Los Angeles Noir

Holland Hotel Christmas

2012-01-09T15:47:00.001-08:00

The building looked charred, dirty, and decrepit. It hardly came as a surprise to learn that a man had burned to death inside of it. "His passing provoked no sorrow." Tanya's companion told her. "That fella had been living on the fringes for a long, long time. Do you know what I mean?" She knew. Places like the Holland Hotel often played host to individuals who, as a result of either their desire or their desperation, had opted out of conventional society. Many were hiding from ugly pasts as they hurtled toward equally brutal destinies. "You check into a place like this and you can do whatever you want to yourself." the old man said as she continued gazing at the dark, grime-covered bricks of the structure. "Ain't nobody gonna stop you." His words hung in the air, sounding very much like an omen. She hoped that he would keep speaking but he just stared at her with his ancient, tragedy-filled, blue eyes. After he vanished Tanya circled the perimeter of the property. Several paper signs taped to street-level windows proclaimed that "The Hotel is now closed for business." How late was she? The following morning she began researching the establishment and quickly discovered that the last known fire at the property had occurred in 1981. An inhabitant of one of the rooms had fallen asleep with a lit cigarette and died in the resulting blaze. His name was Arnold Smith. She kept hunting for more information. After poring over hundreds upon hundreds of mostly irrelevant documents Tanya found that a cold case investigator working on the 35-year-old Black Dahlia murder had considered Mr. Smith a prime suspect in the notorious slaying. As fate would have it Smith perished just days before a scheduled interview with the investigator. With a deep exhalation Tanya shut down the antiquated microfiche machine and let her mind hum with all of these new revelations. Could a nearly indigent drunkard have taken the life of the Dahlia? It seemed eerily appropriate. The misfits of society often gravitate to one another, sometimes with startlingly violent results. Conflagrations involving these types of ravaged souls usually do not garner much notice. To Tanya the most riveting aspect of the Dahlia case was the fact that so many people had become obsessed with the woman in death when no one had cared about her in life. By most accounts the unfortunate lady had drifted from city to city, from address to address, and from man to man without developing any permanent ties to anyone or anything. Tanya could relate. An unexplainable compulsion drew her back to the Holland the very next day. She sensed that someone was still living inside of the place and knew that she would probably attract his attention when she reappeared in the vicinity. Suffused with a familiar combination of fear, exhilaration, and curiosity she parked her car and approached the premises. Two unbidden thoughts popped into her mind just as she reached the threshold of the long-defunct hotel. Firstly, no one would ever report her missing. Secondly, her body would likely never be found. Before she could react to these disturbing premonitions she felt a sharp pain in the back of her head. Her next conscious realization came as she awoke inside of a tiny room. She found herself handcuffed next to a Christmas tree. A reflection of her own stunned, horrified face mocked her as she gazed into the mirror-like, black goggles worn by the man who loomed above her..

See the entire Holland Hotel Christmas gallery at TanyaDanielle.com now.

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Drama at the Seaside Motel

2011-12-06T11:24:00.000-08:00

Busty, British adventurers have been traversing the Atlantic for many years, all of them eager to establish formidable reputations in the United States. Catfighter Tanya Danielle takes great pleasure in returning these upstart challengers to their homeland with deflated breasts and egos. She considered herself to be the world's premiere titfighter. Few would dispute her dominance. In 2010 Tanya faced the most skilled, aggressive opponent of her career, Goldie Blair. After humiliating the Brit in a decisive match, Tanya nonetheless deems Goldie worthy of remaining on US soil. Both women have continued to rack up victories against lesser adversaries. To Tanya's intense chagrin, however, she learns that Goldie has represented herself very poorly during a violent battle against none other than large-breasted, British expatriate Taylor Wane. "You should have forced that blonde bitch off this continent!" Tanya chastises Goldie. Uncharacteristically, Goldie has nothing to say. This only serves to make Tanya even angrier. Suffused with equal measures of rage and disgust the most accomplished titfighter on the planet decides to confront Taylor personally. She soon discovers that Taylor has ensconced herself inside of a kitschy, 1960s-era oceanfront motel. "How convenient." Tanya muses. "I will dump her body in the sea after I finish kicking her ass. She can swim back to England if she is still alive." The following day Tanya enters Taylor's room at the Seaside Motel with no advance warning. Rather than expressing surprise or indignation Taylor calmly eyes her uninvited visitor and says: "Prepare for the most brutal defeat of your lifetime, you worn-out, old, has-been fighter. No country - not even a primitive third world nation - will accept you within its borders when I am finished with you!" The city of Los Angeles cannot contain both of these women. By the end of the afternoon one of them, bruised and demoralized beyond recognition, will be departing from the Western Hemisphere on a hastily booked international flight..

Join TanyaDanielle.com to see the entire Titfight Queen 2 gallery and find out which bellicose blonde still resides within the golden shores of Los Angeles!

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Palms, Palms, Everywhere Palms

2011-12-04T13:21:00.000-08:00

Lately I have been encountering a lot of locations which bear signs having to do with palm trees: the former Palms Motel on Figueroa, the Lone Palm Trailer Lodge, the Alvarado Palms Motel, and more. One of the signs has emerged as a clear favorite. Check out the bottom pic :)

XO Tanya

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King's Castle

2011-12-02T22:59:00.000-08:00

I have decided to come forward and speak publicly about an incident that occurred between me and Republican presidential hopeful Herman Cain. Several years ago Mr. Cain hired me as a chambermaid at the King's Castle Motel in Los Angeles. During his tenure at the establishment he used the alias "Mr. Jones" and felt free to indulge himself in all types of illicit behavior. One day Herman surprised me inside of a room that I was cleaning and made it clear that I would have to service him sexually if I wanted to keep my job. Initially I acted like I would comply with his demands. As soon as Herman unbuckled his belt, however, I grabbed him by the walnuts and threw him onto a bed where I began subjecting him to a brutal campaign of smothering and facesitting torture. Perhaps the attack left him brain damaged. Every time I hear Herman on the radio these days he is claiming not to recall the names and faces of the various women who are accusing him of sexual harassment, some of whom have received tens of thousands of dollars as compensation for his transgressions. Fortunately I have actual videotape footage of my encounter with Herman and I just added it to the Members' Area at TanyaDanielle.com. Watch Smuffed Out to see me teaching this creepy opportunist the type of lesson that he so richly deserves.. (Click here for a preview.)

XO Tanya

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Sign O' the Times

2011-12-02T19:53:00.001-08:00

I have an obsession with certain types of Americana: abandoned buildings, rundown structures, and quirky, old signage make my heart beat faster. Several months ago a sense of urgency impelled me to start photographing the objects of my fixation. On this past Thanksgiving Day I snapped a bunch of pics of the 1960s-era Palms Motel sign at 8480 Figueroa Boulevard in Los Angeles. Imagine my surprise when I drove past the awesome old sign earlier today and discovered that the new owners of the property are dismantling it. I wish I had known that they were not intending to preserve it for posterity. It would have looked so nice in my bedroom :)

XO Tanya

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Rocky Thanksgiving

2011-11-25T14:39:00.001-08:00

Morrison Hotel

2011-11-23T23:55:00.001-08:00

Urban explorers Kymberly Jane and Tanya Danielle enjoy prowling through the dark alleyways and abandoned buildings of Los Angeles. On a quiet Saturday morning the women drive to 1246 Hope Street, site of the now-defunct Morrison Hotel. Upon arrival Kymberly asks Tanya if she recognizes the place. Tanya shakes her head slowly as she gazes at the large, vacant structure. “I don’t recognize it but I feel like I should. This building has some kind of strange energy which makes me want to discover its secrets.” A man saunters past them on the sidewalk. He raps twice on the main entrance to 1246 Hope and then proceeds on his way. Tanya stares at him as he vanishes into the distance. “What was that about?” she wonders aloud. “Why was he banging on the doors?” Her questions hang in the air. “The doors?” Kymberly finally says. “Yes.” Tanya replies as she gestures at the decayed threshold of the hotel. “Those doors. Didn’t you just see that? That man just pounded twice on the doors.” Once again her words fail to provoke an immediate response from Kymberly. As they continue to survey the property a slight breeze ruffles the women’s long hair and causes Tanya to shiver involuntarily. All of a sudden she exclaims: “The Doors! Now I see why you brought me here. This is where Jim Morrison and The Doors shot the 1970 album photos for Morrison Hotel!” Kymberly merely laughs and the two friends step onto the curb and prepare to find an unsecured portion of the building through which they can force an entry. Unbeknownst to them a man is watching their every move through the cracked, dusty window panes of room 306. He idly rearranges lengths of white rope and a wide assortment of gags as he tracks their progress around the block. The two women will be visiting the Morrison Hotel for a much longer span of time than either of them had intended..

View the entire Buxom Explorers in Bondage gallery at TanyaDanielle.com now!

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Sunset Tonight

2011-11-20T20:20:00.000-08:00

Blackmailed By Batwoman

2011-11-16T20:48:00.001-08:00

Andromeda-born Batwoman enjoys a quiet life in the stalactite-filled caves of her home planet. Recently, however, she has been feeling the urge to do some traveling. She realizes with delight that the American Halloween holiday is fast approaching. Festive US citizens like to parade around their cities in costume on this day. The tradition makes it very easy for Batwoman to blend into their society without having to don civilian apparel. In the early hours of October 31 she spreads her wings in flight, glides past thousands of moons, and eventually comes in for a landing near the shores of Los Angeles. She immediately stops by the Encounter Way Station. As a matter of courtesy outer space visitors generally check in with authorities when touring the Northern Hemisphere of the Earth. Batwoman likes the station because it doubles as a bar/restaurant which caters to Earthlings who are passing through the Los Angeles International Airport. Hobnobbing with humans amuses her. After informing station attendants of her arrival she steps into an elevator which transports her to the bar area. To her surprise she runs into the ravishing Vectra Lady whom she has not seen for several centuries. The two curvaceous aliens sit down together to chat and catch up on current events. They ignore the ravenous stares of the male patrons who surround them. Ten minurtes into the conversation Vectra Lady reveals a startlingly salacious tidbit of gossip. "You know that holier-than-thou, goody-two-shoes superheroine Virtue?' she asks Batwoman rhetorically. "Well, rumor has it that she sucked off her own nephew, Wonderboy, and swallowed all of his cum." Batwoman practically falls off of her stool. Vectra Lady relishes the moment and then adds: "Yep, she was so desperate for cock that she disguised herself as Catwoman and seduced her own nephew. Supposedly her enemies have footage of the entire encounter." Accompanying visual images fill Batwoman's head as she hears this story. Her pussy grows wet. Without finishing her tropical beverage she quickly excuses herself and flies over to Western Boulevard where she lands next to an abandoned, graffiti-covered warehouse. Her high-heeled boots make sharp tapping noises against the cement as she begins striding down decayed sidewalks in search of a particular motel she remembers from the 1960s. At last she locates the Galaxy Inn and pays the stern-faced proprietress for a two-night stay. Once ensconced in her room Batwoman sets up a video camera to record a message for Wonderboy... Buy this riveting video to see Batwoman talking to you, Wonderboy. She is demanding that you come fuck her and she feels compelled to demonstrate every act that she wants to perform on your cock. Seize this opportunity, Wonderboy. If you don't appease Batwoman she will release the incestuous footage of you and your aunt to the entire galaxy!!!

Join TanyaDanielle.com to see the Blackmailed by Batwoman gallery in its entirety now! (Video available at DeviantDownloads.com.)

XO Tanya

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Sweet Pea's Sojourn

2011-11-16T20:47:00.001-08:00

Powerful rays of morning sunlight beat down upon the crumbling facade of the long-abandoned building. Years have passed since Sweet Pea's escape from behind the walls of this former brothel/cabaret. She has traversed the world on a solo mission in search of intelligent life and more refined circumstances. A regal bearing and an expression of fierce determination have replaced the manifestations of youthful perplexity and startled naivete which used to grace her countenance. She feels ready to reclaim her ruined past by finding the predators who victimized her so very long ago. The site of her youthful imprisonment - now subsumed by neglect and decay - will serve as her base of operations..

Join TanyaDanielle.com to see Sweet Pea's Sojourn in its entirety now!

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Frozen Forever : Cemetery Sylph

2011-10-18T12:05:00.001-07:00

Fitzroy McSimmons lives in a mobile home community called the Lone Palm Trailer Lodge. Often he refers to himself as the Lone Wolf at the Lone Palm. Most evenings he relaxes on the front porch of his double-wide trailer and gazes out at the rambling grounds of the old cemetery which border his own little plot of land. Occasional visitors to the McSimmons residence usually recoil at the sight of the crumbling graveyard on Fitzroy's doorstep. This puzzles Fitzroy. He cannot fathom his guests' uneasiness because he views the cemetery as a place of respect, the final resting spot for hundreds of beloved individuals to lie in peace next to their kinfolk. Fitzroy deeply appreciates his underground neighbors. Each night he toasts their eternal presence with a few appropriate words and a swig from his beer can. Lately, however, the self-proclaimed Lone Wolf has been feeling the urge to interact with other living, breathing humans. On a fateful Tuesday afternoon he pulls on a pair of well-worn cowboy boots and trudges over to the Vagabond Tavern where he finds a seat close to the front door. The Vagabond caters to a rough clientele and Fitzroy never knows when an unwelcome face from his past might resurface. He likes to position himself near an exit in case he needs to make a quick getaway. When his eyes adjust to the darkness the Lone Wolf signals the bartender and orders a Guinness. At that moment he notices an absolutely stunning Asian woman sitting at a table in the back of the room. He can't take his eyes off of her. "Who is that amazing creature?" he asks the bartender. "Don't know.. " the gruff old biker says in a droll monotone. "but she must be the adventurous type if she is coming in here." After one shot of Jameson and two more beers Fitzroy decides to approach the beguiling stranger. He finds her surprisingly easy to talk to and wonders where she has been all of his life. Eventually he learns that she is an author named Akira who is gathering background information for a screenplay that she is writing. "It's about a gangster and his girlfriend who are running from the law." she tells him. "They end up in lots of shady establishments." Fitzroy chuckles. "You've definitely come to the right place if you are researching shady establishments." he says. Akira starts laughing along with him and Fitzroy feels an unexpected rush of delight spread across his insides and sink into his soul. He knows that he must keep this woman, keep her forever. A brazen idea occurs to him. "I have a friend in the movie business." he tells her. "He might be a good connection for you, help you generate some interest in your screenplay. Would you like to meet him? You can visit his studio and audition for a part in the new movie that he is producing. Lots of industry bigwigs will be there." Initially Akira balks at the notion because she is not an actress. Fitzroy keeps encouraging her to come rub shoulders with the various executives who will be arriving in town to collaborate on the project. "Just use your beauty to get their attention." he says reasonably. " Then you can tell them all about your script. Maybe you will find a backer." Soon he and Akira agree upon a date for her to do a screen test for his producer friend. The following morning Fitzroy calls the friend. "I'm bringing a beautiful lady to see you, Walter." he says. "Just pretend it's an audition. All you have to do is ask her to put on a particular bracelet and recite a few lines of dialogue. I'll be there to pick her up when she is done." Walter readily agrees. He and Fitzroy have known each other for a long time and he owes his pal some big favors... 24 hours later: Shortly before 10am Fitzroy retrieves a plastic bracelet given to him by his grandmother. It looks like a throwaway flea market purchase, but in actuality the weathered trinket has the power to turn the flesh of its wearer into stone. He brings it to Walter's studio and leaves it for Akira. Initially his plan works perfectly. The surface of Akira's skin quickly morphs into a glossy, flawless expanse of marble when she dons the bracelet and utters her lines. Fitzroy ignores the shocked reactions of Walter's crew because he knows that Walter will force them to keep their silence. After transporting Akira's frozen form back to his trailer he can barely separate himself from her beautiful body long enough to eat or sleep. Days pass. Fitzroy lives in utter bliss until a shocking phone call interrupts his activities. "They are looking for her." Walter's voice rasps over the line. "The FBI and the local fuzz are going door to door and.. " Fitzroy slams down the receiver before Walter has a chance to finish speaking. Decades of alternative living enable Fitzroy to shift mental gears very quickly during a crisis. He decides on a course of action and then waits for night to fall. Much later, under the glow of a crescent-shaped moon, he creeps out of his trailer and places his cherished new statue amongst the century-old figurines and burial markers which populate the graveyard next door. "No one will find you here, sweetheart." he tells Akira as he plants a soft kiss on her smooth, well-shaped stone lips. "I'll bring you home as soon as it is safe.. "

See the photos and watch the video of Frozen Forever - Take 1 starring Akira Lane at TanyaDanielle.com now!

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Grim Landscape

2011-10-18T11:52:00.000-07:00

Everything about the shoot seemed odd from the start. Tanya's agent supplied very few details prior to the booking. He merely provided her with an address and told her to be there at 2pm. Shortly before the appointed hour Tanya finds herself cruising slowly through an inner city neighborhood as she looks for the location. Spooky graffiti covers long expanses of vacant, boarded-up storefronts. Liquor stores, churches, and fast food franchises inhabit the majority of the occupied commercial space. Belatedly Tanya notices a used car lot near the corner of Florence and Vermont Boulevards. It bears the street number on Florence which her agent had given her. With some puzzlement she makes a U-turn and then pulls into a driveway filled with a random assortment of vehicles, most of which look about ten to fifteen years old. Neon green numerals affixed to their windshields advertise the respective price of each car and truck. Moments after Tanya shuts off her engine a man materializes next to her window. "Let me park your car for you, Miss Danielle." he says with an ingratiating smile. Tanya feels relieved that she has found the right place and hops out of the driver's seat and onto the pavement. Loud ranchera music from a nearby Winchell's Donut Shop fills the outside air. Minutes later the man is leading her toward a used and slightly dented Toyota. "Today we will be taking some promo shots with this truck because we are going to be listing it in one of the local newspapers." he tells her. Tanya smiles pleasantly to conceal her growing sense of unease. Nothing about this shoot feels right. Soon, however, the busty, blonde model is attacking the assignment with her usual zeal. She poses in front of the truck wearing tight jeans, boots, and a strip of yellow "caution" tape wrapped around her large breasts. Her trepidation begins to dissolve as she drapes herself suggestively over the hood of the truck and alternately smiles and pouts at the camera. The photographer shouts his approval and Tanya is so caught up in the moment that she fails to see an armed man in a ski mask approaching her from behind the vehicle. By the time she becomes aware of his presence she knows with grim certainty that she has become a pawn in a horrific game which very well may claim her life..

What fate will Tanya suffer at the hands of her captors? Join TanyaDanielle.com to see the huge Grim Landscape gallery in its entirety now!

