So...

In a condensed version of 'wtf is going on in Morgan's life?', I hereby present you with -

I'm moving. To the country. Way the fuck out in the country. Way way way the fuck out in the country. Where my closest neighbours will be Mennonites.

No, I'm not kidding. Buggy driving, electricity shunning, black wearing, Old Order Mennonites. So many Mennonites that my local grocery store has a buggy parking area.

As my terribly witty nail technician put it "You going to live like little Ho on the Prairie!".

I couldn't make this shit up if I tried.

Morgan

Wow.

That was a bit more of a response than I expected, in more ways than one.

On the one hand, so many people have contacted Pixie and offered to help, or sent her a donation. She's got enough to pay for her first round of scary-disease shots, which is a good thing indeed. Plus, it's made her feel all warm and fuzzy, which is even better. So, Yay for you guys! You rock, and you know who you are.

On the other hand, a few (very few, all things considered) assholes have crawled out of the woodwork and insinuated that I'm doing this for gain, or, better still - that I made Pixie up altogether. Yes, those years of her having a website and being reviewed on at least four different boards that I know of? All a plot, an elaborate plot I've been hatching for years. I am dia-fuckin-bolical, bitches. Represent.

At any rate, I didn't write this to raise money for Pixie - that was really just more of an added bonus I thought would make a nice surprise for her. I wrote it because sometimes I just get tired of all of the he said/she said, we hate each other bullshit that seems to pervade escort/client boards. I wrote it because I thought it was a nice story, and that there might be other people who'd enjoy reading a nice story about a nice person doing nice things with her life.

If a few people read malice into that, or found it to be offensive, well - that's your problem, not mine, and certainly not Pixie's. Go stomp on a kitten or something, and leave her alone.

And for the people who either:

a) doubted she existed

or

b) asked for pictures of tits

I hereby present a nice photo montage of me doing things to Hailey's tits and ass, and her whacking me in the head with a pillow, probably as payback for the things I was just doing to her tits and ass.

Now, stfu and send the girl some money. Unless you already did, in which case... big hugs!

Morgan

Sometimes, it's easy for clients to become jaded about seeing escorts. It's easy for them to make cynical comments about how all escorts are just using them, or that we're all shallow shopping junkies. It's sad, really, because inside of every cynic there's a disappointed optimist. I thought I'd try to write something that might allow the hidden optimist to come out of hiding, even if just for a few minutes.

I want to tell you about my friend and duo partner, Pixie. Pixie spent the last few years working as an escort while she put herself through school. Yes, really - there really are some escorts who work to support their schooling, and she's really one of them.

Pixie finished her degree in an obscure field that I still can't claim to really understand, no matter how many times she's explained it to me. I do know that it's not a field that will ever pay her well, or make her famous, or even let her live what most people would consider a comfortable life.

In a few months, Pixie is going to get on a plane and travel to a country that none of us could ever consider going to. It's a country that has been torn about by famine and war and politics, and that doesn't have much hope left in it. It's that place you see a sixty second clip of on the evening news, and think "someone should do something". Luckily for us, there are people like Pixie, who volunteer to give up their entire lives for two years, for free, just so that they can do more than feel bad about how much suffering there is in the world.

If there is a point to all of this, it is that someone reading this right now probably saw Pixie over the last two years. You saw her, and hopefully you liked her, and you paid her your money, and you went on your way. In that one small thing, you created a ripple effect - a ripple that ended with her getting on a plane with just one carry on bag, and traveling around the world. Because of that envelope, someone in the world will suffer a little less, because Pixie is there.

So, the next time you turn on the news and see that sixty second clip of people starving in a country that has been destroyed, look for that quick flash of a volunteer handing out aid. Maybe you'll see her there, and maybe you'll feel a little better about yourself, too.

And now, since you know there had to be a catch to all of this niceness, I'd like to mention that the friends of Pixie are trying to raise her a small amount of money before she leaves. She can't risk working anymore - ironically, she had to have a morals check before she'd be accepted to volunteer, for free, in a place where morals and ethics seem to be a forgotten concept. So, if you'd like to help her, you can contribute to the support Pixie fund via Pay Pal. The Pay Pal address to do so is support.pixie@gmail.com

I should also add that she doesn't know I'm writing this, and she *definitely* doesn't know I'm asking people for their help.

She's much too nice to ever do such a thing herself.

Morgan

.. I'm actually not dead. I'm just on a sort of hiatus.

I'll try to write more some time this week.

Kisses,

Morgan

Dear shrieky hell harpy on the Friday afternoon High Park street car:

As soon as our streetcar arrived at your stop, I knew you were going to be special. Your high pitched voice and shrieks of laughter cut through the roar of Friday rush hour traffic like a hot knife through butter. Nearby dogs rolled on the ground in pain, eardrums imploded from the frequency of your giggles. Once on the car, you apparently saw no need to moderate either your cell phone conversation, or the volume at which it was being carried out.

