on local PBS. I work with wonderful and talented people, and no two days are ever the same. I get paid well for doing what I love. How many people can say that? After the events of today, though, I find I've changed my mind.

It started out just like every morning does. Up and out the door by 8:30am. The sun was shining, giving me a glimpse of the warmer season ahead. It actually made me smile. Unfortunately, as I approached my parking space, that smile was quickly wiped from my face.

See this?

Yeah, that's what I saw, too. NOTHING except tire tracks where my tires were supposed to be sitting. Apparently, someone wanted my car a lot more than I did. Worse yet, did you notice the criss-cross pattern? The fuckers also got my neighbor's car.

Now, you have to understand something. These are paid, private parking spots. Gia and I are the only two allowed to park back there, because we pay for it. Unless we (or the landlord) calls the tow company, there's no reason why any cars should be pulled out.

Obviously, we were both a bit freaked. The only logical explanation was that our cars were stolen. But rational though soon prevailed. Something didn't look right. It was too perfect, and done way too quickly. The people that did this were professionals.

First, I called my landlord and asked if she'd requested that we be towed. She, of course, had no idea what I was talking about. So then I called the number of the tow company that patrols the lot for illegal parkers. I gave them the description of both of our cars, and lo and behold, they had hers...but knew NOTHING of mine. SHIT, SHIT, SHIT, SHIT, and SHIT. Their reason for towing hers? No parking permit sticker. Funny. We've both paid to park there for two years, and no one, including our landlord WHO OWNS THE FREAKING LOT (and pays them to patrol it), ever gave either of us a sticker.

After numerous repitions of "I don't know what to tell you, lady, we ain't got your car." from some bitchy southside ghetto whore high school drop out (yeah, I'm pissed), I got fed up, hung up and called the police. Of course, that did no good either. They told me to go down to the tow lot and check in person. They said that if it was there, and they took my car illegally, then, and only then could they do something about it. BUGGER.

I tried calling the towing company again, in hopes that they'd simply overlooked my car. The line was busy for 30 minutes, but I finally got through. It was as I had originally thought. My car was on a truck, and hadn't been reported to their office yet. THANK GOD!!! Then they dropped the bomb on me. "That'll be $150 to get your car out of hock."

ARE YOU KIDDING ME??? They tow me, from my own parking spot, that I PAY for, and I still have to cough up the cash? Apparently, if I want my car, the answer to that question is a resounding YES. So, basically, I said screw it. I just wanted my car back. I did, however, call my landlord, and she agreed to reimburse both of us...and give us the stupid permit stickers we didn't even know existed.

So this is the part where I figure out that I'm in the wrong business. I get all the way down to freakin' 36th & Iron St. (for all of you who don't know where that is, just picture the worst neighborhood in your town, and multiply it by 1000) and I pay the $150 to get my car out. Or at least, I tried to. Their credit card machine was on the fritz, and they were in the process of fixing it when I showed up.

I stood there for 25 minutes while they did whatever the hell it was that they were trying to do, and in that time, I witnessed them bring in 23 cars. TWENTY-THREE. In 25 minutes. At $150 a pop. Do the math here, people. That means they took in $3450.00 in less that one half of an hour. They're open for 9 hours a day. That's $62,100.00 in one day. Plus, they charge extra for storage fees, after-hour pick ups, and monthly fees to patrol lots. HOLY CRAP. That's a lot of coin.

So that's it. Screw TV production. I'm going to start my own towing company. Who wants to go in on it with me? Sure, we'd be considered the scum of the universe & rat bastard highway-robbers. But at 62 G's a day, would you really give a shit about that?

Monday, March 06, 2006

Thoughts of Far Off Places...

My mind is elsewhere these days. Focusing on the tasks at hand seem nearly impossible. Anticipation and excitement are what get me through my day. I'll be leaving soon...

Like most Americans, I'm forced to subscribe to the "Live to work" policy. I slave through long work weeks, because that's what is expected of me. I get one major holiday per year. A smattering of days away from the daily grind of my life. I'm jealous of Europeans. For them, it's "Work to live," and nothing more. Pleasure and beauty are what hold their hearts. Work simply puts food on the table.

So, I'm going to join them in their happy lives for a the fantasy of a richer life, even if it's only for little more than a week. I'll spend my days wandering the ancient city, my nights drinking wine in some out-of-the-way piazza, and I'll soak up just enough of it to get me through until my next holiday. I'm already planning it...

p.s. If you'd like a postcard, email your address to me. I'll be more that happy to send one along!

Sunday, March 05, 2006

The Prize

A while back, I wrote a post about a spam email I’d received, asking all of you to translate it for me. I offered up a prize for the winner, and as you all know, dear Faltenin was the victor.

