Porn on the Side.

Sky Rodgers (562) 888-1701 skyrodgers00@gmail.com

Archive for the category “porn”

The Green Coffee Bean Incident.

I still believe that I am reasonably average woman with normal desires, needs and opinions. Just as, say, Martin Luther considered himself a Catholic throughout his life, though ultimately banished by the Church.
There is some truth to the statement that the power of willful ignorance cannot be overstated.
One well-known “hidden” secret is that most marketing is geared towards women, and mothers. For instance, I will believe anything that has the Dr. Oz stamp of approval. Dr. Oz has recently undergone some scrutiny for his adamant endorsement of green coffee bean extract supplements in 2012. I was present to view the TV episode firsthand, and scurried off to get my initial supply. I don’t recall any real change in my bodily structure, but my belief system of magical thinking preceded my actual results. I was addicted to the idea. 2012, like most years, was not a very profitable one for me. I do not in any way endorse or condone my acts. But, in a moment of desperation and poverty, in 2012 I lifted a container of green coffee bean supplements from a local market. Caught red-handed (or green, in this case), I stood guilty, as charged. I paid legally and otherwise for my mistake. Now, I am admittedly guilty of nine out of the Ten Commandments.
I must confess, what irritates me the most, is the stated grocery chain sent out a claims for damages via “Settlement Offer” through their attorneys, for about nine times the amount of the supplement I took. I assume it was too difficult to find me, so they sent this claim to my parents’ house in Texas. This, I find, is unacceptable, and frankly, my feelings of fury at the grocery company almost outweighed my shame. My appearance, my body, was my livelihood. I fell into a green coffee bean trap, but one I dealt with lawfully. There are several things in life that we deal with privately, in order to protect our parents from our unruly decisions. What am I, a minor? My memories as a minor are sketchy, but there’s one thing most of us don’t want our parents to know about: thievery.
I do have a memory from Kindergarten, where I noticed a squirrel pendant adorning a pretty little necklace lying on the floor. I wanted it for myself, so I picked it up, and then put it in my panties (a safe place, at the time). The teacher immediately announced that the squirrel necklace had been lost. I panicked, with the realization that I had taken it. I went home with the necklace, and to my ballet class that afternoon. I remember looking in the mirror in ballet class, and thinking, “Not only are you not very pretty, but now, you are a thief.” The next day, I planted the necklace on the kindergarten room floor, and announced to my teacher that I had found it. At last, the burden was lifted off of my five-year-old shoulders. So yes, I’ve always been a bit Squirrely, but truly struggle with dishonesty. Though, it’s compelling what the human mind can justify in times of desperation.
I still listen to Dr. Oz, but realize that most bodily imperfections cannot be thoroughly changed without surgery.

With that, in all honesty, this short video, like most everything on this blog, is a first take.

Sincerely,

Sky

Milfs, Pills and Jumbo’s Clown Room.

I’m not sure if or what the phrase being “hopped up on pills” means, but as of late, admittedly, I seem to pop a lot of them (prescribed of course). There’s not very much hopping going on in my corner; no hip, no hop. A couple of Tramadols at 40 is what a couple of No Dose was at 19. That being, for some important reason, you have to stay awake. These, I convinced myself, will do the trick, though creativity and short-term memory takes a backseat. What matters IS the backseat, and who and what is going on back there, and I forgot the iPad car charger, and GOOD GOD, I cannot take another round of the Babajiggles CD one more time and navigate through the 210 to the 5 to the 101 to the…where was I? I’m so hungry, I forgot to eat lunch at home on this cashless day, and now my memory and mood are shot.

Babajiggles_

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Paying for my husband’s refurbished Mercedes transmission was supposed to make me feel better about doing what I really wanted to try and do, which was work at Jumbo’s Clown Room Jumbo's Clown Room

At least that’s what I want for today, it’s safe to say, probably for the next three days. “Am I too old for that?” I ask myself. I think I’m old enough to answer some of the really stupid questions, as the one stated above. The people who would be bothered most by my age in that situation would probably be a dancer or two at the club, and maybe my husband. But hey, maybe not. Maybe they will all be as cool with my imaginary employment as I would love to imagine them to be. Maybe I could use my real stage name. The other employees would eventually figure out that I had done porn and an assortment of other sexual performance type of activities, and not really care at all, or maybe even feel more comfortable around me because, hey, we are all working at Jumbo’s Clown Room. Possibly, I’m over thinking this situation to allow for disappointment. I typically do that, and what one of my acting teachers from the late 1990s would’ve said, was it was because I am a 5 in the Enneagram. I honestly care less about what really happens in the moment, and more concerned about I could imagine would happen, or how it is planned out in my head, beforehand. In the end, ne’er the twain shall meet.