Thank you, hell harpy, for allowing me to learn how 'that guy who totally likes you' has a big nose, but that it's ok, because you're sure that means he has a big cock, too. I feel warm and fuzzy just having been privy to that kind of intimate revelation, as I'm sure did the other 50 or so people sitting around you, including the mothers desperately sticking their hands over the ears of their small children. Hey, fuck em, right? Kids need to learn some day that size does matter, so why not today, and why not from you?

Don't think that the other passengers weren't also entertained by you as well! I especially enjoyed the part where the woman sitting directly behind you mimed putting her hands around your throat and throttling you lifeless. She sure was good at it! I wonder if she's a mime? The man sitting next to me was also fun, especially when he began quietly chanting 'shut the fuck up, you loud mouthed cell phone using bitch' under his breath. He and I shared a bonding moment where we both rolled our eyes and shrugged, acknowledging how we were mutually rendered powerless by your high pitched yammering.

Hell harpy, I do have one suggestion. Hand talking? While on a cell phone? Not so much. See, the person on the other phone can't actually see you while you're doing it, so it's really rather pointless, especially when you get so vehement that you knock the baseball cap of the poor boy unfortunate enough to be stuck sitting next to you. I hope his hearing wasn't permanently damaged by his close proximity to your air raid siren-esque voice.

To be completely sincere, though, I really do need to thank you for letting me see that all of this yoga is finally paying off. It took every syllable of serenity inducing  chanting that I've learned to resist the urge to walk over, tear the phone out of your hands, and chuck it out the window. Serenity now, bitch. Serenity now.

Thanks again, and please - shut the fuck up.

Morgan


Dear deeply and frighteningly over protective mom at Chapters in Ancaster:

The world is indeed a scary place. Pedophiles and kidnappers and child molesters skulk on every corner, waiting to pounce on your sweet and innocent offspring. In a time such as this, who could possibly blame you for worrying about public washrooms? Who knows what sorts of scary freaks lurk there, waiting to offer your children candy and a very special kind of lap ride? I can see why you'd want to be careful, and why you'd decide to haul your brood into the women's washroom with you.

But, really - 12 years old? And 10? Isn't that a little old to still be going potty with mommy? Honestly? I know they looked uncomfortable, and I know I felt it. The woman coming in behind me looked a little bit taken aback, as well. I mean, are you raising them using some kind of Woody Allen autobiography as a guide? Do you want to ensure they end up in therapy? I know that my first thought was 'gee, I sure wouldn't want to be the woman dating them in ten years time...'.

So please, for the love of all things oedipal, kindly keep your almost-teenage boys out the women's washrooms. Oh, and shut the fuck up.

Morgan

Anyone have any personal suggestions for good streaming webcam software? I have used webcam32 in the past, and am giving webcamXP a try, but I would like to find something even smoother, if possible. I am using the flash option on webcamxp, but I am not thrilled with it...

Last year, during Katrina, I found a webhosting company in NOLA that was running a cam. They also have an LJ, by the way... They were using technology that opened their cam almost full screen via real player. I have googled the hell out of it, but I cant find anything similar to what they were using, and I have lost the link to the original site where I saw this being used. Anyone have any ideas, or seen anything similar?

Tech specs:

currently running a cheap cam, while I wait for my new DV to arrive
Also have a back up 3Com HomeConnect cam
Windows XP
Uploading via ftp to hosted site
Cam window is embedded in html page

Oh, and no, this isnt for porn - not yet, anyways..

Morgan

If you are a verifiable FEMALE escort based in North America who would be interested in joining a discussion forum for sharing bad client alerts north america wide, then please email me at morganellis@gmail.com

The board is not run by me, but it is run by a good friend who is comitted to making sure the board is a safe, secure place for us to share information. It's specifically designed for bad client notifications, but there's also a lot of general discussion.

Please note that you WILL need to provide her with verification info which will allow her to confirm you are a bonifide female escort, whether indie or agency. Body rub and massage providers are also welcome. I'll pass your inquiry on to her for final approval once I've heard from you.

Again, email me at morganellis@gmail.com for more details.

Morgan

Here are the rules:

1. Delve into your blog archive.
2. Find your 23rd post.
3. Find the fifth sentence.
4. Post the text of the sentence in your blog along with these instructions.

Here's mine, taken from this entry:

I *meant* to say "I hope he lives a long happy life"

This is a reply to a few comments and emails I'd received complaining about this entry .

Morgan

pro·fes·sion·al  
adj.

1. 1. Of, relating to, engaged in, or suitable for a profession: lawyers, doctors, and other professional people.
   2. Conforming to the standards of a profession: professional behavior.
2. Engaging in a given activity as a source of livelihood or as a career: a professional writer.
3. Performed by persons receiving pay: professional football.
4. Having or showing great skill; expert: a professional repair job.

Well, I like parts of that. I like 'having or showing great skill' and I definately perform for pay. Somehow, though, it's just too clinical. Too Women's Studies thesis-ish. Too cold. I think I prefer my terminology to have some heat to it, some wit.