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Welcome to Monrovia

2011-03-11T17:15:00.000-08:00

Longtime members of TanyaDanielle.com are fairly well-acquainted with my travels since I periodically provide photo galleries of my daily activities. At times members may wonder just where I will pop up next. Paris? Milan? A trailer park alongside historic Route 66 in downtown Monrovia, California? This past Sunday the last guess would have been correct. On the morning of March 6th I gassed up my 1998 Jetta and handed the keys to my friend Elias. Another of my frequent companions, Luisa, and I settled in for the ride to Monrovia. After pulling off the 210 freeway Luisa and I sat up straight to peer out the windows and take a gander at our surroundings. We swiveled around in our seats and tried to decide which direction we should go. "You guys look like two family dogs out for a Sunday drive." Elias commented as we were pressing our faces against the windows and taking in the sights. At first blush Monrovia did not look all that exciting. Every possible chain restaurant lined Huntington Drive, the street on which we were driving. Fortunately I spotted the official sign which marks the entrance into Monrovia and names 1887 as the year of its creation. We took a few photos of that and then snapped a couple more with a sign identifying Huntington Drive as part of the original, fabled Route 66. After resuming our drive we saw Red Lobster, we saw Chili's, we saw Black Angus, we saw Daphne's Greek Cafe, we saw Applebee's, we saw BJ's Brewhouse, we saw Mimi's Cafe, we saw every possible chain restaurant known to man with the possible exception of California Pizza Kitchen which must have been lurking on a different street in Monrovia. Luisa and Elias wanted to eat something, but I vetoed every establishment that we passed. Why drive all the way out to Monrovia and go to a chain restaurant? In the end that is exactly what we found ourselves doing. We did, however, manage to select a place that was somewhat in keeping with the Route 66 vibe: Sonic Drive-in. At Sonic you can pull into a parking spot, roll down your window, and order your food by speaking into a machine. A short time later a roller-skating carhop will deliver your meal right to your car. This morning we opted to eat on their patio so we could soak in some of the sunshine. None of us was starving so we ordered a few different items that we could share. As we dined I regaled my friends with a story about an exquisitely pretty stripper named Samantha with whom I used to dance at a club in Tennessee. One night she'd arrived in the dressing room in a very bad mood. She had proceeded to tell all of us that she had been lying in bed naked with her brother and her cousin when the police had showed up to serve a warrant on the cousin...

Join TanyaDanielle.com to read the rest of the story and see my Welcome to Monrovia gallery in its entirety now!

XO Tanya

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Gang Beatdown

2010-06-07T22:56:00.000-07:00

A little over a week ago I was riding the Metro home from downtown Los Angeles. Around 11:30pm on this Saturday night four young men in their late teens boarded the train and it became immediately evident that they were looking for trouble. They surveyed the half empty car and then spread themselves around it. I turned my eyeballs toward the window and felt grateful that I was carrying less than $50 in my wallet. As the doors of the train closed the crew of thugs began examining the faces of everyone in the immediate area and joking loudly among themselves. One of them, who was wearing a purple shirt, eventually targeted a kid who was sitting by himself and looked to be about 14-years-old or so.

"Are you alone?" the guy in purple asked the kid.

The kid would not answer him or look at him - he merely stared into space, careful not to let his gaze rest on anyone or anything in particular. His vacant eyes did not reveal any emotion beyond what may have been a faint glimmer of steadfast hope. Maybe he was praying or silently repeating some type of rote exhortation to the universe which might help keep him safe.

"Are you alone?" the same dude in purple demanded of him again and again, his voice and body language growing more ominous each time he repeated the query.

The remarkably stalwart young man held up really well under the pressure. He displayed neither fear, nor interest, nor any trace of animation whatsoever. Only the taut stillness of his body conveyed the impression that he was both listening to the words and registering the implicit threat which they contained. All of a sudden the bully in purple shifted his focus to another teenager who had just entered the car at the next stop. This new passenger wore an AC/DC T-shirt and an obligatory pair of ridiculously baggy pants. The color red seemed to be something of a motif in his apparel: his T-shirt had a red outline around the AC/DC logo, red fabric of some sort hung out of one of his pockets, and his shoes bore red markings on them. He chattered away on his cellphone, seemingly unaware of the attention he had engendered in the other occupants of the train. I think everybody but him knew that something really bad was about to happen in his life. He kept gabbing away on his phone as the tension in the atmosphere grew stronger. All the regular folks, such as myself, realized that we were about to witness a violent event. Many stared downward or watched the lights of the city pass by as we sped through the night. A few people shifted uncomfortably in their seats. Finally the train rolled to a halt. The guy in the purple shirt at last hurled a string of invectives at his new target. I could not discern many of the words contained in this outpouring of street slang and profanity, but all of a sudden the guy in the AC/DC shirt understood everything very clearly. Shock registered on his face. I could almost feel the explosion of dread and fear that was freezing his insides as I watched him. Of course the four gangbangers sensed it too and they shouted more threats as they exited the car. Where were they going? The doors closed. Their erstwhile prey began pacing up and down the aisle and then beating his fists and head against the walls. No one said a word. His agitation was increasing to a fever pitch when it occured to him to call one of his friends. He got a hold of someone and uttered a series of nearly unintelligible sentences. Then he said several times very clearly: "I am alone! I am alone!" He stayed on the train for a few more stops and ultimately abandoned the idea of trying to get his friends to come help him. For reasons I'll never understand he decided to exit the train at a stop on Crenshaw Boulevard. To his immense credit he was already swinging his fists and preparing to fight. Within seconds of his passing through the doors a group of six young men was diving on top of him and beating the shit out of him. Everyone else on the platform scattered as those of us on the train watched the grisly scene unfold. As we rolled away from the station a few people jumped up and pressed their faces to the windows to see more of the beatdown.

We continued cruising through the night. Someone decided to call the police and report the incident. I silently wondered why the victim had not stayed aboard until we reached a better neighborhood. His adversaries could not possibly have had a crew waiting at every stop along the route. A man seated behind me gave voice to my thoughts. "He didn't have to get off the train." he commented to the man who had called the police. "What are you gonna do? He chose to walk right into it." No one had a response so he asked again rhetorically: "What are you gonna do?"

The next day a friend of mine happened to call from prison. He had grown up fairly close to where the beating had occured..

Read the rest of the story on the Members Blog at TanyaDanielle.com!

XO Tanya

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The Bowling Alley

2010-05-02T10:52:00.000-07:00

Recently I saw a story on the Internet which reported that Tiger Woods' wife, Elin Nordegren, was planning to divorce him. I suspect that many people will silently be cheering her on for that decision and perhaps wondering why it did not come sooner. Like many folks I read some of the endless coverage about Tiger's marital infidelities. The account of one of his supposed mistresses brought back some memories for me. I don't recall her name, but Tiger had met this woman at the restaurant where she worked. She described how Tiger and his wife came in for breakfast and she felt Tiger's eyes on her whenever his wife was looking the other way. Soon thereafter Tiger returned to the establishment by himself. They started having an affair of sorts and later on she contacted the media so she could bare all of the details. Her story reminded me of something I experienced with a man who I will call "Tom". I wrote about it late one night in a journal I was keeping that year. From some earlier words on the page it seems that I composed it several months after we had broken up since I had not had the heart to do it sooner. Back then this chain of events affected me very deeply:

"On my mind right now: the fat bartender at the bowling alley.

Tom was making eyes at her when he and I were ostensibly having a good time, out together as a couple and enjoying each others' company. That is what I thought we were doing. Evidently he was expressing his sexual interest in her the entire time that we were in the place. She thought that he wanted her more than he wanted me. This was all happening behind my back. I remember standing outside the bar on that day as Tom was smoking a cigarette. As usual he had one of his arms wrapped tightly around me in something of a proprietary manner. The bartender, a brunette, was smoking a cigarette with another customer at the same time. It is very clear in my mind when she turned to Tom and remarked: "They say that every man wants a blonde." He had grinned and said: "That's what she says." as he gestured toward me and my blonde hair. I recall shoving Tom lightly in the chest and saying laughingly: "Oh, please!" At the time I had not realized that they were both making a joke at my expense since I was blithely unaware that she and he had a semi-secret banter going on right underneath my nose. I call it "semi-secret" because it turned out that numerous other people in the place had noticed it even if I had not. On that afternoon I thought that Tom and I were having a lot of fun together and that he was happy to be with me. I do recall that when the bartender presented us with the bill Tom had pushed it toward me so I could fill in the tip on his charge card receipt. Was he giving me an opportunity to leave her a paltry tip out of spite, just in case I had detected his flirtation with her? Did he suddenly realize that he had taken things too far with her and drunkenly, nonsensically was hoping to distance himself from the whole situation? Oblivious to those possibilities at the time I had filled in an amount that was slightly over twenty percent of the bar tab because that is usually what I tip people who provide decent service. Afterward we took off and went about our weekend although I did have a mild sense of unease.

Several weeks later I found out exactly what had triggered that feeling. Tom and I returned to the bowling alley on another weekend and headed into the bar area. Two unfamiliar bartenders were working. Tom left to use the restroom. I ordered our drinks and watched television as I waited for him to return. The two bartenders began a conversation that seemed a bit too loud and a bit too animated. They were punctuating their sentences with little explosions of forced laughter and occasionally sliding covert glances in my direction as I feigned interest in the flickering images on the TV screen. It did not take long for me to get the gist of what they were saying. Evidently a number of people had noted the flirtation that Tom had been carrying on with the brunette bartender a few weeks earlier. Additionally, Tom had returned to the bar by himself to see her again and had left her a huge tip on a very small bar tab. The two bartenders giggled and one of them said something which I could not hear. The other then exclaimed loudly: "Now THAT is flirtatious!" At that point Tom walked back into the room and the two of them broke into delighted, conspiratorial smiles and made a show of busying themselves with stuff behind the bar. My face was hot and powerful emotions churned in my gut. I tried to keep the rage and humiliation off of my face, but I am not sure that I succeeded. My whole body felt shaky. A few minutes earlier I had been looking forward to having a drink with my boyfriend and now I felt like an absolute fool. The two bartenders had cruelly, mockingly staged that entire conversation for my benefit and I knew that they would be watching my reaction. I downed my drink. Tom could tell immediately that I was upset. He drained his beer and we left. I lit into him in the parking lot and of course he denied all of it. Later that night I rehashed the details over the phone and he repeatedly yelled at me that I was both insecure and crazy. He continued to deny everything.

"You know what the worst part of this is?" I screamed at him through tears. "Now I have this disgusting visual in my head of your two fat stomachs rubbing against each other as you have sex with her!"

Tom actually seemed hurt when I said that. Did he expect me to be saying nice things to him right then? Yes, I should have taken the higher road and refrained from lobbing cheap insults during an argument, but... "

You can read the rest of the story on the Members' Blog inside TanyaDanielle.com now.

XO Tanya

***

The Younger Generation

2010-04-23T17:53:00.000-07:00

Nothing makes you quite feel your age like those instances when you find yourself complaining about the "younger generation". What happened a few days ago, however, was so egregious that I would have condemned it back when I was a teenager myself:

This past Wednesday I was riding the LA Metro to the club where I dance. An elderly man in very poor physical condition boarded the train and approached two boys who were taking up three seats. He asked one of them several times to move his legs so he could sit down. The boy refused to do so and his friend made a number of sarcastic remarks to the stunned senior citizen. The train started to lurch into motion and the gentleman managed to find a different seat in the nearly packed car. I happened to be standing next to the two boys and I observed all this with shock. A man to my right clearly shared my astonishment. "That is not right." he said softly to no one in particular. "That is not right." I silently nodded my assent, wondering if I should say smething to the two punk kids. A few minutes later the train came to a stop again. People departed and others boarded. When the doors closed the man who had expressed disapproval of the boys' behavior walked over to them and insisted that they relinquish the third seat. Again, the one boy refused to do so and the other popped off with a string of rude comments. I could hold my tongue no longer.

"Why do you have to be so rude?" I snapped at them. "This train is almost full and there is no excuse for you to be taking up so much space."

"Is this any of your business?" one of them shot back at me.

"Yes, it is." I replied. "This is a manner of common courtesy. I don't know where you are from or who raised you.. "

Read about the rest of my commute to the strip club on my Members' Blog at TanyaDanielle.com now.

XO Tanya

***

Words to Live By

2010-03-22T16:08:00.000-07:00

An uncommonly sweet, thoughtful gentleman named Bill used to come into a club called the Century Theatre where I performed. He bore a striking resemblance to Jerry Garcia of the Grateful Dead. I saw him frequently until 1999 when I stopped working there. Several years later I ran into Bill at a bar called the Wild Goose. We sat in a booth and chatted for a while. I asked him if he had been to the Century recently.

"No." he said. "I got a bad feeling the last time I was there and I never went back."

I waited for him to elaborate on his statement. He didn't.

"What gave you a bad feeling?" I asked.

Bill stared off into space and seemed to shake his head a bit reflexively.

"When I get a really bad vibe from something I don't examine the situation too closely." he said before returning his gaze to my face for a brief moment. "I just try to get away from whatever is making me feel that way."

After he stopped speaking I sat there silently absorbing his words. They touched me profoundly and I knew that they would change me. I could see that the energy of other people had a powerful effect on Bill, just as it did on me. People rub off on me. They leave a very deep imprint on my psyche. When I pay attention to a person I absorb a portion of his or her being into my soul. Sometimes it takes a while to get rid of the malignant parts. For as long as I could remember I had condemned myself for being overly sensitive and emotional. Bill, on the other hand, simply accepted his own temperament and respected his own feelings. Beyond that, he employed a tactic which was stunning in its simplicity: "When I get a really bad vibe from something I don't examine the situation too closely. I just try to get away from whatever is making me feel that way." His words captured me because up to that point I had spent my lifetime attempting to analyze why certain people and places made my senses roil with aversion.

Bill and I probably had that conversation about five years ago. I reflect on his words often and try to live by them. Most people cannot understand why I will refuse to go inside a certain restaurant on a given evening, will cancel travel plans at the last moment, and will determinedly avoid certain individuals even if they have never actually done anything to me. Honestly, I frequently avoid people whom I have never even met. Someone might ask to introduce me to a friend of theirs and I will decline because I already know that I will regret accepting the invitation. How do I know? I just do. When I have a strong, gut-level instinct about something or somebody I have learned to trust that emotion. Following my intuition has drastically improved my existence. I thank Bill for speaking the words in 2005 which prompted me to start relying on my feelings rather than trying to repress them. Back then I was still shooting for various porn and fetish companies, often accepting jobs which put me into contact with people who behaved obnoxiously. Gradually I stopped taking those jobs. At first it seemed like the height of folly to turn down opportunities to make money. It scared me. I feared poverty. Ultimately I realized that my inner peace mattered a great deal more than the balance in my bank account. Also, the money started flowing after I settled into doing work which I enjoyed rather than work which I dreaded.

Thank you, Bill, for the words which changed my life.

XO Tanya

***

Behind the Corner Liquor Store

2009-08-19T01:49:00.000-07:00

I used to shoot a lot of adult material with a particular cameraman who feared that porn was wrong. He never openly expressed this, but it became evident over the years. This man was in his late forties/early fifties throughout the decade or so that I worked with him. His parents had subjected him to a Catholic upbringing and guilt ruled his life. Even his camerawork reflected this. Every one of his photos featured a poorly lit room with a model in an awkward pose. He could make a beautiful, sexually confident, seasoned pornstar look like a rank amateur who was being coerced into doing her first shoot. I found it fascinating. He certainly had a style all his own. When I looked at his work it inevitably reminded me of the box of discarded Polaroids featuring ill-at-ease, drugged-out women which I had found behind the corner liquor store as a kid. He did not shoot this photo, but I came across it earlier today and it reminded me of something that he might have produced.

***

Father's Day

2009-06-19T23:29:00.000-07:00

Yesterday I showed up at the John Wayne Cancer Institute for an appointment. My gynecologist had referred me to a specialist there after finding a lump in my armpit next to my left breast. After I handed my insurance card to the receptionist she asked me a series of questions and entered my responses into a computer with her rapid-fire typing. She got my name, address, birthdate, place of birth, and phone numbers before asking me to name my next of kin. "I don't have any family." I told her. Her fingers paused in the air above her keyboard and she looked up at me with an odd, questioning expression. "Can I just give you the name of a friend?" I inquired. She nodded her assent, typed in the name and contact information for one of my friends, and then finished obtaining the rest of the data that she needed from me. Afterward she told me to find a seat in the waiting area. I sat there for a while. Another patient approached me and asked my name. I told her. She seemed delighted. "Oh!" she exclaimed. "I saw your name on the sign-in sheet and you have the same name as one of my closest friends. She is just a wonderful person!" We chatted for a minute and established that I was not related to her friend. She departed and I tried to read my book. I had trouble concentrating because I was nervous about seeing the doctor and thoughts of my family, with whom I have not had any contact in years, kept popping into my head. My mind turned specifically to my father, maybe because Father's Day is this Sunday. He is dead and we can never settle our differences. Ten days ago I sat at home writing about him because that was the anniversary of his death. I am posting those words below on the off-chance that someone reading this might feel moved to make peace with their father or with their child before it is too late. My chance is gone and it is a horrible feeling. Here is what I wrote on June 9 of this year:

Nine years ago today I was shooting a catfight video with Amber Michaels for CaliforniaWildcats.com. We finished the shoot in the late afternoon and I drove to my friend Jimmy's apartment. He wasn't home yet so I made a few phone calls while pacing around on the sidewalk in front of his building. That is when I learned that my father had passed on about 45 minutes earlier. The details were sad. Even the hospice worker was shocked by how hard my father had struggled to stay alive after experiencing a heart attack. My aunt and my mother were with him. None of his four children were present. Later on my mother commented on how afraid he was to die. "He really thought that he was going to Hell." she told me a few nights after his death. As soon as she had uttered those words an image of the gold St. Christopher medal he wore on a chain around his neck popped into my mind. I don't think he ever took it off. He had worn that medal ever since I had known him. Actually, I did not really know him at all. He and my mother stayed married for decades and ostensibly we all lived in the same home until I left when I was a teenager. Yet Bob did not come home much because he was a very busy man. He occupied himself with working, duck hunting, and partying with his girlfriends. As an adult I now realize that he easily could have carried on extramarital affairs without his ten-year-old daughter being able to figure it out, but he made little effort to hide his philandering ways. I remember exactly when I found out about his extramarital activities. It bothered me a great deal, particularly since he was so obvious about it, so totally indifferent to the feelings of his wife and children.

When I was 23 years old I spoke to my father on the phone and sputtered something about how all of his cheating had left me with an inability to trust men at all. He replied that all men cheat because they need variety and that I should just accept it. According to him no man could be satisfied by one woman because one woman could never provide variety. Variety. That word has haunted me for a while. If I was to believe my father then I would realize that it doesn't matter how smart a woman is, how kind she is, how pretty she is, how successful she is, how funny she is, how sexy she is, how great a mother she is, or anything else that she is because he is still going to cheat on her.

My father and I were never close. When I was quite young I remember telling him that I loved him and he pretended that he did not hear me. Another time he told me that men who spent time with their families were "fags". We did not have many conversations, but his contempt for family life, and for women in general, became very self-evident over the years. It burned its way into my soul. A normal girl probably would not have felt it or cared about it as much as I did. Unfortunately my mother hated me so I never developed any type of connection with her either. I think she had hoped my birth would save her marriage, turn that ill-fated union into the loving relationship which she craved. Of course that did not transpire. Children do not save marriages, but she had pinned her hopes on me and I had failed her. I remember feeling her contempt and resentment from the earliest days of my childhood. Since I lacked loving parents it probably would have been natural for me to develop an attachment to another family member or maybe some type of mentor. That did not happen. Instead I taught myself to read when I was four years old, buried my nose in books, and tried to shut out the real world. When I entered school I quickly became the class loser - the kid everyone made fun of - because I was painfully shy, dressed like a geek, and had no social skills whatsoever. That persisted for years. School was a nightmare. I braced myself each day to face a new round of cruel teasing and vicious ridicule. My parents told me I was weak when I cried about going to school. They did try to get me counseling, but the psychologist was completely unsuitable. He had provided "therapy" to my mother for years, but also went duck hunting with my father. He was not the least bit objective about anything. In fact, he was incredibly judgmental about everything. It all seems so crazy now.