Sky's a 5 in the Enneagram.

Sky’s a 5 in the Enneagram.


So what’s the difference? With that, give me about a month or so of high-pressure tanning and regular Pilates classes, and meet me at Jumbo’s Clown Room. May as well put that ole Dance degree to use.
Honestly, I would have more fun doing that, than becoming a teacher at Arthur Murray’s dance studio, for one. I had the opportunity to pursue that position about a year before I became a mother. I believe in the right to privacy, and will not give away the location or franchise owner. As I remember, she kept pressing me about how I was going to support myself while building my business as an Arthur Murray dance teacher. Sometimes when you’re feeling low, you want to look at decent pictures of yourself. It’s just another reason, I presume, that the gargantuan institution that is Facebook exists.
I remember at that time, feeling low one day, and perusing through a website that I had done a scene for that year. A wonderful website it is, with a creative director/producer that I got on with really well, entitled Cougars in Heat. One day, like most women, I was scrolling through, and comparing myself with my other compadres. Much to my amazement, I found this fore mentioned Arthur Murray franchise owner on the site, receiving quite an anal pounding. I truly thought this was the strangest thing! Could it really be true- this conservative-looking dance franchise owner, a no holes barred Milf porn star on the side? Then I thought about what a crack my life was. Anything can happen, and truth is sometimes stranger than fiction. Who couldn’t use some walking around money from time to time?
With that, back to work, or it will be I who will be walking around this city, instead of driving. If I windup driving to work at Jumbo’s Clown Room, I’ll be sure and post pictures and possibly videos from the inside. And it could be the tramadol, but I’m afraid if I stop writing, the tune of the Babajiggles will return to my conscience.
What was I blogging about, again?

Sincerely,
Sky

Tweet This.

Twitter is like some socially acceptable and sought after form of paranoia, what with the “followers” and all. Who really has time to follow? Someone recently gave me a nice #beautiful compliment wanting to know why someone like me only had 72 followers. Simple answer: My iPhone twitter app, and Linkedin, for that matter, refuses to acknowledge that I am who my account says I am. Therefore, I don’t tweet. I don’t believe followers really exist. I have my own conspiracy theory about Twitter. People don’t really follow. They just join, and keep adding. It’s sort of like the email lists you try to unsubscribe to, but six or so months later, they show up again, like a weed in your Gmail garden. Or a virus that remains dormant. They keep coming back; be it from a local spa, a coupon scam or the Kabbalah center. If Twitter really has followers, then they are paid for profit individuals. Hired hands by Hollywood production companies, or independent entities. Companies need good ratings and branding, because maybe the Nielsen’s rating system has become inaccurate and obsolete. Words in the Twitter sphere are characters. When I think of characters, I recall interesting people; like Carol Burnett, Andy Kaufman, Joan Rivers, Amy Sedaris, Crispin Glover and his dad, Bruce Glover. But that’s just little ole me; someone with only 72 followers. 72 is very powerful number, so the Kabbalists say…

Shall I tweet today?

Shall I tweet today?

Twitter doesn't like Sky.

Twitter doesn’t like Sky.

Love,

Sky

Facebook is the new Myspace.

There’s a Wiki leaks, a Porn Leaks, and a variety of other leakish sites around, but what about Facebook? On the Face Leaks site, you’d post what did actually  happen that day, and it would be similar and possibly more interesting than a very bad hair day. Your Facebook Leaks page would generate more hits,  and you’d find out who your true Facebook friends were.   Some forebode Facebook will soon fall on it’s face.  If Americans didn’t spend so much time showing their good face to the world, they’d  see  more sincere faces on the figures surrounding them. But I know, It’s complicated. 

My Goodface Book Pic.


A woman knows the face of the man she loves as a sailor knows the open sea. ~ Honore De Balzac

A blurred face is an honest face  ~ Sky Rodgers

Until I was thirteen, I thought my name was SHUT UP. ~ Joe Namath

I love you, Joe Namath.

SKY is on my FRIENDS List.

 

Love, Sky

Hijabs, Sanitation and the Federal Reserve.

In lieu of the current political timeframe, and because of being an isolated, sole-provider loner MILF , I only catch glimpses of not so current events, and sound bites of much ado about nothing I would put my sanitized finger on.
I choose not to get political, because the political is too personal for most. Also, it is none of my interest what your political views are. Being that you probably live in the United States, you still have the right to choose many opinions and privileges. My only concern would be that you would not have the right to express them. You can take the girl out of the United States, but you cannot take the American out of the girl. With that, I believe:  Yes, the Federal Reserve will eventually destroy itself (as will Hollywood), no woman on the planet would willingly diminish her looks by wearing a hijab (they are only worn to appease bullies), and that one syphilis outbreak will not destroy the business of Porn. Those are a few dim views; and here is one from above..