If I'm writing on one of the review boards, the approved term is 'service provider'.

Oh my. I'm not even going to bother analyzing this most politically correct of names. How vapid and dull it makes me feel to be thought of as a 'service provider'. How boring. Accurate? Of course. I do, it can't be argued, provide services. So does your banker, your plumber or your accountant. I want something that lets me stand out, that signifies who I am in a more meaningful way.

Save 'service provider' for girls who get their panties in a twist over more colorful terms, but spare me from being one.

I've been known to call myself a 'sybarite'.

Syb·a·rite
n.

1. often sybarite A person devoted to pleasure and luxury; a voluptuary.
2. A native or inhabitant of Sybaris.

A voluptuary. I do so like that term. Perhaps, though, this is a little too twee, too precious for daily usage. Too self interestedly serious. Let's skip sybarite, then, unless we're using it playfully.

Could I be a courtesan?

cour·te·san  
n.

A woman prostitute, especially one whose clients are members of a royal court or men of high social standing.

Well, I'm not going to tell you if I've fucked royalty, although the 'men of high social standing' goes without saying. Courtesan, though, belongs to a time gone by, as much as I'd like to believe otherwise. No one is paying me to listen to me recite poetry, nor are they showering me with jewels and property.

So, not a courtesan, although I do insist on claiming affinity with them. Let's downscale our expectations.

As Melanie mentioned, this wouldn't be a true treatise on terms without the word 'escort'.

es·cort  
n.

1. One or more persons accompanying another to guide, protect, or show honor.
2. A man who is the companion of a woman, especially on a social occasion.
3. A person, often a prostitute, who is hired to spend time with another as a companion.

Oh dear. How disingenous a word, the term 'escort'.  Yes, I know all about how we are hired for 'time and companionship' only. Here's a test - the next time you turn a trick, don't do anything sexual - just play scrabble, or talk about politics. Was your client happy? Think he'll be returning any time soon? No? Well, so much for the 'companionship only' argument. Let's not beat around our bushes here, ladies and gentlemen - an escort provides sex, just like a 'sex professional' does. 

If you want me to be your escort, buy us tickets to the theatre or the opera. Otherwise, I'm going to stick to the saltier terms.

Am I whore? I wouldn't mind being one, I must admit.

whore
n.

1. A prostitute.
2. A person considered sexually promiscuous.
3. A person considered as having compromised principles for personal gain.

intr.v. whored, whor·ing, whores

1. To associate or have sexual relations with prostitutes or a prostitute.
2. To accept payment in exchange for sexual relations.
3. To compromise one's principles for personal gain.

Accurate, yes? I am all of these things, although again, I don't believe I've ever compromised my principles. I also like that whore has traditionally been used to hurt us, to cause us shame. 'Dirty whore' or 'son of a whore'. Whore mongerer.

I claim all of those, and declaim that I am one. So, yes. Whore from time to time.

Better still, though?

Hoor - British slang for whore

I just like something about the pronunciation in this one. Hoooor, as opposed to the more sedate Ho-er. So yes, a Hoor.

Ah, here we are. Hooker. I love the word hooker.

hook·er²
n.

1. One that hooks.
2. Slang. A prostitute.

Word History: In his Personal Memoirs Ulysses S. Grant described Maj. Gen. Joseph Hooker as “a dangerous man... not subordinate to his superiors.” Hooker had his faults. He may indeed have been insubordinate; he was undoubtedly an erratic leader. But “Fighting Joe” Hooker is often accused of one thing he certainly did not do: he did not give his name to prostitutes.

According to a popular story, the men under Hooker's command during the Civil War were a particularly wild bunch, and would spend much of their time in brothels when on leave. For this reason, as the story goes, prostitutes came to be known as hookers. However attractive this theory may be, it cannot be true.

The word hooker with the sense “prostitute” is already recorded before the Civil War. As early as 1845 it is found in North Carolina, as reported in Norman Ellsworth Eliason's Tarheel Talk; an Historical Study of the English Language in North Carolina to 1860, published in 1956. It also appears in the second edition of John Russell Bartlett's Dictionary of Americanisms, published in 1859, where it is defined as “a strumpet, a sailor's trull.”

Etymologically, it is most likely that hooker is simply “one who hooks.” The term portrays a prostitute as a person who hooks, or snares, clients.

Hooker has so many interesting connotations for me. The vowels roll off my tongue - hoook-her. A female who hooks.

I can hook you in to my web, ensnare you with my charms. Use my sex magic to grab you, hook you, keep you enthralled. No pimp here - I'll pimp myself out, thank you. But oh, oh yes. Hooker is what I am, not to mention what I do.

Best of all, though? I am Morgan, and I can be all of this. I can a hoor, a hooker, a prostitute, a sex worker, a sex professional.

I'm anything you want me to be, baby. I'm Morgan, and I rent sex for the hour.

Morgan