In my early adulthood I became something of a zombie, feeling very little emotion and never expressing any of it. Then in 1999 I went to visit my parents after many years of not seeing them. My father was dying of lung cancer and I wanted to make peace with both him and my mother. It went badly, in large part because they strongly disapproved of my work in the adult industry. My father told me that I was no longer his daughter and he wanted me to let him "die in peace." After he uttered those hideous words I fled from the room, sobbing hysterically. A short time later a car arrived to take me to the airport. As I prepared to depart I stood in the doorway and looked over to the leather chair where my father was sitting in his living room. "I love you." I called out through my tears. He reclined back in his chair so he would not have to look at me, laced his fingers behind his head, and did not say a word as he stared at the ceiling. That was the last time I ever saw him. The news of his death on June 9, 2000 effectively extinguished any hope of a reconciliation. And that's when the embers started to smolder inside of me. About six years later they began burning and I was fully engulfed in rage: rage against my father, rage against my mother, and rage over how they had treated me.

Now, nine years after his death, I see things more clearly than I ever have. As I quench the flames of anger that have been roaring inside of me I see that my parents had major issues of their own and were just not equipped to give me any emotional support. I think that my father may have loved me in his own way even though I was low on his list of priorities. My mother's hatred of me stems from her own personal demons. She suffered in her childhood and she just could not pick through her own twisted emotions and find any love for me. So why am I writing this on the anniversary of my father's death? I guess I just need to expunge it from my gut. This is the first year that I have ever felt myself leaning toward forgiveness.

***

The Wasted Years

2009-04-18T01:53:00.000-07:00

From 1994 until the end of 1999 I was addicted to prescription drugs. I had four different medications prescribed by one doctor and was taking about ten pills a day. A few years ago I wrote this about my psychiatrist. I often think about that period of my life as the "lost years".

Yesterday I had a conversation that prompted me to coin a phrase for some of the other years in my past. My friend Lydia was doing my makeup for a shoot and our conversation turned to a dark topic. She mentioned that her ex-husband, the father of her two children, had infected her with a sexually transmitted disease after returning from a weekend out of town.

"I remember the night he got home so well. I had the fireplace going and had made him a really nice dinner." she said and then paused, obviously pushing back some emotion that lingered several decades after the chain of events had actually transpired. "I mean.. he was my husband.. he was my husband and I was making him a nice dinner because I had missed him while he was gone.. "

She stopped talking then because I knew exactly what she was saying, she knew exactly what she meant, but twenty years later she still felt a bit foolish and used and angry and vulnerable and vengeful and humiliated because she had blithely, unsuspectingly been planning a fun homecoming evening and cooking a wonderful meal for the man she loved who had just spent his weekend having sex with someone else. I've been in her shoes and, although I've never been married, I know precisely how it feels.

It makes you feel fucking stupid even though it shouldn't.

Oh, yeah, baby. When someone cheats the truth almost always comes out sooner or later. It's worse when it comes out later because you inevitably will end up spending a bunch of time replaying various events in your head and wondering how you possibly could have been so clueless. Maybe it was months that you had no inkling. Maybe it was years. In my case it was years. Those are my Wasted Years. The happy memories hurt the most. Actually, I should say that they are the memories that used to be happy. You know, those occasions that you used to smile about: the times the two of you felt really connected as a couple and were relishing the intimacy of your relationship. Well, it turned out that only one of you was feeling that way because the other one was too busy lying and cheating to bother caring about any type of real unity.

I stayed with one guy for years because I did not realize he was cheating on me. I would have left him immediately if I had just known about it. As it turned out I discovered the truth - everyone else knew long before me - after we had been together for a significant period of time. I ended the relationship.

Of course I recognize that those Wasted Years were not entirely wasted. I had many experiences that had nothing to do with him. I grew, changed, and learned a lot. Also, my ex-lover did bring some good things into my life. Yet I just can't escape the feeling that I wasted a big chunk of precious time with him - time I could have spent on my own without pouring a lot of effort into an ill-fated relationship or time I could have spent with someone much more worthwhile...

Read more on my Members' Blog right now!

***

Owing

2009-04-14T01:43:00.001-07:00

Back on April 27, 2007 I sent the below e-mail to my mother. She and I have always had a horrible relationship and she tended to treat me with contempt and searing resentment until I left her home at the age of 17. In 1999 we had a brief, bitter reunion which really opened my eyes to how much she genuinely hated me. We have not seen each other since. Around 2007 or so I began making a concerted effort to deal with my past because my intense anger toward my mother seemed to be increasing rather than diminishing. The words below represent my first solid attempt to confront her. I suppose I was hoping that the truth might break her down and prompt her to finally be honest with me. That did not happen. Here is the bulk of that e-mail which I sent to her about 2 years ago:

“… I felt your hatred from the time that I can remember. All my life I used to hope that I would find out that I had been adopted. It would have relieved me to know that your hatred toward me was based upon something so simple. I still nurture a bit of hope that maybe I am not your real child, but I suspect that I probably am.
It was hard to grow up with one hateful parent and one absent parent. Particularly since you played with my mind so much and always pretended that you were doing what was best for me. Now I believe that I came into your life right around the time that you realized that your marriage was a complete mockery. Rather than address that issue with the appropriate party you just directed your hatred at me. But you pretended that your intentions towards me were always benign. That’s what made me crazy. One of my ex-boyfriends once said:

‘Your mother is the one person who is supposed to love you. If you don’t have the love of your mother then you can never trust anyone.’

He was preaching to the choir because I already knew that. I have lived with it all my life. I hope I do better. If I ever have children I will make them the first priority in my life. You taught me that I deserved to be hated. You gave me that legacy and I lived it. Interestingly, I have gained a lot of wisdom in all these years. Sometimes I try and remind myself that your childhood was not easy. You just did to me what your mother did to you: made her child feel worthless.

You owe me an apology. In many ways you are an interesting person and in some ways I understand you. That does not mean I should not demand what you owe me. You failed as a mother. You absolutely 100% failed at what should have been the most important role in your life. Laura doesn’t feel that way because she did not experience your hatred. I did and I will not pretend that it was acceptable.”

Was I too harsh? Did I leave room for a civilized discussion? Could I have handled everything better? I’m not sure of the answers to any of those questions, but I feel that everything I wrote in that e-mail was true. Why do I “feel” it and not “know” it? Aargh… that’s why I need my mother. She can fill in the blanks for me, but she has been completely unwilling to do so. I want to make sense of it - I need to make sense of it. Are there secrets that I don’t know? Could I have been adopted? I remember her getting in my face and snarling at me: “You owe me. You OWE ME!!” Ever since then I have wondered what exactly she was talking about. Had she made more of a sacrifice for me than most mothers do? Do most mothers say that type of thing? If they do, do they say it with so much hideous rage? Why did she hate me so much? She would not have anything to do with me when I was an infant. I remember my father laughing weakly and commenting that my mother had gone into a horrible post-partum depression that lasted for years after my birth. We had tons of albums that contained photographs of my smiling mother cradling my happy sister Laura (born a year before me), but there was not a single photo in existence that showed my mother holding me. Instead, there were a number of photos of my Aunt Joan, dressed in her nurse’s uniform, holding me. For some reason she cared for me in my early months. Why? My mother said it was because I would not sleep through the night. Well, it wasn’t like my mother needed her sleep to get to work in the morning. She was a housewife. She was at work.

From the words of various relatives it has become clear why I never established a bond with anyone in those pivotal first months of my life. Aunt Joan tried to be there, but she lived forty-five minutes away, worked full-time, and was singlehandedly raising three kids of her own. I thank her from the bottom of my heart for doing what she could. She was my father’s sister. He did not have much involvement in the situation because he was busy with his work, his partying, and his girlfriends. Did he love me? Perhaps in some type of detached manner he did. Yet he once declared laughingly that men who spent time with their families were “fags”.

So why do I endlessly rehash all this stuff? I do it all the time, always trying to make sense of it. I have an incredibly strong feeling in my gut that there are a bunch of secrets that surround the circumstances of my birth. The root of all this lies in my mother’s hatred. Or is she my mother? Throughout my childhood she would often say:

“I would never tell a child that he or she was adopted. It is just too damaging.”

She said that a LOT. Am I adopted? I hope so. Or was her hatred of me somehow related to a horrible case of post-partum depression? If so, she must still be suffering from it. Then again, maybe my birth coincided with the first time she discovered my father’s infidelity. Could it be that? It could be. Why does it matter? I am not entirely certain why the possibilities vex me so much and why I am so tormented by it all. I just want to know, want to make sense of the past. I really want to understand what the f*ck was going on all those years ago. At this point I have no contact with her or any other members of my family. It’s been years.

With all that said, I do know one thing: it’s time to move on. I have a great life and so much for which to be thankful. I cannot let my future happiness be contingent upon learning about the dark aspects of my childhood. Here is a tremendous quotation from Still Waters by Jennifer Lauck:

“Anger is a poison ivy in the heart and if it grows unchecked it covers all the soft spaces where you love and understand and feel joy. There’s power in anger, sure, a power that can help you survive. But true wisdom is knowing when to let it go.”

***

Catharsis

2009-03-19T21:23:00.001-07:00

I have noticed that some people will not admit to having been poor, whether they were moneyless for a lot of years or just a few weeks. They seem to feel ashamed of their struggles. For some reason I am the opposite. My memories of the leanest times give me the most satisfaction because I survived them. Recently I posted some musings on my Members blog at TanyaDanielle.com about a tough period in my life. I was writing about how an ex-boyfriend used to play with my emotions and reduce me to an angry, sobbing wreck. This was the aftermath:

"A friend advised me to stop wearing my heart on my sleeve and giving him the satisfaction of seeing how much he bothered me. I never took that suggestion because I genuinely felt the need to vent my emotions when he was trying to mess with my head. Eventually I got sick of how he was manipulating me. One night I stormed out for good. I had no place to go, but I was determined to leave him. I ended up at the Stillwell Hotel in downtown Los Angeles. At the time I believe they were renting rooms for a little over $100 a week. When I first entered my new room I found that it had blood spatters on the wall, a used condom underneath the bed, and a threadbare blanket that was probably covered with DNA samples. I left to go buy some rubber gloves and a comforter."

Since these were the days long before most people had Internet access, and because there was no phone in that room, I had sat down on the bed and composed a letter to my ex-boyfriend, declaring that I was through with him. I must have gone to sleep afterward because these are the next of my recollections:

"As it turned out I did not mail the letter until the following morning. I remember that day very clearly. Before dropping the letter into the mailbox I looked at the blank space that should have contained my return address. Was I homeless? Are you technically homeless if you are living in a hotel with weekly rates? I pondered this before parting with the letter and then I turned and walked down Ninth Street feeling like someone had just lifted a huge weight off my shoulders. I was scared and alone, but absolutely determined to keep moving forward."

I stayed at the Stillwell until I had enough money to rent an apartment. To this day I am very grateful that I found the Stillwell and that I could afford it. Back then I used to see huge numbers of people living on the streets of Los Angeles or in their cars. This has not changed. A lot of employed people in this expensive, sprawling metropolis work each day but they cannot always afford a hotel room or an apartment.

Now, years later, I look back at my time at the Stillwell with some fondness. I had tons of freaky, compelling experiences there and I learned a great deal about self-reliance and even more about myself. Here is something else I wrote about it:

"There is knowledge that comes to you when you are sitting in an old, stinking building and listening to pimps screaming at hookers, ashtrays being flung against walls, and unattended children running around the hallways. The knowledge may not come in the middle of the night, but it might hit you in the glorious morning light when you are loping down the sidewalk hearing endless shards of glass getting smashed to bits underneath your beat-down, old running shoes. All the troublemakers have gone into hiding at that hour - they are never doing anything at 7am - and you feel safe, spirited, and alive. So much exultation wells up in your soul that it does not matter how much money you have or don't have. The world is beautiful and you are never bored. Even the torment and loneliness of the night before seems interwoven with the happiness that you are experiencing. This is the catharsis of facing your fears and having the courage not to give up."

***

Ill-gotten Gains

2009-02-16T14:52:00.001-08:00

Back in fifth grade Vincent Hernandez and I were playing at a warehouse near our school. We climbed to the top of the building where we noticed a large skylight. It looked like it would be fun to jump on it. I went first and rebounded off the flexible material that comprised the skylight. Vince went next and he was not so lucky. I remember the scene as if it happened in slow motion. Vince jumped onto the skylight and I saw the terror on his face before I noticed the skylight shattering beneath his feet. I heard someone screaming "V i- i- i -i- n-nce!!!" and then realized that the voice was my own. An iron railing surrounded the skylight on three sides and Vince made a desperate attempt to grab onto it as he began plummeting downward through the broken shards. Miraculously he was able to wrap both his hands around one of the bars. He hung there for about two seconds. His knuckles were still white with tension as he lost his grip and fell through the decimated skylight and into the depths of the warehouse. I ran to the perimeter of the skylight and looked downward. Vince was lying on his stomach about a floor beneath where I stood. He was not moving. "V-i-i-i-i-nce!!" I screamed again. At that point Vince rolled over and then disappeared completely from my view. My heart pounded in my chest and I thought that I was going to urinate in my underpants. Terror filled my soul. I ran to the ladder of the fire escape on one side of the building and maneuvered down it as fast as I could. As soon as I was back on street level I raced around trying to enter the warehouse from any door possible. All of them were locked. For some reason all I could think to do was run to the house of Eli Watson, a neighborhood kid who had a set of picklocks. Somehow I arrived at his doorstep although I was so agitated that even now I can't actually recall any moment of my frantic journey over there. He answered the door and agreed to come with me immediately when I explained the situation. Eli did not seem to grasp the gravity of the circumstances, but I felt profoundly grateful that he would accompany me on this mission to break into the warehouse. Upon our arrival back at the building we encountered an open doorway. I froze for an instant and then ran inside. Vince was nowhere to be found. Forgetting about Eli I took off towards Vince's apartment. I remember taking a few deep breaths and attempting to look calm once I got there. It took all my courage to ring Vince's doorbell. One of his relatives answered. Trying to play it cool I said:

"Is Vince home?"

The kindly woman informed me that Vince was injured and had been taken to the hospital. What expression was on my face at that moment? Did this nice lady suspect that I had been involved in Vince's accident? Could she see the horror in my eyes even though I was doing my best to be nonchalant? Would Vince die? Would I rot in prison for my complicity in the events leading up to his death? The woman smiled softly at me as I stared at her. I fled.

Within a few minutes I encountered Vince's sister. I told her the complete, unadulterated truth. I could see the wheels turning in her eighth grade mind. She wasted no time in grabbing her friends, repeating my story, and then heading to the warehouse. The aftermath of the situation went like this:

- A gang of 8th grade girls entered the warehouse and stole much of the inventory contained within its walls. Most of the booty was children's toys like skates, board games, and jump ropes.
- The hospital released Vince several days later after treating him for a broken pelvis, dislocated shoulder, and numerous other injuries.
- About a week after that members of the local police department visited Vince's and my elementary school campus to investigate the robbery of the warehouse.
- Vince's sister gave me a jump rope to ensure that I would keep my silence regarding my knowledge of the whole incident.

I never talked, but I did not want that jump rope. It languished in my closet for years. Even back then I had a profound aversion to possessing stolen merchandise. It felt wrong. It felt like all the planets were aligning against me because I had violated the natural order of things. I lost sleep over the jump rope in my closet but I was afraid to throw it out in case someone would connect it to the robbery and then connect it to me. I was in fifth grade and I was scared. Years passed and I never really recovered from the incident. I don't want to. To this day I still believe that receivers of stolen goods will eventually pay dearly for accepting the ill-gotten gains and trying to overlook the nature of their origin. Beyond that, jump ropes always reawaken the feelings of terror that I experienced during the Vincent Hernandez episode of my childhood.

As luck would have it Jewell Marceau handed me a jump rope during one of our recent workout sessions at her house. I tried to be calm, but I could not maintain my dignity. Jewell did not understand why I was not keeping up with the workout and she became very angry. A nasty, nasty catfight erupted between us...

Ahh.. what else is new? I can't seem to stay out of trouble. Join TanyaDanielle.com to see the hundreds of catfights inside my members' area!

XO Tanya

***

A Christmas Story

2009-01-04T17:51:00.000-08:00

Now that the holiday season is over I have found myself ruminating about past Christmases. Some were fun, some were lonely, and a number of them were quite memorable for other reasons. As an adult I have probably spent about one third of my Christmas holidays dancing in a bar, one third of them by myself, and one third of them with other people's families. It was very generous of others to include me in their holiday plans and, aside from two occasions, I have always been very grateful for their hospitality.

One of those two dismal episodes occurred here in Los Angeles. My boyfriend, Mario, had invited me to join him at the home of his oldest brother, Simon, on Christmas Eve. We decided to bring small gifts for various members of their family. Neither Mario nor I knew how to properly wrap packages so we resorted to placing all of the presents into large, shiny gift bags designed for that purpose. Simon had told Mario that we should arrive around 4pm on Christmas Eve so we pulled into his driveway promptly at 4pm with the presents and two bottles of wine for our hosts.

"Looks like we are the only people here." I commented as Mario rolled to a stop.

"Looks like it." Mario responded.

We climbed out of the car and Simon graciously met us in the driveway. He ushered us into his living room where we greeted their mother and then sat down. Simon brought us drinks. All four of us chatted amiably for about 10 or 15 minutes. At that point Simon's wife, Cindy, came downstairs. She gave us each a cursory embrace and then sat down too. After a sentence or two of conversation she muttered something semi-incoherent about not expecting anyone to arrive so early. Simon seemed to try and brush aside the comment by changing the subject. We all continued chatting until Cindy caught sight of the bright, blue gift bags that Mario and I had placed under her carefully decorated tree. Her pale blue eyes widened as she gazed at them and she immediately shot a look at her husband to convey her amusement/disbelief at the gaucheness of the sight. A smile played at the corners of his mouth as he acknowledged her sentiment. They both seemed to be reveling in what they perceived as our display of poor taste. Did they feel superior for a few delighted instants? I think so. Cindy quickly wiped the smirk off her face when she felt my eyes on her. She half-heartedly tried to save the moment by remarking that the gift bags reminded her of how a certain bachelor she knew usually wrapped his gifts.

"He just uses gift bags and colored tissue paper." she said with a practiced smile that effectively communicated her disdain.

Mario started laughing and informed her that we had not even used any tissue paper inside the bags. Cindy excused herself to go prepare some hors d'oeuvres in the kitchen. I sat uncomfortably for a few moments and then asked Mario if I should offer to help her. He shrugged. I kept looking at him. He shrugged again.