Sky is not so federally reserved.

Love,

Sky

My Fortune Cookie.

I’ve had four of the same fortune cookie prophecies since New Year‘s Day. Am I chasing the Dragon of fortune cookie prophecy in this Year of the Dragon, or, more positively, are all transactions profitable?

Fortune Cookie’s Closure.

This particular Korean Diner knows where to transact for Chinese fortune cookies. I keep coming back, and not just for the red jello wedges my toddler takes pleasure in.

(no jello-wrestling photos of Sky at this time). 

Securing my Fortune.

Love,

Sky

My Old School Ass.

I love Laila Ali‘s version of the Dog on Yo Gabba Gabba (and sorry to hear her actual dog died last month). I watch the show often, its toddlerrific . Ali‘s Dog is a slightly more complex, yet user-friendly version of the Dog than the oneI remember as a toddler. And whatever happened to the Dog Catcher? Can you believe, that in some of our lifetimes, there actually was such a thing-a mobile, public canine control and remover ? Who Am I (What’s My Name)?, by Snoop Dogg , is what I hum on from time to time, and it  begins with the phrase ” Snoop Doggy, Dogg“instead of “Atomic Dog”, because of my age; and that I was coming of age at the time of Snoop Dogg’s initial release (he is but a year my senior). I gradually revert back to the original George Clinton tune. Both references are now old school; so the bloom is off the rose, either way. And the fact that this CD is still laying somewhere on the outskirts of my bedroom probably constitutes being old school, if only for the fact that its a CD, and I don’t own a CD player. My toddler does, though.

Not as Old School as Vinyl

Love,

Sky’s Old School Ass.

Sky

This Train Wreck Loves You.

On this day in 1963, this train headed for disaster, and the 20th century turned on it’s heel in a way it never had before.

 

This Train Wreck Loves You.

 

And I love this Tornado.

Can’t give up acting tough/It’s all that I’m made of.  -Neko Case

Love,

Sky

 

Joe Tremaine and Me.

I recently outed my somewhat transparent Side life to an old friend of mine. This Side of my life is obviously documented, and documentation requires honesty; at least to those you have considered family. What a load off it was-sending him this blog link.  My good deed for the day?

Though I have not seen the aforestated friend in many, many years, something has followed me around for the past 20 years: the Joe Tremaine Dance Conventions.

Decades before all the dance competitive TV shows- which I will not bore and list- there were a few conventions, well-known to adolescent dancers nationwide. Tremaine was top dog. As a teenager, I never missed a convention in my home state. Anyone of similar background knows who Barry Lather is. I memorized Lather’s choreography to Freak-A-Holic, by Egyptian Lover, and publicly performed it, at 15, on numerous occasions. More than a couple of decades past adolescence, I discovered my neighborhood was a mile or so shy of the Joe Tremaine Dance Conventions address. I would drive slowly past an empty building on Vineland Avenue. I recall a few unfulfilled attempts to attend advanced modern dance class. Once was a schedule conflict, and twice the classes were canceled. I’ve remained a rolling stone for much of my adult life for mainly personal reasons. Joe Tremaine always finds me. What a gem of an ex-dancer detector. Freaky is as Freaky does.

Love you, Double J,

Sky xo

Sociopath is the new Bipolar.

Bipolar would at once excite and spawn a private cringe, or question mark, at century’s end. It’s now but a few yawns away from a snore. I would cringe, myself, when my SO was accused, on occasion, of being a sociopath. Was it true? Or did all business ventures have risks? In LA, it was called Puffing. A McMansion of promises. Eventually, after waiting to exhale for a year or so, I was a fortunate soul who guilted Time Warner into giving me a free year of Showtime. Yes, Weeds, again, and yet a new ATF, House Of Lies. Don Cheadle (who, too, attended CalArts) plays a management consultant from a top-tier firm. His character, Marty, is accused on more than one occasion of being a sociopath by his trusted associate. Marty is quite a successful shark in deep waters, and so with every episode, I allowed myself multiple sighs of relief. Don Cheadle is exceptional, as always, in what he brings to the table. Again, it’s refreshing to see an enviable, succesful character be outed as a sociopath. Eventually, we all bend over for one team to pay our share of the ballpark’s lease. Who cares what team.  Pay to play, babe. We dig, frac and fill the holes, pull and inject skin until it’s too transparent to withhold the gentlest of  UV-B rays. But such is life, and why I now wear bangs. Bangs are the new Botox

Love, Sky

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