In honor of his win, I’ve decided to do an interview with him. It’s sort of my little way of saying thank you for his efforts, and to allow you to get to know him a bit better. We’ve decided to post it on both of our blogs. How fun! A crossover! So, without further ado, here’s my conversation with that charming cat…

Welcome to Bated Breath, Faltenin.

Buenas dias, senorita Trixie. I must say, you are very much ze beauty today. (Purr)

Thank you. I have to tell you, I was expecting a fish. Why the image change?

Ah yes, vell, I had my reasons for changing ze profile picture. Purrrrsonal reasons.

Obviously, anonymity is important to you. Did someone recognize your flippers?

Si, amiga, zat crazy Dory found me. She would not leave me alone!

A blog stalker?

Si. Ze ladies love me.

So, what’s with the stupid accent?

Just being zexy for the Trixie.

Well, if you don’t mind, I’d like you knock it off. You sound more like Inspector Clouseau that Antonio Banderas.

Sorry. Can you take that heel out of my paw now, please? Ouch.

As I was saying…You’re the winner of my Spamalot competition. You did a wonderful job of turning that surreal spam e-mail into a beautiful poem that sounded much lovelier, even if it was just as obscure. Where did this fabulously useless talent come from?

Well, I write a lot of poetic letters on my blog to a person with whom I’d like to share something special.

You mean, like these love letters? Or like Missy's letters to the Universe?


Remind me to gut you after this interview. So, anyway, you won the first prize, even though I'm having second thoughts now. Any idea of what it might be?

I was hoping for something along the lines of the BJ post… (wink wink, nudge nudge)

Is this why you changed from a clown fish to a cat? So you would be "equipped" for what you thought would be your prize?


Silly naked feline in a floppy hat with a boot fetish. The prize is, in fact, an autographed copy of my new book, the "Dummy's Guide to the G-Spot."

With the demo DVD? Or even better, with the hands-on training?

Have you seen the claws on those paws of yours? You must be joking. This Trixie takes care of her love nest.

Maybe just a little kiss?

Hairball flavoured smooches. Sandpaper tongue? Right. Don't you have a mouse to catch? Or an ogre to beat up?

This gato knows when he is unwelcome and knows how to exit with style – adios, Hermosa. Olé!

Pretentious quadruped.

On-line Tease.

Well. That was successful. Remind me to block his IP address.

Thursday, March 02, 2006

I've Just Broken Up with Internet Explorer

The internet is a very essential part of my life, both personally and professionally. For work, I do a great deal of research and organization that would all be virtually impossible without the World Wide Web. More importantly, the net allows me to keep in touch with those I love who live in far away places. When I can't reach them, it practically reduces me to tears.

Over the course of the past five days, I've been having major connection issues. Internet Explorer was taking forever to download pages. Sending one email via my gmail account was next to impossible. I was almost ready to throw the computer out the window. ALMOST.

Not being a techie-genius, I had to rely on suggestions and advice from friends...and an extensive Google search. Everyone kept pointing me in the same direction. Try Firefox, they'd say. But this is one stubborn Trixie you're dealing with here, folks. I'm old-school. I stick with things I know, and I'm faithful to a fault.

As of tonight, I had run every diagnostic test known to man (well, to Dell), called my ISP numerous times (and numerous names), and unplugged & replugged every cord & cable...all to no avail. So, in one last attempt at getting back on-line, I waited patiently as IE loaded, and then downloaded Firefox.

Halleluja & Holy Crap! It works! I've been zipping around the net for an hour now, kicking myself as I surfed for not downloading it five days ago.

So to Internet Explorer...honey, I'm through with you. I can't sit around and wait while you decide whether or not you can commit to me. I've found a new Browser now, and he's been good to me so far. So, take care of yourself, IE. I wish I could say I'll miss you, but you and I both know that it would all be a lie.

Wednesday, March 01, 2006

A Dedication & Happy HNT!

In honor of Todd's Mardi Gras Post
As I was leaving the bank the other day, a very old man held the door open for me. At his age, I should have held it open for him, and probably walked him to his car after. I smiled and thanked him, and as I exited, he said, “Lovely ladies like you should always have their doors opened.” I couldn’t help but think that there is some woman somewhere who is very happy because of him, and I hope she appreciates it.

The truth of the matter is, as much as I treasure my independence and go on and on about not needing a man to do anything for me, I really do enjoy being pampered. I love having a man take care of me for no other reason than the fact that I’m his girl, and he wants to please me. I realize all my feminist friends are going to call me out on this, but I'm willing to take the heat.

So, to all the men who have opened a door for me, offered their seat, given me their taxi, told me I’m beautiful, given me flowers, fixed my car, taken out my garbage and generally behaved like a gentleman, THANK YOU.

It hasn’t gone unnoticed, and I very much appreciate you.