"Will you come into the kitchen with me?" I requested.

He nodded and drained his beer. We walked into the kitchen where Cindy was banging dishes onto a countertop with annoyance. She was expressing frustration to her daughter and her daughter's friends and I overheard her saying something about how Mario and I had arrived too early. I thought she might become embarrassed when she realized that Mario and I had just walked into the kitchen and were standing right behind her. She did indeed bite off her words in the middle of a sentence, but then she just stood there in a rigid, unapologetic manner which seemed to indicate that she was not the least bit regretful that we had overheard her little tirade. I took a breath and asked her if she needed any help. She declined the offer and I felt relieved. Mario and I went into the garage so he could grab another beer. Afterward we returned to the living room. Cindy followed us with a few trays of appetizers. I sat next to Mario's mother and tried using my limited Spanish skills to converse with her. She seemed to welcome my efforts. All of a sudden I became aware of Simon mocking my attempts as he began loudly cracking jokes about how I had mispronounced a certain word. Cindy jumped right in and joined him. I felt my color rise - not because I was embarrassed about my lack of facility with the Spanish language - but because these people were really pissing me off. I would have departed right then and there but I did not want to upset Mario. For a lack of anything better to do I swallowed the rest of the wine in my glass.

We continued sitting there in Simon and Cindy's living room - amidst a roaring fire, a well-appointed tree, and various pieces of expensive artwork - as everyone made tortured attempts at conversation. I tried to keep my composure. Mario seemed unruffled by the behavior of his brother and sister-in-law. I really longed to be striding down their driveway to the car and then burning rubber to a different destination, any destination. Cindy stood up to do something. I eyed her critically. That impulse overtakes me when I do not like someone. She was wearing a black lace blouse over some tight, black pants that displayed her flat, sunken ass. It looked like someone had shoved a stick right up her butt and she was thrusting her hips forward to keep it in there. I was musing about the aptness of my simile when I heard Simon asking about Mario's daughter.

"Will she be joining us tonight?" Simon asked pleasantly.

I felt Mario stiffen beside me. His daughter was having a lot of problems and his brother had just asked him a loaded question in front of a group of people. Simon had made the inquiry in an ostensibly genial tone of voice, but I found myself wondering if he was enough of an asshole to try and upset Mario while the rest of the assorted family members looked on.

"No, she won't be coming tonight." Mario said tersely.

The evening progressed. More people arrived. I got bombed on wine although I doubt that anyone noticed. Within a couple of hours Cindy informed everyone that they could serve themselves a buffet-style dinner from all the food in the kitchen. Mario wanted to go outside and smoke. I joined him. It felt very peaceful in the cold backyard as we huddled together and watched his cigarette smoke trail upward into the black sky. Then Cindy materialized in front of us.

"The food is ready." she said petulantly, annoyed that we were not among the throng in her kitchen.

"We'll be right in." Mario assured her.

She shook her blonde head and vanished inside.

"Now she's whining about us not joining everyone?" I said to Mario as I rolled my eyes in the darkness. "A short while ago she seemed like she could barely tolerate our presence."

"She's just like that." he said mildly.

His lack of reaction to Cindy's rudeness was kind of bugging me but I kept my mouth shut. He kept smoking. My mind churned. Why was I still there? OK, I was there for Mario, of course. I did not want to embarrass him by telling our hosts to go fuck themselves and then storming out. Was I being overly sensitive to their abrasiveness? I pondered that. No, I wasn't. By whose standards could could their behavior not be considered offensive? No one that I would want to hang out with.

"Come on." Mario said as he stubbed out his cigarette and nudged me toward the house.

We went inside and got through the rest of that Christmas Eve. Prior to our leaving Cindy asked if we wanted to take some wine with us. She was holding one of the decorative wine bags that had contained the wine which we had brought. Finally Mario's temper started to flare.

"You are not giving us back the wine that we brought you. That would be fucked up." he said in a voice that had a very hard edge to it.

Cindy seemed flustered and she began shuffling bottles around on her counter. At last she grabbed a bottle of white wine (a safe pick since we had brought merlot), shoved it into the wine bag, and handed it to Mario. That was that. We ended up leaving with Cindy's brother and his son. They gave us a ride to a hotel since we did not want to drive home that evening. Both Cindy's brother and his son were very witty and engaging.

After checking into the hotel I could hold my tongue no longer. I emphasized to Mario that it meant a great deal to me that he had included me in his holiday plans, but then I mentioned how offended I was by the behavior of his brother and sister-in-law. Mario uttered a few platitudes and assured me that Simon and Cindy had no idea how rude they were being. It bothered me that he was so accepting of their antics. It seemed unhealthy.

The following morning I awoke around 7am to find Mario downing a bottle of wine. His eyes looked glazed and he seemed to be on a mission. Over the next few hours he obsessively chain-smoked cigarettes and pounded wine since that was the only alcohol that we had in the room. By 9:30 am he had consumed more than two bottles of wine and was completely wasted. He still wanted to keep drinking. Fortunately he passed out on the bed for a short time. At noon the front desk called to remind us that checkout time had been at 11am. We showered, packed up, and walked outside only to realize that Mario's car was still parked miles away at Simon's house. Fuck. We remembered this as we were walking down a staircase. Suddenly Mario lost his balance and fell down the stairs. He fell hard. I helped him back up. In true drunken style he was not hurt at all. A man walked by and glanced at Mario who was now practically swaying on his feet. Mario glared and seemed ready to lurch towards him. The man immediately averted his gaze and quickened his pace as he hustled toward his room. I could see with sickening certainty that Mario was ready to get into a fight with anyone for any reason. We left the hotel on foot and completely lucked out by finding another place just a few blocks away. I breathed a huge sigh of relief when the front desk clerk said that we could check in immediately. She addressed all of her conversation to me and studiously avoided looking at Mario. Within an hour of arriving in our room Mario passed out on the bed and did not wake up again until after nightfall on that Christmas Day. All of his repressed anger had to go somewhere and he had tried to drown it in a few bottles of wine. He would have been a happier individual during that holiday season if he had just directed his ire toward the appropriate parties.

***

Tis the Season - Part 2

2008-12-21T22:16:00.000-08:00

In my last post I wrote about a long-lost acquaintance, Paul, who resurfaced during this holiday season. He was not the only person from my past about whom I recently received an update. A few weeks ago I obtained some news about one Al "Stankie" Stankiewicz. In 2006 I mentioned him in this post. Now it seems that Al has become something of a reality TV star. I can't believe it, but yet I can. On a personal level it seems fitting that someone has sent me news of Al during the Christmas season. About five years ago or so I happened to be sitting on a plane bound for Tokyo with good old Al. A group of us were flying to Japan for a mixed-martial-arts fighting event. Al proceeded to get obnoxiously drunk. The flight attendants feared him. They informed him that they could not serve him any more booze. He became belligerent. They pretended not to notice and tried to stay out of his way. It is hard to do that on a plane. Al stormed up and down the aisles. At some point his eyes fixed on mine when I made the mistake of looking up from my book.

"Order me a drink and pretend that it is for you." he commanded me.

He must have seen the resistance in my face because he started to become a bit obsequious as he wasted a few sentences trying to cajole me into doing so. I really did not feel like humoring him and I refused to go through with the transparent charade of ordering him another drink that the flight attendants would refuse to bring.

"Fuck you then!" Al barked at me in a relatively quiet, guttural growl as he flipped his middle finger in my face.

I shook my head, he stomped off, and I settled back into my seat. Shortly thereafter the anxiety-ridden flight attendants approached my friend Raul who was napping in a different row with his baseball cap pulled down over his face. After waking him one of the female crew asked if Al was his father.

"No." Raul responded flatly. "He's not."

The flight team asked if Raul could calm Al down. Raul brushed the sleep out of his eyes and nodded his head. Everyone in our section of the plane (coach) seemed to breathe a collective sigh of relief. Raul wearily got out of his seat, found Al a few rows behind him, and told the ornery drunk that he needed to calm down and go to sleep. Al was still extremely agitated but he seemed to sense the futility of continuing his tirade.

"Just get some headphones and watch the movie." Raul advised as he clapped his hand on Al's shoulder.

Evidently Al did so because about 30 minutes later I heard Al's voice ringing out in the quiet plane.

"Look at all these yellow niggers!" he bellowed. "They are nothing but a bunch of yellow niggers!! It was these goddamned Japs who killed my uncle in World War 2!!"

Everyone on the plane froze in their seats. Aside from Al, Raul, and me I think that just about everyone else was Japanese. I tried to make sense of his foolishness and it took me a moment to realize that the in-flight movie featured a lot of Asian people. I stared at the silent images for a few moments since I did not have any headphones. Al continued to rant. No one interfered. I took one of my ice cubes and lobbed it at Raul who was trying to sleep a couple rows ahead of me. I saw him silently shake his head without even turning around. Within 15 minutes Al had fallen fast asleep and begun snoring loudly in his seat.

Many hours later our plane did arrive in Tokyo without any further incident. I will never forget that Christmas Day flight all those years ago. Al did continue his antics in Tokyo and it was just more of the same. Eventually we all returned to Los Angeles and I never had to spend any time with him ever again.

Imagine my surprise at receiving this article about Al (taken from CagePotato.com) in my inbox recently:

Right away we knew that Al "Stankie" Stankiewicz (aka: Antonio Rodrigo Nogueira's boxing coach) had a certain magic about him. From his crazy motivational sayings to his semi-coherent ramblings about sardines, the man is straight up charismatic. But the more stories about him that trickle out, the more it's starting to seem like he is being criminally underused in this season of The Ultimate Fighter. The latest Stank-tastic tale comes from TUF 8 cast member Ryan Bader, who paints a portrait of Stank as a lovable old card getting the most out of his affiliation with Nogueira:

I have a funny story about Al Stankie, who is our older boxing coach. After practice the coaches would go grab something to eat -- most of the time without showering and in full Team Nogueira garb, which (I'm pretty sure) they were not supposed to be doing. Stankie had on a rashguard, full TapouT velour red warm-up, a TapouT beanie and a couple long gold chains. They went to The Palms to watch the Lakers vs. Celtics game. Stankie is a big Lakers fan, and when a Celtics fan expressed some joy about his team scoring, Stankie walked over and slapped the guy -- with all of our Brazilian coaches looking on in horror. Before the other coaches could grab him, he yelled out, "I am with the heavyweight champion of the world! You want some?" Those of us that saw this understood that this could be Junie's relative, and maybe that is why he wasn't kicked off the show yet. Stankie is a great man, and Spike TV should give him his own show.

There are many stories that involve Stankie that I will try to give to you each week. We would all gather around Dan Valverde, one of the assistant coaches, and he would tell us the stories of what Stankie did over the weekend.

Bader also described Stankie as "drunk and funny as ever" when he and Nogueira showed up at the house to try and squash the prank war, which might at least partially explain the disrespect shown by many of the Team Mir fighters.

As for the suggestion that Spike TV should give Stankie his own show, we're all for it. The fact that Brooke Hogan has her own show and Stankie doesn't, well, let's just say it's a sign that this nation has lost its way.

Yep, it seems that Al has become a full-fledged reality TV star - his grizzled physiognomy and drunken antics are now routinely viewed by numerous people around the world on a weekly basis.

Who could have predicted this?

The demise of reality TV is imminent. I don't think that anyone will argue that point. Let's hope that it happens before anyone even considers giving Al his own show :)

XO Tanya

***

Tis the Season - Part 1

2008-12-16T12:18:00.000-08:00

During the holiday season I often become reacquainted with an old friend or two. Usually somebody from yesteryear surfaces between Thanksgiving and New Year's Day. This year I have not actually heard from anyone, but I have received news via e-mail regarding two long-lost acquaintances. One of them is my old buddy Paul whom I happened to write about here back in 2006. Paul appears on the far right in the photos above. Both photos and the text below arrived in my inbox this morning:

"The attached pictures our of Mario Navarro, who won his first Pro fight at the Irvine Marriott last month. Mario is part of a independent documentary being produced by the lady that is the producer of the Today Show and CBS news. Mario also has extensive coverage by the LA Times, first article will be out in January.
The basic story is about Paul Sigler that had a very successful business and lost it all due to drugs and alcohol. Paul was and is still an investor in the Raw Gym now called R1 gym, they produced many famous MMA fighters such as Frank Triggs.
Paul is the co-manager of Mario and the documentary is about Paul rising to the top by helping Mario with his career.
The producers feel this will be a worldwide documentary and will be the Rock Balboa of the MMA world. There is already offers to do a feature film on Mario and Paul."

Well, Paul looks the same as ever and evidently his passion for MMA fighting has not dimmed over the years. I will be the first person in the theatre to watch his riches to rags to redemption story playing out on the big screen.

***

Immigration Issues

2008-09-28T21:12:00.000-07:00

I know a few errant Canucks and I make every effort to try and shove them back across the border where they belong. This photo shows me in action. Yeah, Kianna Dior is a beautiful woman and a nice person, but she needs to go back to Vancouver where she belongs. The endless influx of Canadians is really overburdening both our educational and health care systems here in the US. I sleep better at night knowing that one of our vigilant government agencies is joining me in the struggle to get rid of them. Click here to see these soldiers engaged in their daily battle to defend our Northern border.

XO Tanya

***

Everyone is a Milf

2008-09-21T12:48:00.000-07:00

A month or so ago my buddy Sean made a "Milf" reference in an e-mail that he sent me. I felt compelled to respond with these hastily typed, off-the-cuff words:

"One thing: I am so sick of being a Milf. My friends all feel the same way. Every time we turn around someone is calling us a Milf. Here and there I have guys hit on me and they will say stuff like: "Do you date younger guys?" Five years ago they would not have dared ask something rude like that, but now they think it's the cool thing to do. Maybe I'm too touchy, but it's not just me. Some of my model friends look awesome (beautiful faces, hot bodies) and it's very hard to guess their ages. Yet they get "Milf-ed" all the time too. I know the Milf thing is hugely popular, but none of us want to be Milfs. We want to be sexy women who don't have to field questions and comments about our ages all the time."

I just remembered having sent that e-mail because I came across this gallery of outrageously sexy Monica Mayhem. Yes, she is appearing on a site called SoccerMomScore.com and she is the "older" woman. Please. How did porn come to this? Every woman over 23 (and some who are younger) is now a Milf. Can't we go back to the days when women in porn were just hot babes and they did not have to be categorized by age?

People bring up age-related topics all the time and they know they are being rude. I have encountered a number of folks who have made a show out of trying to guess my age. They do it to my friends too. One beautiful friend said in exasperation:

"Do they think they are doing something different? Do they think they have come up with some sly way to insult me that no one else has thought of?"

"They are probably hoping that." I had responded.

"Why do they always pick the subject of age?" she wondered aloud.

"Well, in your case.." I said to her. "they probably just can't think of anything else to say that might get a rise out of you. You are beautiful, you have an awesome body, you are successful in your career, and you have lots of money."

Truer words have never been spoken. My friend is a smart businesswoman and a beauty. I think that insecure people feel compelled to try and insult her because they want to make her doubt herself. It's a shame she has to put up with it because she is a sweet person who always treats others with respect. I won't mention her name here, but she works in the adult industry and most people reading this would probably be able to picture her face (and sexy body) as soon as they read her name.

I am in my thirties and most of my friends are too. Some of us are married and some of us are not. All of us place a HUGE premium on diplomacy and respectful behavior. We work hard, take care of our bodies, and have our own money. We are not little girls and we are not ashamed of our age, but we are tired of tired of people trying to assort us on the basis of our age. Lately it seems that I can't go one week without some idiot asking why I don't have kids and why I'm not married. Those are completely inappropriate questions to ask a stranger. They realize that. And yet they are so completely lacking in couth that they ask the questions anyways. This is what I tell them: I don't care about getting married - the notion seems a bit stifling. As far as children go... I will have children when I am ready to have children.

Why am I writing all this? Well, it's because I sometimes run into people who look at my site and might read the words here. The next time someone starts harping on me about being in my thirties (and insinuating that it makes me seem ancient) I will treat that person like the idiot that he is because I know he is intentionally being rude. Usually I am very polite and open-minded, but I do have a healthy reservoir of contempt for those who have nothing better to do than try and put down others.

XO Tanya

***

Conversations from the Makeup Chair #2

2008-09-18T19:41:00.001-07:00

Makeup artists in the adult industry usually do both the makeup and hairstyling for the models. Generally it takes about an hour or an hour and a half to prepare one model. That's Silvia Saint getting primed for a shoot in the photos above. Most models have spent countless hours in makeup chairs. I am no exception.

These days my friend Lydia does my makeup before most of my shoots. Often we watch the morning news and chat about random stuff. The other day she commented that she had met a new guy and had gone on a few dates with him. She said he was nice, but that she didn't feel any chemistry with him.

"He doesn't even drink." she said.

"Does he mind if you drink?" I asked.

"No," she responded with a shrug. "but it's not much fun to drink alone."

"Well, if he's a nice guy then maybe he will grow on you." I ventured to say as she turned to pick up a tube of mascara.

She stayed silent for a moment as she stuck a disposable wand into the mascara.

"No." she said mildly. "I don't really want to date someone who doesn't drink."

I watched her then as she thought about it more and slowly she began shaking her head. It seemed that she had forgotten that I was even in the room. She stood there pumping the wand up and down in the tube of makeup and then an indignant gleam crept into her eye. I waited for her to say something. Finally she exploded.

"No! I'm not putting up with that shit!" she said, her angry words tinged with disgust.

She gave one final vehement shake of her blonde head and in the next moment she grabbed my chin and brought the mascara wand to my face with one brisk, decisive movement. I started laughing.

"Stop laughing while I do your lashes." she ordered.

I repressed my laughter and tried not to let my eyes water. She had said: "No! I'm not putting up with that shit!" in the same tone as someone else would have declared their refusal to abide with a cheating spouse or accept the actions of a friend who had stolen their jewelry. We all have things that get our hackles up. Her words amused me then and make me chuckle every time I replay them in my head. I am smiling right now. And I just took a sip of my wine as I relished the memory.

I drink a lot, enough to make me a bit defensive about the subject. Most of my friends drink a lot too. It would be hard to date someone who did not drink. At least I think it would. I have never really tried. That's why Lydia's impassioned words on the subject cracked me up.

***

Carpe Diem

2008-09-09T19:46:00.000-07:00

Today I went to the doctor for a yearly exam. As usual everything was fine so I rewarded myself by going to a bar at the beach and having two Bloody Marys, both of which were poured by an extremely heavy-handed bartender named Loretta. Afterwards I stumbled to the sand and walked along the shoreline for about an hour as the blazing hot sun beat down upon me. When I arrived back at my car I felt somewhat dehydrated but ready to drive home. I swung into the El Pollo Loco drive-thru when I reached my neighborhood and ordered the #11 combo (chicken nachos and a lemonade.) Then I had the notion to pick up a bottle of wine at 7-11. I grabbed a bottle of Newman's Own chardonnay out of one of the refrigerators. "Paul Newman makes wine now?" I mused as I gazed at this bottle which bore his smiling mug on its label. It did not have a price on it. I carried it, along with a huge bottle of water and today's edition of the Los Angeles Times, up to the register. The mid-eastern gentleman behind the counter seemed to give me a sly little smile. I smiled back. He gave me another sly, little smile. I smiled back and wondered if he was giving me weird looks because I have large breasts or because I was doing something stupid of which I was unaware. Then again, maybe he was just smiling at his own reflection in my 99-cent sunglasses. He broke into my thoughts by saying: "That will be $19.45." $19.45 for water, the daily newspaper, and what I thought was a cheap bottle of wine? "How much is that wine?" I asked him. He checked and informed me that it cost $18.00. I handed him a twenty and said: "Well, I guess I will try it." Why did I do that? Normally I never pay more than $7 a bottle for the cheap swill that I drink.

I realize that this whole thing is very much of a non-story, but I am still left to wonder when/why 7-11 started stocking $18 bottles of wine. It seems wrong. Yet now I understand the meaning behind the cashier's sly, little smile. I never would have gone through with the purchase if it had not been for my earlier intake of booze, the effects of the blazing sun, and the chicken nachos waiting for me in my car. That cashier saw me coming - he knew I would have no resistance.

In Vino Veritas.

Caveat Emptor.

***

Conversations from the Makeup Chair - #1

2008-08-29T07:48:00.000-07:00

A few months ago my friend Victoria was doing my makeup. The morning news was playing on her TV. Victoria commented that Hillary Clinton had lost to Obama in part because of Bill Clinton's marital infidelities and Hillary's obvious acceptance of them.

"You really think so?" I asked Victoria.

"Oh, yeah." she said solemnly as she nodded her head.

The remark stuck with me for some reason. I've long thought that Bill and Hillary Clinton have a marriage that revolves around their political careers rather than any type of loving feeling. Their union just seems like a professional arrangement. Also, Bill's extramarital affairs have nothing to do with his or Hillary's competency as politicians. That said, I remember hoping that Hillary would dump his ass after the whole Monica Lewinski DNA-on-the-dress episode came to light. Of course she did not. I did not hold it against her. In fact, I wish she had become the Democratic nominee for President. Nonetheless, Victoria's remark from the other morning kind of resounded within me. Maybe lots of people have a type of low-level disgust for women who stand by their man after he has cheated so publicly and caused such humiliation to their families. Was it enough to keep her from getting the Democratic nomination? I don't know. The notion does sound overly simplistic and a bit naive, but I think there is something to it.

The photo above is from Only Game in Town in which Daphne Rosen and I are fighting over a man. (Yes, porn is complete fantasy, but who cares? You can buy Only Game in Town at DeviantDownloads.com now!)

XO Tanya

***

A Modern American Doctor -

2008-08-26T00:51:00.000-07:00

Dr. Danielle takes her job very seriously. She still needs to pay off $100,000 in medical school debt and carries a very heavy insurance policy in order to stay in practice. She never thought that she would recommend useless tests and treatments to her patients just so she could collect the money from their insurance companies, but that is exactly what she does. Isn't that what all doctors do? The medical profession used to be a noble industry. Or did it? We were raised to think it was. Who knows. Today's modern doctor is as much of a shyster as your average used car salesman. There's no disputing that.

In any case, the new Dr. Danielle gallery will soon be appearing at TanyaDanielle.com. Don't miss out - join now!

XO Tanya

***

The Eternal Quest

2008-08-19T22:20:00.001-07:00

Random thoughts...

Yesterday I was showering when my cat Larry traipsed through the bathroom. My bathroom has two doors. Larry walked through one doorway, looked at me through the glass shower doors, yawned, and meandered out the other doorway. He looked groggy, kind of like he had just woken up. A minute later he sauntered back in again and collapsed onto the rust-colored bath mat with a movement that kind of looked like a belly flop. "Hello, Larry." I said to him over the spray of the shower. His ears moved, but the rest of him didn't. I finished my shower and looked at him to see if he would relocate so that I could towel off on the bath mat. He had no intention so I stepped onto the tiles of the bathroom floor, soaking them in the process. Larry watched me dry myself and brush the tangles out of my hair. A minute later I reached deep into one of the shelves in my 1950s-era linen closet to hunt for a white T-shirt. It took my eyes a moment to adjust to the gloomy interior and then I noticed a pair of amber eyes staring back at me with reproach. My other kitty Lana was snoozing amidst the disarray of clothing on that shelf. "Sorry to disturb you, Lana." I told her.

After dressing I bumped into Larry again as he was climbing onto the bed and burrowing into a comforter. "That's what these guys do all day long." I thought to myself. "They are on an eternal quest for a new napping spot.. "

***

749 Columbia Avenue

2008-08-10T10:30:00.001-07:00

This beautiful old home is near downtown Los Angeles and was built in 1900. The listing agent included these notes when describing the exterior features of the property:

Roof Type: COMPOSITION, SHINGLE
# of Stories: 2
Lot Size: 4,600 Sq. Ft.
Style: TEAR-DOWN

It's hard to believe that anyone would look at this awesome house and describe it as a "tear-down", but, sadly, the new buyer may very well demolish it to make way for yet another characterless example of modern construction.

***

Wreckage

2008-08-06T19:37:00.000-07:00

I just awoke from a very vivid dream. In the dream I was driving an off-white, 1980s-style Volkswagen Rabbit convertible in El Segundo, CA. As I approached a curve in the road that bordered a grassy area I lost control of the car. I heard the screeching of tires and the crunching of metal as the Volkswagen flipped over and then came to a rest upside down in the grass with me trapped inside, still seated in the driver's seat. A heavy, dull pain invaded my chest and I felt that I was being crushed, but I realized that the steering wheel was some inches above me. I started to move and then realized that I would not be able to extricate myself from the wreckage. Music was playing on the radio. I closed my eyes and willed myself to be calm until help came. Assistance would arrive soon because I had rolled the car on a busy street in broad daylight. After trying to control my breathing I opened my eyes again to reconnoiter the situation. I expected to see the steering wheel and the mangled cockpit of the car but instead I saw the white interior of my bedroom.

The dream seemed like some type of warning. This is what happened the last time I had such a vivid dream.

***

Weather Warning

2008-08-04T10:04:00.001-07:00

Just go back in the house,
Pour another cup of coffee,
And stay there. It probably
Isn't going to be a good day...

***

Green salsa, anyone?

2008-07-23T23:01:00.000-07:00

Some time ago I was shooting at a model's house when we decided to take a break. The model offered all of us some food. She told (rather than asked) her boyfriend to set out some snacks for us. He grabbed a large bag of tortilla chips and began pouring some green salsa into a serving dish. The model became irate.

"Oh, you're going to give them the green salsa, aren't you? You know I like the green salsa, but you are just going to hand it out to them." she said in a loud voice.

She must have been aware that the rest of us were listening - we had no choice - and she continued to berate him in an even louder tone of voice.

"All it takes is some naked girls running around the house and you bring out the green salsa! You know I get really touchy about the green salsa because it is my favorite!!" she barked at him.

I happened to be sitting at their dining room table with the cameraman and he was staring steadfastly at the screen of the laptop computer which he had placed right in front of his eyeballs. Unfortunately I had nothing convenient to gaze at other than the tablecloth and the decor of the room. My face was growing a bit hot because it was embarrassing to listen to this domestic dispute over green salsa. Incidentally, I had noticed that the green salsa in question seemed to be of the supermarket variety. It looked suspiciously like the same La Victoria bottled green salsa that I had purchased at Ralph's and was right then languishing in the cool, quiet environment of my apartment. The furious model raged on. I did not look at the discordant couple because I did not want to absorb that much of the veritas of their relationship. Finally the one-sided battle ended. The model's beleaguered boyfriend had not said much as she had shrilled away at him with her sharp, irrational tongue and ugly words. One could only hope that this man, who happened to be both very nice and very intelligent, had muttered some imprecations at her which the rest of us could not hear.

In any case, none of us wanted the bowl of green salsa after it materialized on our table a few minutes later. It sat there, green and chunky, as all of us tried to ignore it. Yet it seemed that someone should validate its presence after the horrendous emotional display that had precipitated its arrival. I will forever credit the cameraman for gamely grabbing a tortilla chip and dunking it into the green goo. All the rest of us followed suit.

Later that night I went out to dinner with my friend Tim. I told him about the green salsa incident and he barely gave the matter any thought before saying:

"The green salsa had probably come up in their arguments before.. maybe her boyfriend doesn't normally like to share it with her and so she became irate when he began serving it to all of you. I guarantee the green salsa had factored into some of their discussions long before today."

Tim looked at me. His answer was very pat and he seemed to believe what he was saying. It had been a very natural response - one he had come up with barely a moment after I had described the episode. He could very well be right, I thought to myself. Yet I remained unconvinced. Something about her display of anger over something so trivial seemed to indicate that the model was a great deal more selfish and childish than I had ever realized during all the years that I had known her.

Months went by. That same model and I attended a convention together. Hooboy. It did not go well and I saw a side of her that really surprised me. At one point she and I got into a service elevator with a member of the convention staff. The model chatted with the women in a chirpy, patronizing manner and the woman responded politely. After exiting the elevator the model turned to me and said:

"I like to be be nice to people like that. It makes them feel good."

I wanted to puke on the floor. She sounded like Leona Helmsley enjoying a rare moment of bonhomie with the hired help. Did this model really believe that the event staff were the "little people" and that she represented something greater? All of a sudden the green salsa incident made sense: this broad imagined transgressions in the same manner that she imagined adulation and none of it corresponded to reality. I was walking into a convention with a severely deluded woman whose peculiar self-absorption made me want to be far, far away from her. The photos above were taken at her house on the same day that I had ingested her green salsa. Yeah, I was a little off my game that day.

***

In the Moonlight

2008-07-12T01:22:00.001-07:00

You know how sometimes you wake up on the wrong side of the bed? Yesterday I was on the wrong side of the bed before I even woke up. Bizarre dreams tormented me throughout the night - very vivid ones which I remember clearly. Finally at 8am the dreams stopped and I found myself lying alone in my futon. Usually at least one of the cats is with me. Most mornings Larry, my older cat, stands on my head or repeatedly shoves one of his giant paws in my face to start my day. Yesterday morning I looked around and didn't see a single furry creature. I flipped onto my other side. Generally my first movement of the day will bring Larry scurrying in from the other room if he doesn't happen to be in the bedroom already. He did not come yesterday. I sat up, looked around, and noticed him sprawled on the floor next to the futon.

"Are you all right, Lar?" I asked him.

He lifted his head, regarded me with his huge, luminous green eyes, and then dropped his head back onto the floor. I lay in bed for a long time and stared at the scraped ceiling of my 1950s-era apartment. Something felt wrong. After awhile I got up and sat at the computer without opening all the blinds. My kitty Lana seemed out of sorts as well. Some type of weird malaise was affecting us all.

The day progressed and I got into my car to drive to Eagle Rock for a shoot. Somehow I ended up in Griffith Park. I called my friend Tim and he looked up directions for me. I thanked him, hung up the phone, started driving, and got lost again. After two hours of driving I finally arrived at my destination. Waves of panic had started hitting me in the car and I knew I was on the verge of a panic attack. The cameraman looked at me when I walked in the door of the location and quickly offered me a drink. I accepted and the makeup artist began working on me. My mouth was trembling and and I felt a muscle jumping underneath my left eye. I had never met the makeup artist before. She worked in silence for awhile. At last I blurted:

"I'm sorry I'm so tense. I get panic attacks and I felt one building up as I was driving here."

She nodded sympathetically and said: "I understand. I used to get those before school in the morning. Do you want to get up and walk around or something?"

"No, that's OK." I responded. "I'll just think about the ocean and drink vodka."

We carried on. The shoot went fine. Afterwards I drove towards home and got lost again. Even after finding my way some sixth sense told me to drive and drive and drive until after midnight. I just wanted July 11, 2008 to end. Shortly after midnight I arrived home and discovered that one of the cats had peed on the comforters on my futon. That hasn't happened in years. Larry and Lana watched me strip off all the bedding and seemed to be wondering if I was going to get mad. I wasn't mad - just drained. And glad that the day was over.

I have no idea why yesterday was such a weird day. This morning I'm a bit apprehensive that I'm going to find out that something significant happened yesterday - some notable event of which I am not yet aware. The photos above are from last night's shoot.

***

Reflections on Patrick

2008-07-09T11:46:00.001-07:00

A few days ago several members of TanyaDanielle.com, Paolo and Shadow, requested that I film real moments from my life and post them on the site. I responded that I don't own a camera, even my cellphone doesn't have one. One of them jokingly suggested that all the members take up a collection to buy me a camera. I demurred, but mentioned that I could have my friends film "real life" moments since all of them have cameras. Then I thought about it a bit more. My mind floated back to July 5, 2008. Tim, my friend and neighbor, was having a post-4th of July barbecue. I arrived early. At first only four of us were there to sip Bloody Marys and sink into drunken oblivion. Tim, Fred, Patrick, and I hung out in the living room for awhile before we drifted into the backyard. Within a few minutes Patrick asked Tim if he could swim in the pool. No sooner had Tim said "of course" than Patrick stripped off his shoes, jeans, and T-shirt and dove into the pool in his underwear. He made a point of splashing all of us as he landed in the water and then encouraged us to join him. None of us felt like it. Patrick launched a tidal wave of water in my direction and then watched my reaction. Did he think I was worried about my hairstyle or my 99-cent sunglasses? I laughed at the notion, sipped my Bloody Mary, and reclined in my chair. Patrick splashed around in the pool and we all got progressively drunk. Both Patrick and Fred hail from the UK and Patrick asked if I had ever visited the dank, gray island. I told him that I had gone to London to dance at a club there a few years earlier.

"You danced there?" Patrick asked with a trace of surprise in his voice.

"Yeah," Tim responded. "She used to be hot."

Patrick shot a look at me.

"Well, I guess I will have to take your word on that." he said to Tim.

Tim and Fred burst out laughing and Patrick hopped out of the pool. The manufacturers of his navy blue underwear had not intended the garment to be used for swimming and the fabric hung off his physique like a limp, sagging, ineffective version of a loincloth.

"Tim, may I jump in your hot tub?" Patrick inquired.

"Uh, Patrick, would you like some swim trunks?" Tim inquired.

"No." Patrick replied without giving the matter a moment's thought.

"Yep. Jump in the hot tub." Tim said.

Patrick bounded up the hill in the backyard and I heard him land inside the hot tub.

"Just forward my mail to this address.. " I heard Patrick mumbling contentedly to himself a few moments later.

Tim turned up the music. I felt my cellphone vibrating in my pocket. My friend Sarah was calling for directions. I handed the phone to Tim and he went outside to guide her indoors. Several minutes later Sarah walked into the backyard looking very pretty and very sober. She sat down next to me and declined Tim's offer of an alcoholic beverage. We began chatting and Patrick immediately materialized behind her in his cling-on underwear. She must have sensed someone's presence because she slowly turned her head to look over her shoulder. Patrick grinned at her as water dripped down his body and his soaked garment slipped down even lower on his narrow hips. Tim put his face into his hand and started laughing. I did the same. A song by the Marshall Tucker Band wafted over us. Everything seemed funny and lighthearted, but I knew we were drunk and I knew Sarah wasn't. All of a sudden Patrick was down on one knee, staring into Sarah's eyes, and speaking passionately about something or other. Sarah seemed to shift a bit uncomfortably in her seat, probably because Patrick was dripping chlorinated water on her dress and she had to go to work a little bit later.

"Patrick, you look like you are about to propose marriage." Tim said.

Patrick straightened up, looked at Tim, and then, apropos of nothing, yanked down his own underpants and let them fall to his ankles. His bare ass faced Sarah and me while Tim and Fred would have been treated to the front view if they had not quickly turned their heads.

"I don't think Sarah wants to see a 50-year-old ass in her face on this 4th of July weekend!" Tim pointed out to Patrick through gales of laughter.

Patrick put on his clothes, Sarah left for work shortly thereafter, and the rest of us continued our descent into the drunken netherworld. The next day Tim asked if Sarah might have been offended by the collective behavior of all the barbecue attendees. I didn't think so, but I sent her an e-mail to ask her. 48 hours went by and I got no response. Uh, oh. I sent her another e-mail and inquired if she had been shocked by Patrick's blatant display of ass. A few hours later she wrote back:

"oh my God, no...I had a a good laugh...there is a big
difference between one who is offensive and one who is
eccentric and Patrick was the latter... "

I heartily agreed with her on that. In any case, those were some of the recent moments of my life. Somehow I don't really think that is what you members envision me doing on a normal weekend. And yet that is what I do. Do you really want me to bring a camera?

XO Tanya

***

Remote Control Robot

2008-06-20T02:09:00.001-07:00

Now playing at DeviantDownloads.com: Remote Control Robot

"Tanya Danielle goes out on a date with Biff, a seemingly polite, mild-mannered gentleman. He has an air of sophistication and a way of looking at her that conveys his interest in her as a person. The evening goes well and she looks forward to hearing from him again. The following day she receives an e-mail from Biff asking if she would like to meet him at a hotel room and enjoy the jacuzzi there. Instantly deflated, she realizes that he's just another horny dude on the prowl for some pussy. She chides herself for having hoped or believed that he really might have wanted to get to know her. With some exasperation, and with more sadness than she should feel, Tanya fires off an e-mail to the offending Lothario. It reads:

'Hello Biff,

The other day I was dancing at the club where I work and a customer came in. He wore a large cowboy hat and seemed very animated. I saw him speaking to a number of the other dancers and noticed that none of them remained at his table for very long. At some point he motioned for me to come talk to him. I did so. After three sentences of conversation he pulled a twenty dollar bill out of his wallet and told me I could have it if I came out to his 2008 Ford Super Duty F-450 Lariat Crew Cab truck and gave him a handjob. I expressed my indignation and walked off. You are the equivalent of that dude. You just happen to have a nicer car. Go fuck yourself.'

Life moves on. Tanya's agent books her the following week for a particular shoot with a new photographer. She shows up on the agreed-upon date and finds that the cameraman is behaving oddly. He refuses to speak and repeatedly gestures for her to pick up a folded-up piece of paper that is lying on a ledge behind her. Tanya grabs it and reads the words aloud. The note says:

'I am going to turn you into a robot.'

Tanya stares down at the page and then looks up at the photographer. Of course she laughs and responds with incredulity even as the cameraman reveals a remote control device, presses buttons on it, and waves it in her face. All of a sudden Tanya feels every muscle in her body start to seize up. Her body is resisting her mind's increasingly desperate efforts to control it! In the midst of all this the photographer finally speaks. He informs her that Biff has hired him to change her into a remote control robot who will endlessly be at the disposal of any man who might want her to perform a service for him.. "

Buy Remote Control Robot at DeviantDownloads.com to see one woman trapped in a cycle of unending ignominy!

***

Is it Christmas yet?

2008-06-13T02:23:00.000-07:00

I don't enjoy the Christmas holidays or anything about that time of year. Thanksgiving falls in late November, my birthday happens to be on December 3, and, of course, Christmas is on December 25. I'm not an adherent of any organized religion, but I do have my own spiritual beliefs. Honestly, I don't even know what Christmas is supposed to commemorate. Generally I stay pretty drunk throughout the last two months of each year. At the moment I do not even recall what I did on Christmas 2007. This blog might provide a clue if I bother to reread my entries from last December.

People I know, and others whom I have encountered, speak of Christmas in glowing terms and love to talk about their plans for the holidays. I do not begrudge them that, not even in my most petty of moments. They speak of the joy of opening presents under a tree during their childhood and talk about planning Christmas surprises for their children, their nieces and nephews, or whomever. It must feel good to look forward to that time of year and have enough of a connection to others that you want to create enduring memories with them that will last a lifetime. I don't get it. Maybe someday I will. A sound just made me turn my head. It's Larry the cat scratching around in his litterbox. Is he expressing an opinion? Probably not.

What will I do for Christmas 2008? I have no clue. A few minutes ago I began opening a bunch of boxes from Amazon.com. Sometimes I shop online for books, input my credit card number, and then have absolutely no recollection of what I ordered until the boxes arrive in my mailbox. Opening the boxes is fun. It must feel similar to what most people associate with Christmas: experiencing the joyful anticipation of unwrapping presents while surrounded by loving onlookers. My cats Larry and Lana love me, but were decidedly underwhelmed when I pulled out King of the Corner by Loren D. Estleman, Grave with an Ocean View by James M. Maloney, and some other selections a few minutes ago. They were hoping for food.

The photos above represent my drunken holiday celebration of 2006 with one Jewell Marceau. Maybe she and I can spend Christmas together again this year and record a few more holiday memories that we don't remember :)

***

Cheap thrills

2008-06-10T18:48:00.001-07:00

In the past friends and acquaintances have asked me why I enjoy going to odd places and wallowing in squalid environments. They regarded me with some mixture of disgust and incomprehension as they waited for my answer. It was basically impossible for me to explain to them why I would take a vacation in a flophouse or visit any of the other innumerable, strange locations that beckon to me. These days I rarely tell anyone exactly where I'm going. I'll just say something vague like: "I'll be in Detroit for a week."

This month I'll be heading to Miami so I'm trying to decide where to stay. A moment ago I was reading the traveler reviews for a hotel that I happened to spot last March as I was strolling along the beach in Miami. The building just called to me. Most of the travelers who bothered to submit a review for the place used adjectives like "revolting", "scary", and "dangerous" to describe it. It sounded like my kind of joint. Then I came upon this review:

"My Wife and I stayed there for 4 weeks while I was working in Miami,and let me say this,it is a real bare bones hotel .what it lacks in frills it more than makes up for in character! You will experience a vast variety of local eccentrics,hustlers etc. Everything you need is within walking distance and the bar "On the Rocks" will stay with us forever.If you want to sleep get up and go ,give it a try.The staffs only job is to take your money and give you a key but the air was cold and the water was hot and if you travel with someone you love you will always have stories to tell! Cheap thrills!"

It always warms my heart to stumble across people who enjoy weirdness. They call it "cheap thrills" and I call it "debauchery", but it's all the same thing. I would love to know how that husband and wife found each other.

***

A chuckle for the day

2008-06-02T18:27:00.000-07:00

As a child I read about a man who worked for a cosmetics manufacturer dreaming up names for new shades of lipstick: "Toffee Coffee", "Rose Invitation", "Mauve Crystal", etc. I aspired to eventually land a job like that, but somehow I got sidetracked by the opportunities in the flesh trade. A number of years ago, however, I discovered a pastime - which I sometimes self-consciously refer to as a "business" - that allowed me to indulge my affinity for words. I began amassing a collection of domain names. For over half a decade now I've been acquiring and selling domain names which means, in reality, that I've registered thousands more of them than I've actually sold. I have become especially partial to domains that end in ".us" because you can spell a lot of adjectives with our country code: insidio.us, egregio.us, flirtatio.us, etc. Most commonly used words were snapped up long ago, but I always feel compelled to check on their availability just in case one of them might have slipped through the cracks. A few minutes ago I typed in ignominio.us just to see if anything was there. The photo on the page just cracked me up. It must have hit me at the right moment :)

XO Tanya

***

Victoria Schiltz

2008-05-12T18:33:00.000-07:00

MMA fighter Victoria Schiltz stars in the brutal documentary film Fighter. Award-winning director Pericles Lewnes films one of Victoria's bloody cage brawls and later interviews her about her life, family, and unconventional career. The images above were lifted directly from the DVD. Click here to buy Fighter at MMAClassics.com now. I loved Fighter and normally I never watch any movies. You can check out more reviews of Fighter here at Amazon.com.

- XO Tanya

***

Another dark, tree-lined street

2008-04-27T22:08:00.000-07:00

It is a balmy night here in Los Angeles. The inside of my small home, however, still felt like a sauna at 9pm. My ceiling fan had been spinning counter-clockwise at full speed all day and every one of my windows was cranked wide open, but I was still sticking to my couch as I lay there in my T-shirt and loose shorts. I live about ten minutes from the beach and many, perhaps most, homes in this area don't have air conditioning because normally you never need it. The ocean breezes keep all the surrounding areas pretty temperate throughout the entire year.

I decided to go out for a walk and get some fresh air. It felt great to be outside as soon as I hit the sidewalk. The temperature seemed about fifteen degrees cooler than the inside of my living room. For about 45 minutes I wandered around, lost in thought as I meandered up and down the hills in my neighborhood. All of a sudden someone opened the front door of a house I was approaching. The movement was too abrupt. A man hovered behind an iron screen door that still remained closed. His posture suggested some type of restrained agitation. I averted my gaze and just kept walking, a bit relieved to see that a person in latex gloves was pilfering recyclables out of one of the trash cans about a quarter of a block away. At least someone else was around. Nonetheless, my heart was pounding a little faster and I had a strange feeling that the man who had appeared at his front door was probably now lurking behind me on the sidewalk. Lots of mature trees block the moonlight on that particular avenue and the streetlights don't illuminate much in this neighborhood anyways. I decided to cross to the other side of the road. It gave me an excuse to turn my head in both directions as if I was checking for oncoming vehicles on this semi-remote lane that rarely has any traffic at all. Sure enough, the man from the house was walking behind me. As soon as he saw me turn my head towards him he veered off behind a parked truck and pretended to do something or other. I just kept on walking away from him. The whole incident was no big deal: just another weird moment in the big city. Yet it reminded me of something.

As I made my way towards home some memories from 1999 popped into my head. That year I had gone to Dallas to visit my parents for the first time since I had become an adult. My father was dying and I was intending to make peace with him and the rest of my family. Things went awry very quickly on that trip and I try not to think about it too often. Nonetheless, as I was trudging home about 30 minutes ago, I felt my mind transporting me right back to a dimly lit, tree-lined street in a Texas suburb. It was a warm night in July, 1999 and I'd gone for a walk around my parents' subdivision. Near their home I passed a parked truck that had the passenger window rolled down. A man was sitting in the driver's seat with his pants around his knees and he was jerking himself off. I hustled past him and went back to my parents' house. I told my mother what I'd seen. My mother insisted on walking back there. She squared her shoulders and told me to come with her. I felt puzzled.

"That weirdo might not even be there anymore." I told her.

For whatever reason we ended up walking together down the sidewalk to retrace my earlier steps. My mother's arms were swinging at her sides with brisk determination as she strode down the concrete with a purpose that I could not really fathom. I wondered about the wave of emotion that seemed to be carrying her, curious about the source of it. As it turned out the truck and the weirdo were no longer around. That was that and we walked back to her house. The next day my mother came home from her realty office and told me how she had informed her female coworkers about the perverted man who I had supposedly seen the night before. Tears of laughter streamed down my mother's face as she described their dubious reaction to my account of what had happened. She put her face into one of her hands and used her fingers to brush away the tears. Her laughter had no real mirth to it. It contained an hysterical edge as if she were trying to force it out of her mouth. I watched her. My father watched her too and mumbled some type of lame excuse for her:

"Well, I'm sure they weren't making fun of you or anything.. " he had said to me, looking to my mother to provide an affirmation which she did not give.

I forced a smile onto my face and kinda nodded. The episode passed. I guess my Aunt Joan had overheard everything because the day after that she mentioned how many registered sex offenders lived in the area.

"There's one with an address right on this block." she said as she looked at me.

She said it mildly, but I caught her meaning: she did not doubt me. Aunt Joan, of all people, knew my mother was nutty. My mother had refused to hold me or care for me when I was an infant. She had somehow induced Joan to stay up all night with me when I was ill and could only sleep for short periods of time. Additionally, my mother had insisted that Joan wear her nurse's uniform because Joan was a registered nurse. Evidently my aunt took care of me (while dressed in her nurse's uniform) for many months even though she had a full-time career and three children of her own. I am eternally grateful to her for her kindness and for her continued willingness to nurture me even as she was confronted with my mother's sick demands.

My mother possesses a formidable intellect. She always did. Rather than pursue a career during her thirties and forties she stayed home as a housewife to raise the kids. She hated all of us, except one of my sisters, and always maintained an odd hero-worship thing for my father. He stayed very busy with his duck-hunting trips and his girlfriends. I felt my mother's hatred from the time I can remember. It never wavered although sometimes I could sense that she felt guilty about it. To this day I have no frame of reference for how to behave when people are nice to me and seek to get to know me better. I shy away from them, extremely fearful that I will disappoint them.

Despite all that, I do have a small, solid circle of friends and have had some good romantic relationships over the years. Those closest to me must sense my need for emotional distance and they just accept it. Maybe they understand some of it. Most of my ex-boyfriends did not have mothers so they fostered the same distrust of other humans that I did. After all, your mother is supposed to be the one person in your life that you can trust. If you can't trust her then you know that you can't really trust anyone. While growing up I used to hope that I had secretly been adopted and that someday I would find my real mother. Honestly, I still entertain those fantasies sometimes.

Why do I mention all this?

a) because I can
b) because the whole subject surfaced in my head while I was out walking tonight
c) because I've noticed that other people - a very, very small number of them - really relate to the subject when I write about it or talk about it. It's a very dirty topic and it rarely ever gets broached in conversation or anywhere else that I've seen. A mother who hates her child really fucks that kid up. It's a lifetime legacy. You grow up wondering how you could be so flawed that your own mother hates you and expects the worst for you. My mother often told me that I would end up homeless in the gutter. Well.. fuck you, Margaret, I'm still fighting. I'm not in the gutter.

Recently I did read an article written by a woman whose mother hated her. It was awesome. She remembered sneaking downstairs at night as a child and seeing her mother get drunk, curse the empty air in front of her, and then literally start flipping her middle fingers at the apparitions and memories dancing inside her own head. Hooboy, do I ever relate to that scenario. No, I wasn't the kid who caught her mother behaving that way.. I was the grown woman who got sloppy drunk and stood spitting at the bathroom mirror and saying "fuck you, fuck you, fuck you, fuck you, you dumb cunt, fuck you, I hate you, fuck you, you cunt, I hate you, I fucking hate you, you dumb cunt, I fucking hate you, fuck you, fuck you, fuck you, dumb, stupid cunt, fucking fuck you, FUCK YOU" in a low, rage-filled, guttural tone of voice because I had just enough dignity to want to make sure that my neighbors would not hear me cussing and spitting at the face in the mirror that I was pretending was my mother's. Hopefully they also did not hear me when I fell sobbing to the floor and rolled into a fetal position until the hysterical crying jag just kinda lulled me into sleep. I know they didn't hear me regain consciousness in the morning, slump over the side of the bathtub, and vomit onto the porcelain because they were probably at work. Unless it was during the weekend. Those episodes played out with some regularity for awhile.

The woman who wrote the article about her mother concluded that her mother just treated her the same way that her grandmother had treated her mother. I decided the same thing long ago: my mother just did to me what her mother had done to her. Now I sit here writing all this because the understanding of it all is the thing that will prevent me from ever treating my own child like that. Or from treating anyone like that. Hate is powerful and it ends up rotting the hater from the inside out.

I won't be a hater. I love my friends, love my animals, and see promise everywhere I look. Even after my walk tonight I don't think the man who followed me from inside his doorway was necessarily malignant. Maybe he thought I was scoping out the neighborhood for a robbery. I was wearing ridiculously baggy, oversized shorts, a huge T-shirt (white), and my hair tucked under a baseball cap with the brim turned backwards. In the dark I could have looked like any other 5'5 gangbanger with his hands stuffed deep into his pockets. Who knows. I used to assume that most people would hate me on sight. My mother often told me I was a "freak". Now I realize that most people are pretty nice if you just look them in the eye and treat them with respect. I used to be reticent to look at anything other than the ground or the pages of whatever book I was reading.

Life moves on. At moments I am still very angry, but I direct the anger towards the appropriate party. It feels like I'm moving further and further away from that hate-filled place in my past.

***

To be posted VERY LOW on the refrigerator door - pet nose height.

2008-04-27T10:16:00.001-07:00

Hehe.. I received the following in an e-mail from my friend Tim this morning:

Dear Dogs and Cats:

The dishes with the paw prints are yours and contain your food. The other dishes are mine and contain my food. Please note, placing a paw print in the middle of my plate and food does not stake a claim for it becoming your food and dish, nor do I find that aesthetically pleasing in the slightest.

The stairway was not designed by NASCAR and is not a racetrack. Beating me to the bottom is not the object. Tripping me doesn't help because I fall faster than you can run.

I cannot buy anything bigger than a king sized bed. I am very sorry about this. Do not think I will continue sleeping on the couch to ensure your comfort. Dogs and cats can actually curl up in a ball when they sleep. It is not necessary to sleep perpendicular to each other stretched out to the fullest extent possible. I also know that sticking tails straight out and having tongues hanging out the other end to maximize space is nothing but sarcasm.

For the last time, there is no secret exit from the bathroom. If by some miracle I beat you there and manage to get the door shut, it is not necessary to claw, whine, meow, try to turn the knob or get your paw under the edge e and try to pull the door open. I must exit through the same door I entered. Also, I have been using the bathroom for years --canine or feline attendance is not required.

The proper order is kiss me, then go smell the other dog or cat's butt. I cannot stress this enough!

To pacify you, my dear pets, I have posted the following message on our front door:

To All Non-Pet Owners Who Visit & Like to Complain About Our Pets:

1. They live here. You don't.
2. If you don't want their hair on your clothes, stay off the furniture. That's why they call it 'fur' niture.
3. I like my pets a lot better than I like most people.
4. To you, they are an animal. To me, he/she is an adopted son/daughter who is short, hairy, walks on all fours and doesn't speak clearly.

Remember: Dogs and cats are better than kids because they:
1. Eat less
2. Don't ask for money all the time
3 Are easier to train
4. Normally come when called
5. Never ask to drive the car
6. Don't hang out with drug-using friends
7. Don't smoke or drink
8. Don't have to buy the latest fashions
9. Don't want to wear your clothes
10. Don't need a gazillion dollars for college, and...
11. If they get pregnant, you can sell their children!! (But you shouldn't. All of us should avoid contributing to pet overpopulation. Spay or neuter your pets.)

***

Forced Ass-ent

2008-04-20T13:15:00.000-07:00

New at CustomVideoTheatre.com: Forced Ass-ent

"Jewell's day at the office seems something like a cross between an episode of "I Love Lucy" and an installment of "Peyton Place". First Jewell gets her high-heeled shoe stuck in a wad of chewing gum on the floor of the office hallway. She struggles desperately to free herself and in doing so she catches the attention of her bitchy, blonde coworker Tanya Danielle. Tanya hears Jewell's commotion in the corridor and believes that Jewell has been lurking there to spy on her. It's a well-known office fact that Tanya never does anything during work hours besides watch Internet pornography and talk on the phone. Tanya has long feared that Jewell might report her to their bosses and she is determined not to let her goody-two-shoes coworker gather any solid evidence against her. She must stop Jewell, but how? After briefly considering the matter Tanya opts to hunt Jewell down, strip her naked, bend her over, and plow her virgin asshole with a huge strap-on dildo until the petite brunette either splits in two or agrees to maintain a pact of silence regarding both Tanya's violations of company policy and her complete lack of work ethic.. "

Buy Forced Ass-ent at CustomVideoTheatre.com now to watch poor Jewell suffering at the hands of a coworker who came straight from Hell!

- XO Tanya

***

Chandler, Felecia, Sindee Cox, and me

2008-04-18T21:23:00.001-07:00

Click here for a preview of a scene that I shot with all these hot babes!

- XO Tanya

***

Bound by Hatred

2008-04-15T22:35:00.000-07:00

New at DeviantDownloads.com: Bound by Hatred

"Summer has long pretended to be Tanya's friend, but appearances are deceiving. Tanya gets more than a glimpse of Summer's hateful streak when an argument over something relatively minor escalates to ridiculous proportions. Summer overpowers Tanya, hogties her with tape, and gags her with an accoutrement that could only come from inside the closet of someone who has a severe personality disorder. As Tanya struggles against the tight, black tape she realizes that Summer has been harboring a fierce resentment towards her for a long, long time.. "

Buy Bound by Hatred at DeviantDownloads.com to marvel at this extreme example of female sadism!

- XO Tanya

***

Mobster Garage

2008-04-15T21:57:00.001-07:00

New at BustyCatfight.com: Mobster Garage

"Officer Danielle is perpetually looking for cases that will earn her notoriety among the hierarchy of Los Angeles law enforcement professionals. Sure, she's only a reserve cop, but she is out to make a name for herself. One sunny Saturday afternoon she spots a robbery in progress in Malibu! She draws her revolver as she stalks the young woman who is about to steal a Ferrari from a residential garage and take it joyriding. As the woman reaches for the car door handle Officer Danielle screams "FREEZE!" at the top of her lungs. The woman stops in her tracks and raises her arms above her head.

"I caught you in the act!" Officer Danielle snarls with excitement. "You were about to steal that Ferrari. I've got you for grand theft auto!!"

The woman spins around and flips her third finger up at Officer Danielle's face. Within seconds the woman has disarmed the shocked officer and started kicking her ass. At some point during the beating Officer Danielle realizes that her vicious assailant is none other than legendary Los Angeles mobster Stacy Burkowitz. She stares up at Stacy from the concrete floor as the queenpin gets ready to stomp on her ribcage one more time.

"Please! I did not realize who you were.. please stop!" Officer Danielle pleads.

Stacy pauses for a moment and then looks the downed officer straight in the eye..

"You tried to arrest me in my own garage." Stacy hisses at her. "I was about to take my Ferrari out for a spin and you tried to arrest me as if I were a common criminal!"

Stacy begins fuming again as she ponders the indignity.

"You know what?" the queenpin says to the cringing officer. "You deserve more than just a beating. I'm going to sell you into white slavery! You will spend the rest of your life servicing unwashed men in Third World countries!!"

Officer Danielle lies quivering on the floor until the mobster returns with a collar and leash.. "

Buy Mobster Garage at BustyCatfight.com to witness Officer Danielle's humiliation and terror now!

- XO Tanya

***

Hot Under the Collar

2008-04-15T21:19:00.000-07:00

New at BustyCatfight.com: Hot Under the Collar

"Kianna Dior and Tanya Danielle have both been seeing the same man. They exchange angry words over the phone and agree to meet at Kianna's apartment. Kianna paces furiously back and forth, fuming to herself as she waits for the big-titted blonde to show up. At last Tanya comes flying through the door to confront Kianna. Inexplicably, both women are wearing turtleneck sweaters and long pants even though the sun is shining and it is 85 degrees outside. The sweat starts pouring as the women begin to brawl with each other. They tear the sweaters off each other's bodies, claw breasts, pull nipples, and rip out handfuls of hair as they struggle to determine who is the better woman.. "

Buy Hot Under the Collar at BustyCatfight.com now to see the surprising outcome of this heated battle!

- XO Tanya

***

Power Woman vs. the Meganite Dildo

2008-04-12T21:14:00.001-07:00

Now playing at DeviantDownloads.com: Power Woman vs. the Meganite Dildo

Power Woman receives a report that certain villains are holed up in a local hotel. She breaks into their room only to find out that she has been set up! Her adversaries shoot her with kryptonite and then seal her fate by tempting her with a deadly meganite dildo. Power Woman cannot resist the lure of the meganite dildo. She dies shortly after achieving an earth-shattering climax with the lethal toy of pleasure..

Buy Power Woman vs. the Meganite Dildo at DeviantDownloads.com now!

- XO Tanya

***

The Senator's Dirty Secret - Part 4

2008-04-09T17:16:00.001-07:00

New at CustomVideoTheatre.com:

"Senator Brian Smith flew home after his raunchy, all-night threesome with Tanya and Stacy. The next morning Tanya finds herself at home all alone inside her beachfront mansion. She gets incredibly horny as she recalls the events of the night before. Shortly after waking she decides to put on a silky lingerie set with a garter belt and sheer, thigh-high stockings. After slipping on her high heels she has the urge to pull out a dildo from her toy chest and begin pleasuring herself as she thinks about all the forbidden fun that she had with the Senator and Stacy. She turns on the purple vibrator and holds it against the crotch of her panties until she can no longer take the intense stimulation. After pushing her panties to the side she begins plunging the vibrator in and out of her wet pussy until she explodes in a screaming orgasm!"

Buy The Seantor's Dirty Secret - Part 1, Part 2, Part 3 and Part 4 at CustomVideoTheatre.com now!

- XO Tanya

***

Pat's Reign of Terror - Part 3

2008-04-07T22:57:00.001-07:00

New at DeviantDownloads.com: Pat's Reign of Terror - Part 3

"Pat does not take rejection lightly. She goes nuts when a woman rebuffs her attempts at either romance or friendship. Sure, she looks mild-mannered and timid with her unflattering haircut, thick glasses, and ill-fitting clothing, but her outward appearance belies the seething hatred that Pat harbors deep within her soul. Pat likes to make women pay if they get a little too uppity with her. She spends untold hours, days, and weeks in her basement concocting strange potions that will enable her to control the minds of the women who have hurt her feelings. Jewell Marceau has grated on Pat's nerves for some time now. It's as if Jewell does not even notice that Pat is alive although they work for the same company. Of course Pat decides to do what she always does to assuage her frustration: she sets out to poison the object of her fixation with a noxious substance that will cause the defenseless woman to lose all control of her muscles and end up frozen, completely and utterly at Pat's mercy!"

Will Jewell survive Pat's attempt to totally dominate her body?! Buy Pat's Reign of Terror -Part 3 at DeviantDownloads.com to watch Pat continuing her spate of atrocities as she "freezes" yet another beautiful, unsuspecting woman..

- XO Tanya

***

OK, OK, I admit it..

2008-04-03T14:14:00.000-07:00

Yeah, it was me. And Jewell. And Anastasia Pierce. We were three of the women filmed with Formula One president Max Mosley in a hotel room having sex and engaging in some Nazi role-playing. Click here to read the full story. I'll just admit my involvement in it right now. Yes, I was the prisoner who everyone sodomized. The Associated Press neglected to mention that Max has a fetish for latex garments, but indeed he does. Just look at the outfits he bought us. The craziest thing about the whole situation was that he actually wanted to film our contemptible behavior. I named the videos the Prisoner of War series and posted them on my website. Presumably it was exciting for Max to flirt recklessly with ignominy and public humiliation before he did finally get caught. Sometimes you gotta wonder about these guys who inhabit positions of seeming power and influence.

You can buy Prisoner of War - Parts 1 & 2 at DeviantDownloads.com now!

(Hehe.. I hope I don't seem racially insensitive, but this Max Mosley story is so scandalous that I can't help but turn it into a crass marketing ploy and enjoy it. Even my friend LTJ agrees.)

- XO Tanya

***

Superheroine Sex

2008-04-03T11:55:00.000-07:00

That's Taylor Wane and me having superheroine sex!

- XO Tanya

***

TheTragic Demise of Power Woman

2008-04-02T21:50:00.001-07:00

Now playing at DeviantDownloads.com: The Tragic Demise of Power Woman

The most sadistic of villains has exposed Power Woman to a lethal substance. He films her as she struggles to stay alive, her body and face contorting as she fights a losing battle with mortality. Power Woman expires in the most tragic of circumstances as the camera records it all..

Buy this epic movie at DeviantDownloads.com now!

- XO Tanya

***

Smuffed Out

2008-04-01T11:16:00.001-07:00

Now playing at CustomVideoTheatre.com: Smuffed Out

"Tanya is a pornographic film actress who is feeling the pressure of living in the expensive city of Los Angeles. She needs to pay her property taxes by April 10 and her federal and state income taxes by April 15. Finally she decides to get a part-time job cleaning rooms at a local hotel since she has a great deal of experience in the janitorial profession. To her surprise her new employer requests that she wear a short, slutty French maid outfit while she is on the job. Tanya fumes inwardly but she agrees to wear the ridiculous attire as she scrubs toilets, vacuums carpets, and performs the other tasks required of her. She reminds herself to be grateful for the extra money every time she notices her boss leering at her while she's working. Then one day she catches him jerking off as he is watching her and another maid change sheets in one of the guest rooms. A few weeks later the same thing happens again. The other maid begins to cry from shock and humiliation and Tanya feels an all-too-familiar sense of rage simmering in her gut. She devises a plan to teach her creepy boss a lesson. All she needs to do is wait for him to begin fondling himself while she is working. Two days later the perfect opportunity presents itself when her boss sneaks up behind her and starts masturbating as she is dusting some of the furniture. Tanya whips around in surprise, regains her composure, and then engages him in conversation. At first she is giggly and pleasant, but the tenor of her discourse changes very quickly when she grabs her offensive boss by his sweaty nuts and throws him onto the freshly made bed. He is still writhing in pain when Tanya strips off her silly maid uniform and commences a ruthless campaign of smothering/facesitting torture. She informs her trembling boss that she may not let him live another day. His eyeballs bulge out in terror as she cuts off his breathing by sitting on his face, her pussy and ass clamped down firmly over his nostrils and mouth. Tanya glares down at him with both malice and enjoyment blazing in her eyes. Will her chauvinist boss survive? Or does Tanya intend to "smuff" out his life?! Buy this brutal, riveting clip to fully understand the ordeal Tanya's boss is facing - the video is shot completely in POV perspective! "

Smuffed Out is now available at CustomVideoTheatre.com!

- XO Tanya

***

Jesse & Venus

2008-03-31T08:07:00.001-07:00

Join TanyaDanielle.com to see the full Venus & Jesse gallery now!

- XO Tanya

***

Executive Sex

2008-03-30T22:03:00.001-07:00

Now Playing at DeviantDownloads.com: Executive Sex

"Stacy Burke and Tanya Danielle have spent their entire careers striving for success at a large, impersonal corporation. Their professional ethics and hard work have paid off for them as they have received numerous promotions and are held in extremely high regard by both their bosses and their colleagues. Unfortunately the women are dissatisfied. In recent years they have started to realize that they have not enjoyed enough sex or had enough fun. They resolve to go out socializing more often. Both women try Internet dating and the bar scene and privately conclude that they will meet no one but douchebags if they rely on social networking sites and the local nightclubs. What should they do? Neither of them comes up with a good plan until one fateful Friday afternoon when Stacy learns that their bosses are taking two girls from the company mail room on an exotic trip to the Bahamas! She is flabbergasted and immediately runs into Tanya's office to give her the news.

'How come the bosses never think to invite us on fun vacations like that?' Tanya wails as she flings her pen down on her desk in disgust.

'They take us too seriously.' Stacy says earnestly. 'We have worked so hard to climb the corporate ladder that our bosses view us merely as respectable, goal-oriented career women. They don't realize that we need to get laid too!'

Tanya removes her glasses and nods her head in frustrated, woeful agreement. She pinches the bridge of her nose and rubs the inner corners of her eyes so Stacy won't see the teardrops that have pooled there.

'Well, what can we possibly do to remedy the situation?' she finally asks Stacy in a plaintive tone of voice.

Fortunately Stacy has a plan. She proposes that they go to one of their bosses' homes later that evening. They will wear sexy bras and panties along with garter belts and sheer, thigh-high stockings underneath their business suits. Once inside, Stacy tells Tanya, they will do a striptease for the boss and describe every single sexual act they will perform on him if he takes them on the trip to the Bahamas instead of the mail room girls. Tanya quickly finds herself nodding in agreement.

'We'll show him how hard we can make his dick and then we'll just leave!' Tanya exclaims enthusiastically. 'He will understand that he has to take us to the Bahamas if he wants to experience the real sucking and fucking. He won't be able to resist!'"

The two women become giddy - and incredibly horny - as they discuss their scheme. Buy Executive Sex at DeviantDownloads.com to watch Stacy and Tanya getting naked and giving it their all to convince their boss that they richly deserve a trip to the Bahamas!

- XO Tanya

***

End-of-the-Month Special: "Whipped Cream and Roses"

2008-03-29T11:45:00.001-07:00

On sale at DeviantDownloads.com this weekend:

"Tanya loves the roses you sent. She's waiting for you in sexy lingerie, stroking herself with one of the soft buds. She spreads petals on the bed in anticipation of your arrival. Then she leaves the room only to return naked with whipped cream strategically covering her nipples and pointing to the promised land. Licking off what she can, she teases you by rubbing the rest in and licking it from her fingers, then covering her tits and body with lotion and letting you lick her to orgasm. Her next request is that she makes you cum as well... "

Buy Whipped Cream and Roses at DeviantDownloads.com before April 1 for just $12.99 (regular price $20.99)!

- XO Tanya

***

Boob-O-Rama

2008-03-27T05:46:00.001-07:00

Boob-O-Rama! Or should I say "Bob"-O-Rama? Here is a description of the new Tanya's Striptease - the Director's Cut series now playing at DeviantDownloads.com:

"Bob of BobsVideos.com gained national notoriety several decades ago when he lost his high school teaching job in Cape Cod, Massachusetts. Parents of his students had been shocked to discover that Bob had a side business filming foot fetish videos. They demanded that he resign from his teaching position. Even Johnny Carson cracked a few jokes about Bob during his monologue on The Tonight Show. These days Bob still resides in Massachusetts and has devoted himself full-time to the making of erotic videos. Buy the Tanya's Striptease - the Director's Cut to hear Cape Cod Bob directing Tanya during her striptease!"

- XO Tanya

***

Miami Noir

2008-03-21T15:33:00.001-07:00

This morning I woke up around 9am or so. I had already slept for eight hours, but I wanted to stay in bed. My mind was trying to untangle something, but I had no idea what it was. I drifted off to sleep again, feeling relaxed and hoping my dreams would illuminate whatever I needed to know. At some point later I dreamt that I was in a messy, cluttered house. All of a sudden I saw my beloved white kitty Samantha (who passed on in 2005) frolicking with a dog. I could not get her to come to me. She looked good, larger than ever with a healthy-looking coat. Something appeared odd about a section of her body near one of her hind legs. I tried calling to her and attempted to get closer to her so I could examine her and see if she was injured. She kept running with the dark-colored dog and then vanished somewhere in the house. At that point I became aware that my dear friend Al (who passed on last November) was coming to see me. I saw him approach the house through the window. He looked through the same window into the room where I was standing with a great deal of anticipation. He could not yet see me, but I knew he was very, very much looking forward to it. He rang the doorbell and I went to answer it. When I opened the door he and I looked at each other with great affection and meaning. We both smiled and then hugged each other. I woke up after that and looked at the clock. It was nearly 11:30am this morning.

A friend of mine has a book about dream interpretation. Months ago I had a dream about my dog Shelby. I think she has probably passed on, but I'm not sure. She lived with me and my ex-boyfriend many years ago and he kept her after our breakup. My friend looked up the significance of dreaming about a deceased pet in his book and found that supposedly it meant that Shelby was trying to warn me of something. If she looked bedraggled then it meant that she had really struggled hard to get the warning to me. I reflected on all this this morning. Samantha had looked healthy and happy in this morning's dream, but something had appeared strange about that one section of her body. Was she trying to warn me of something?

An hour later, after several cups of coffee, I left to go jogging. The dream was haunting me a bit, but it felt good to be outside jogging and listening to music. Within a mile or two I happened to notice an older Cadillac with fancy rims and dark-tinted windows passing by at a high rate of speed. Later on I slowed down and started walking because I was tired. Shortly after that a heavily tattooed, shirtless man rounded a corner and began running towards me. He did not look like a typical jogger and from a distance I judged him to be a somewhat healthy member of a rock band who was out getting some exercise. Don't know why I thought that, but I did. As he drew closer we nodded at each other and then he paused so he could ask me directions. I looked into his face and saw the unmistakable eyes of an ex-convict. His teeth were really bad and all his tattoos had the coloration of jailhouse tattoos. I told him I was just visiting and did not know how to get to the beach that he had mentioned. He asked where I was from and I told him. He looked at me more closely and then down at the tent-sized t-shirt I was wearing. He read the logos on my shirt and told me I was beautiful. I smiled and turned to go. He extended his hand and introduced himself. I wiped off my sweaty palm on my shirt, shook his hand, and told him my name. The coolness of his hand and the relaxed confidence of his handshake struck me. He wanted to keep talking, but I turned to go.

I walked away and then noticed the old Cadillac with black windows parked a short distance away. Obviously it belonged to the man I had just encountered. I kept thinking about him as I trudged down the road. Then I saw the Cadillac pass me. And then it passed me again. And again. He did a slow drive-by the next time and stared at me. I smiled politely and nodded at him. My experience with ex-convicts has taught me to always remain courteous with them until they gave me a solid reason to react with anger. Some of them are volatile enough to become violent over any type of perceived transgression and some of them are self-destructive enough that they don't care if they end up back in prison or not. Others of them are really cool people. This tattooed man had so far not done anything beyond flirt with me even if he was doing it in a creepy, aggressive manner. I kept on walking, intending to head towards a busier street. The Cadillac reappeared before I could do so. This time he drove onto the wrong side of the street where I was walking, coming scarily close to me with the front of his car. His window was rolled down about halfway and he kept telling me I was beautiful and asking me to come closer to his car. I knew that he might purposely hit me with the Caddy so, even though it disgusted me to do so, I giggled n a friendly, half-joking manner and said:

"No. You're making me nervous. Stop."

I walked more quickly as I said this, but I kept smiling. In the past I have defused similar situations by not reacting with fear or hatred or outrage at the obvious threat looming in front of me. It saved me because it gave my deranged, would-be assailant an opportunity to change his course of action without feeling that he had been "punked" by a woman. Hopefully this dude would abandon his attempts to intimidate me and just drive off. For the moment he kept driving closer to my legs and I just continued walking as he encouraged me to approach his window. I knew that he was probably fondling himself and wanted me to see him do it. Finally he veered the car towards me at an angle so it was blocking the path in front of me. I stopped and looked right at him. He was reaching with both hands to pick up something that was lying to his right. I knew he was about to pull out a gun and I said (or did I shout?) "No!" and began running up on somebody's front lawn to get away from him. I was running for my life and I heard a car accelerate behind me. I looked over my shoulder to see if he was about to run me down with the Cadillac. At that moment I realized that a minivan had turned the corner and its engine was the one that I had heard. In the same instant I locked eyes with the tattooed man and he raised his hands off the steering wheel and mouthed the words "okay, okay" at me through the windshield to indicate that he would stop pursuing me. I continued running for a busy street and willed myself to calm down. A few minutes later I was still filled with adrenaline but telling myself that everything was fine because it was. I ran down the sidewalk and passed by a bench full of people who were waiting for a bus. I noticed that all three of them quickly retracted their legs as I went by. In reality I had not been close enough to trip over their legs, but they must have sensed some weird type of emotional energy coming off me.

I arrived back at my hotel and took a shower. That man's handshake had been so cool and so confident. I lathered up my body and stayed under the spray of hot water for a long time.

***

Ms. Milf USA vs. the Reporter - Part 1

2008-03-11T21:43:00.000-07:00

Enterprising reporter Stacy Burke uncovered damning photographs of the newly crowned Ms. Milf USA. Many contestants had reacted with shock when the chunky, big-titted blonde from California had won the title. After all, she had totally flubbed her interview question, had merely read a poem for the talent portion of the competition, and she clearly had not been dieting as much as her competitors. Ms. Milf Arizona and Ms. Milf Michigan asked Stacy Burke to investigate the surprising victory. Within days the reporter had acquired shocking photographs of five pageant judges gang-banging Ms. Milf California on the night before the competition! All of a sudden it was very clear how she had won the national title. Stacy wasted no time confronting the pageant winner with the evidence. A nasty, nasty catfight between the two women ensued as Ms. Milf USA sought to permanently silence the reporter..

Buy the full Ms. Milf USA galleries at BustyCatfight.com now!

- XO Tanya

***

Yet another pageant scandal..

2008-03-11T18:27:00.001-07:00

Who would compete to win the dubious title of Ms. Milf 2008? Somehow the pageant promoters managed to round up one contestant from each state in the USA to vie for the honor. A big-titted blonde from California emerged victorious on March 8, the night of the competition. The retiring Ms. Milf 2007 crowned the thrilled winner by pinning a rhinestone tiara to her curly, bleached hair. The new Ms. Milf cried with joy as she waved to the cheering members of the audience in the Oakland Coliseum. Shock and humiliation quickly replaced her elation, however, as she experienced several "wardrobe malfunctions" during her victory stroll down the catwalk!

Buy the full Ms. Milf 2008 galleries at my Fantasy Image Store now!

- XO Tanya

***

New Auction

2008-03-07T11:34:00.000-08:00

Click here to view my latest auction. Here is the listing description:

"XXX Film Star 36DD Tanya Danielle's Skirt Worn on Cover of XXX Movie & In Hustler Big Bust Magazine, an autographed copy of the DVD and Big Bust Magazine, A Bonus Bra & Panty set owned and worn by Tanya, an Autographed One-of-a-Kind Polaroid of Tanya Modeling Lingerie Just For You, 2 Autographed 8 X 10s, a bonus Autographed Hardcore Magazines Featuring Tanya, and Certificate of Authenticity! Direct from Tanya's Bedroom to Your Doorstep!"

- XO Tanya

***

Now playing: Comeuppance

2008-02-29T12:02:00.000-08:00

New at CustomVideoTheatre.com: Comeuppance

Deputy Summer Cummings always had a little too much faith in her abilities. She lacked the perspicacity to recognize her own shortcomings. For years she patrolled the streets of Los Angeles and believed she was invincible. Inevitably she fell prey to a ruthless criminal. This large, sadistic, masked man kidnapped the busty officer and put her through Hell. He dragged Officer Cummings into an eery underground chamber draped in purple velvet where he bound, gagged, and molested her. For what seemed an eternity she struggled against her ropes, attempting to escape. Officer Cummings survived her ordeal, but never did recover her self-confidence or her dignity.

Buy Comeuppance at CustomVideoTheatre.com to witness her humiliation.

- XO Tanya

***

Roommate's Revenge - Part 2

2008-02-27T12:18:00.001-08:00

Now playing: Roommate's Revenge - Part 2

Pat is back! Just when Francesca starts to feel safe again her psychotic ex-roommate, Pat, returns to wreak more havoc. Pat has broken into Francesca's apartment. This time she spikes Francesca's beer with a potion that will enable her to slowly seize control of Francesca's body and mind. Buy this clip now to witness the excruciating agony and humiliation Francesca must endure as she falls prey to yet another of Pat's diabolical schemes..

Roommate's Revenge -Part 1 & Part 2 are at Deviant Downloads now!

- XO Tanya

***

"..not necessarily a guy you'd want to be friends with."

2008-02-22T10:58:00.000-08:00

By Dan Whitcomb Thu Feb 21, 6:53 PM ET

LOS ANGELES (Reuters) - Poet and author Charles Bukowski is gone but the bungalow where he penned his first novel still stands, as bedraggled as the writer himself, and city leaders say they will save it as a literary landmark in a city better known for its Hollywood glitz.
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The Los Angeles City Council was expected to vote next week to preserve the faded stucco home in the shadow of Hollywood where the hard-living Bukowski lived from 1963 to 1972 and wrote the autobiographical novel "Post Office," among other works.

The city's Cultural Heritage Commission has recommended the nearly 90-year-old property's designation as a historic monument, rescuing it from demolition by developers looking to put up condominiums.

"Hollywood is famous not because everybody has been a saint or a nun," Los Angeles City Councilman Eric Garcetti said. "It's always attracted complicated and important people and Charles Bukowski certainly fits that mold."

Garcetti said the hard-drinking writer, best known for chronicling his own seedy life on the gritty streets of Los Angeles, deserved to be remembered even though he was "not necessarily a guy you'd want to be friends with."

In addition to Bukowski's former home, the property includes several brown Spanish Colonial Revival style "ready to assemble" apartments and bungalows that the city says were built on the lot between 1922 and 1926.

If approved as a historic landmark, the property would remain under private ownership but could not be torn town or substantially altered. Garcetti said Bukowski's bungalow could eventually be included on a walking tour of Hollywood.

The property now sits abandoned, boarded up and surrounded by a chain link fence, the only sign of life on a recent afternoon a straggly gray cat who sat in the courtyard in the drizzling rain.

On either side on the nondescript street, not far from Hollywood's tourist destinations, sit slightly newer apartment complexes and a few doors down is the Nativity of BVM Ukrainian Catholic Church, a hub for the city's Ukrainian community.

None of the mostly immigrant residents of a nearby apartment complex interviewed by Reuters had heard of Bukowski, who died in 1994 at the age of 73.

Most were skeptical that the ramshackle apartments, which were mostly considered a neighborhood eyesore, could have historic significance.

"You know, I don't know this guy," said inventor Lorraine Marshall. "I love poetry but come on -- it's a crappy old bungalow. People can go a little overboard"

There was no answer at the church.

***

Words that stuck with me

2008-02-19T19:51:00.000-08:00

Years ago I was taking an all-day real estate appraisal course. One of the other students, Greg, asked if I'd like to join him for lunch during our break. Greg also invited the instructor to join us. We went to a Quiznos sandwich shop in Sherman Oaks. Over lunch the instructor discussed his deep religious convictions and began to proselytize. He seemed to be directing his energies at me. Did I look lost? I wore baggy clothes and no makeup, but my bleached hair and large breasts may have provided him with some clues as to what I did for a living.

The instructor expounded on his beliefs, sounding every bit like a preacher. I nodded here and there to show that I was listening while I ate my sandwich. All of a sudden the instructor paused and then took a deep breath. He looked down at the table, not seeing it, and then looked up at me.

"You should love Jesus." he said emphatically. "Do you know why you should love Jesus?"

He gazed at me with penetrating blue eyes and I raised my eyebrows questioningly at him, realizing that his query was entirely rhetorical.

"Because Jesus loves women. When African people were enslaved in the United States their owners completely destroyed their family structures. Female slaves were taken from their husbands. Owners would separate mothers from their babies by selling them to other owners. Owners would rape the female slaves and produce children.. " the instructor said and his voice trailed off.

"To this day the family structure of African-American families is still completely eroded." he continued. "Their only hope is Jesus. Jesus will save them."

The words hit me. I tried to commit them to memory. They hit home with me. I don't know why. I don't know why he was telling me all that. Those words still stick with me. I think of them often and wonder why a white lay preacher chose to make such a point of telling them to a blonde-haired, big-titted, white woman who was thinking of becoming an appraiser. Someday I will know.

***

LTJ

2008-02-13T13:23:00.000-08:00

I have been trying to learn more about web design. Jewell Marceau introduced me to a webmaster named Larry who agreed to help me out. Larry was awesome. He spent a lot of time teaching me stuff at my apartment. Often he and I would go grab dinner with my next-door neighbor Lucy after he'd spent hours tutoring me on the computer. We all became good pals. One morning Lucy was having coffee at my apartment and happened to pick up my phone when it rang.

"Hey, LTJ!" I heard her exclaim.

I gave her a questioning look. Who was LTJ? She kept on chatting. From her side of the conversation I deduced that she was speaking to Larry. Why had she addressed him as "LTJ"? Were those his initials? I thought about it for a second. No, Larry's last name was Feinberg. The next thing I knew Lucy was thrusting the phone at me and Larry was talking in my ear. He and I agreed to meet that evening at 5pm for more web design lessons and then we hung up.

"Why did you call him "LTJ"? I asked Lucy.

"That's my nickname for him." she said. "It's short for Larry the Jew."

I almost dropped my coffee into my lap. Lucy looked at me.

"What?!" I said with shock. "Does he knew that? You can't call him that!"

"Why not?" she asked.

"Because.. because.. it's racist, I guess." I stated lamely.

"Why is it racist?" she asked. "His name is Larry and he is a Jew."

That stopped me. I didn't know what to say. Was it racist? Or insensitive? Or something? I really wasn't sure. We dropped the subject and went on with our day. The following Sunday Jewell called and asked if I wanted to come over for a Bloody Mary. I agreed and drove over to her place. Upon arrival I called out her name as I entered the house. She was waiting for me with leather straps in her hand and she tackled me before I could even react. All of a sudden she was jamming a leather mask over my head and screaming:

"I can't believe the nickname you gave Larry!! You're going to stay bound and gagged for a long time while you regroup the thoughts in your fat, blonde head!"

I wanted to protest my innocence, but I couldn't speak through the confining leather. Jewell did indeed give me a long time to adjust my thinking..

Join TanyaDanielle.com or buy the individual gallery at FantasyImageStore.com to see the Masked Victim gallery in its entirety!

- XO Tanya

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Dr. Freudenia Deceives Terra Danyell

2008-02-11T10:17:00.001-08:00

The pages above tell the story behind the best-selling video series The Adventures of Terra Danyell Parts 4 & 5. See the real Dr. Freudenia (Francesca Le) and Terra Danyell (me) in the flesh by purchasing the videos at CustomVideoTheatre.com now!

- XO Tanya

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Customer Testimonial

2008-02-10T09:13:00.001-08:00

"Once more Tanya Danielle's Custom Videos has delivered a quality product. The video, sound and editing are excellent; and Tanya and Kianna certainly delivered excellent performances. Jay was very good about keeping my informed on the status of my order and has been eminently helpful at all stages of my order.

I would heartily recommend Tanya Danielle's Custom Videos to anyone interested in personalized fetish videos."

Visit CustomVideoOnDemand.com for information on ordering your own custom video today!

- XO Tanya

***

The Oriental Assassin vs. Power Girl

2008-02-07T13:21:00.000-08:00

The Oriental Assassin (AKA Kianna Dior) likes to toy with her victims before killing them. She lulls Power Girl into a false sense of security by pretending to be intimidated by the superheroine. Power Girl feels confident that she will easily subdue the Oriental Assassin and bring her to justice. She plows her right fist into the Assassin's crotch. Frighteningly, this vicious punch provides a rush of pleasure for the Oriental Assassin! Power Girl starts to falter and the Assassin retaliates by briefly trapping the distraught blonde between her vise-like thighs. Then, inexplicably, the Assassin releases the hold and Power Girl tumbles onto the floor. The shocked superheroine leaps to her feet. Her desperation becomes evident as she applies a sleeper hold to the seductive villainness and the Oriental Assassin doesn't even grow weak. On the contrary the Assassin seems to relish the shortage of air and appears to actually be gaining strength! Power Girl flips her around and squeezes her in a tight, rib-crushing bear hug and feels a bolt of terror when she realizes that the Assassin enjoys the painful hold.

The essence of the Assassin is becoming clear to the now petrified Power Girl. The Assassin oozes pure evil: everything from her jade eyeshadow to her poisonous blue fingernail polish reflects her malignant nature. The Assassin has no mission in life other than annihilating and then eviscerating anyone who challenges her.

Can Power Girl escape this demonic woman? If not, what will be the final indignity that Power Girl suffers at the hands of the ruthless, cunning villainness?! Buy Kianna Dior: The Oriental Assassin at BustyCatfight.com to find out all the answers now!

- XO Tanya

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Speechless

2008-02-04T18:07:00.001-08:00

I continually peruse real estate listings at ZipRealty.com whether or not I am in a position to buy anything at that moment. Often I drive to look at the properties and scope out the neighborhoods. My interest lies in older properties in low-income areas. A few years ago I was actively looking to buy something. I sent an e-mail to my ZipRealty agent requesting an appointment to see the interior of a home in what most people would consider a rough area of the city. She immediately dumped me. For years her smiling face had greeted me every time I logged onto the ZipRealty website, but clearly she had no interest in helping someone visit property in the part of Los Angeles where I wanted to go. Soon enough I had a replacement ZipRealty agent, a young man brand new to the job. He set an appointment for me to view the property. I assured him - although he had not asked - that I had already seen the home from the outside, was definitely interested in it, and that a lender had already pre-approved me for a loan. I'm not into wasting people's time and I wanted him to know that I was serious.

On the designated day we met outside the house and then rang the doorbell. No one answered. Evidently the tenant was not yet home so the agent and I lingered on the doorstep making tortured conversation. I told him that I did Internet marketing and he told me that he had recently graduated from Rice University. I must have looked at him a bit quizzically. To the best of my recollection Rice was known for its engineering programs. At least I thought it was. He must have sensed my unasked question.

"I majored in computer engineering and have had some trouble landing a job in my field." he told me. "But I'm really interested in real estate. I bought a few places in Koreatown and now I'd like to help other people make investments."

I nodded my head in understanding.

"So.. " he asked me. "How did you pick this property? Did you choose this street because it happens to be the same as your first name?"

I stared at him for a few long moments to see if he was joking. He wasn't joking. I didn't even open my mouth to make a response because I had no idea what to say. In fact, the street name was the same as my first name, but I could not fathom that this man could actually believe that anyone wold be so stupid as to use that criteria to choose a home..

What happened next? Did I fly into a rage? Did this turn into a mixed wrestling session? Join TanyaDanielle.com to read the members' blog and find out now!

- XO Tanya

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New custom photos

2008-02-04T09:02:00.000-08:00

See the full Fishnet and Heels gallery at TanyaDanielle.com now!

- XO Tanya

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Sister Tanya Pays the Price

2008-02-02T11:50:00.000-08:00

What kind of demented individual would impersonate a nun and go door to door trying to solicit donations for the poor and needy? Well, she calls herself Sister Tanya and she spends her ill-gotten gains on drugs and hookers as soon as she peels off her phony habit at the end of the day.

Sister Tanya is a shady, disreputable liar and con artist but every once in a while she gets what she deserves. Like the day she made the mistake of knocking on Shannon Kelly's door. It wasn't such a pleasant day in the neighborhood when the fraudulent sister found herself naked, shackled, and spread-eagled on a bed in Shannon's basement..

Buy Sister Tanya Pays the Price at BustyCatfight.com to see the full extent of the debauchery now!

- XO Tanya

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Sexual Harassment

2008-02-01T13:19:00.001-08:00

Sexual harassment in the workplace is no laughing matter. Just ask those whose lives have been turned upside down by the unethical behavior of their bosses. The case of a woman we will call "Tanya D." provides a startling example:

For years Tanya struggled to obtain the equivalent of a high school diploma by attending night classes at a local junior college. She never did succeed. In November, 2007 she decided to leave school behind and start looking for a job. Around that time famous fetish model/pornstar Shannon Kelly placed an ad on CraigsList.org to find an assistant. Tanya responded. Shannon hired her immediately upon meeting her and Tanya was absolutely thrilled. Within days Shannon began making lewd comments and groping Tanya during work hours. Meek, compliant, undereducated Tanya did not know what to do about this sexual harassment. Shannon's aggressive lesbian behavior scared her, but Tanya realized that she would have trouble finding other $7-an-hour employment if she quit her new job. Tanya simply endured the lecherous advances. Eventually, however, something interesting happened: Tanya began enjoying the lesbian encounters so much that she decided that she would never bother dating another man again. Her friends and family say that she no longer seems like the woman they once knew.

Tanya D.'s situation demonstrates one shocking outcome of sexual harassment in the workplace. Buy the entire Sexual Harassment gallery at BustyCatfight.com to see Tanya's early days on the job with Shannon!

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The Harbor Room: Part 3

2008-01-31T08:59:00.000-08:00

Yesterday I went to the beach to watch the sun set. Almost no one was there because winds were high and sand was blowing everywhere. I strolled along the coastline until it was dark. Afterwards I headed to the Harbor Room, a small locals bar in the area. Upon entering I was a bit dismayed to find it so crowded. At least seven people occupied the room. Often the place is deserted, but lately it has seemed busier. I stepped up to the bar to order a drink. The conversation of the other drinkers floated about my head. In the midst of it all I heard a man’s voice say:

“That’s the girl that (unheard name) has a hard-on for.”

Unintelligible words from others followed his statement.

“Yeah, that’s her. She’s standing right there.”

The man to my immediate left attempted to turn his head and look at me. It took forever. I could relate. He was too drunk to do anything in a snappy manner. Finally he was looking right at me. I felt a nervous smile playing at the corners of my mouth. The bartender poured my drink and handed it to me. I paid her and retreated to a stool in the front of the room so I could face out towards the street.

As I sat there shrugging off my huge down jacket I pondered what I had just heard. Someone had a “hard-on” for me? What did that mean? I knew they had been talking about me and they had not been trying to hide it. It was weird and I felt uncomfortable. I go to the Harbor Room fairly often. Senior citizens from the area frequent the place. I drink heavily, tip well, and generally don’t talk to anyone while I am there. Why would anyone have a “hard-on” for me? Had the bartender seemed frostier than usual when she poured my drink? How could I be worrying about this anyways? I was thirty years younger than anyone in there besides the bartender. It wasn’t as if I was violating some type of social agenda or something (e.g. dating a married man, behaving rambunctiously, or asking someone to buy me a drink.) I had no connection with any of the regular patrons other than the fact that I have the soul of an old drunk. They had no reason to dislike me. I felt stupid even contemplating it.

My mind drifted to an incident that had occurred there several months earlier...

What was the upshot of this whole situation? Join TanyaDanielle.com to read the members' blog and find out now!

- XO Tanya

***

Power Girl Gets Rocked

2008-01-31T07:40:00.001-08:00

What's Power Girl been up to? We see her here getting ravaged by unseen alien forces. Buy the full Power Girl Gets Rocked galleries at my Fantasy Image Store and witness her denouement!

- XO Tanya

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Serious Hollywood actresses at work

2008-01-29T21:13:00.001-08:00

There's nothing funny about a catfight shoot. Nobody ever steps out of character. Never. It's all business. We take our roles very, very seriously. At the end of the day there's nothing but blood and guts on the set.

hehehe.. perhaps Kianna and I are not professional enough to be working in the industry..

- XO Tanya

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Tomorrow's custom shoot: Kianna Dior & Shannon Kelly!

2008-01-27T22:08:00.001-08:00

Kianna and Shannon are ready for action!

- XO Tanya

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Memories of Seventh Street

2008-01-24T22:41:00.000-08:00

Years ago I was walking on Seventh Street near downtown Los Angeles as my mind reeled and my soul churned. It had been a rough day and I wanted to get back to my room. Aggressive, ominpresent drug dealers and severely drug-addicted prostitutes lined this block near Witmer. They eyed all the passersby. The only people returning their gazes were those seeking heroin or sex. All the rest of us looked into the grey distance or down at the sidewalk. Gazing at the ground connotes a sense of discomfort, possibly trepidation, but it had always worked well enough for me. It conveyed my disinterest in purchasing drugs. I aimed my scrutiny, though not my awareness, at the concrete beneath my feet as I headed for the Mayfair Hotel (see above pic). All at once it seemed that someone was looking up at me. Everyone on the sidewalk seemed to stop. The world seemed to stop. I looked back at the man who in actuality was standing at least 20 feet ahead of me. He was leaning on crutches and he was hunched over like a horseshoe. That condition seems to occur in very elderly people although I do not know the name of it. The gentleman was gesturing animatedly at me and seemed to have something of an encouraging - perhaps pleading - smile on his face. People hurried past him on either side, eager to get off Seventh Street and arrive at their destinations. A drug dealer and some blank-faced young teenagers lingered near the man, but this gentleman was staring straight into my eyes. I began rushing towards him...

Join TanyaDanielle.com to read the rest of the story in the members' blog now!

- XO Tanya

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Harbingers of dooms?

2008-01-23T20:39:00.000-08:00

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Harmony Bliss as Catwoman

2008-01-18T06:08:00.001-08:00

New at BustyCatfight.com:

Blonde, bodacious Harmony Bliss toils in a medical office by day so she can steal stashes of drugs and inject them into innocent captives. No one at her day job realizes that innocent-looking Harmony morphs into the nefarious Catwoman as soon as darkness falls. At night she prowls the streets to abduct men and women by drugging them and carrying their limp bodies back to her sex dungeon. Her victims awake to unimaginable horror as they discover that they are chained to cold, stone walls in the midst of a crowd of masked strangers. Southern superheroine Ms. Confederate has been stalking Catwoman so she can put an end to her appalling criminal behavior. Their showdown takes place at a beautiful mansion in Malibu, California. It turns out that Catwoman has a sneaky trick of smearing a powerful opiate all over her ample cleavage. Will Ms. Confederate be able to break free of this morphine-laced boob smother??

Find out the answer when you buy Harmony Bliss as Catwoman at BustyCatfight.com now!

- XO Tanya

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Bad healthcare

2008-01-13T10:58:00.000-08:00

Have you suffered at the hands of rude, dismissive healthcare professionals? Or, even worse, have you watched them mistreat someone you care about? I have. I have watched doctors, nurses, and medical staff behave with extreme disregard towards their patients on numerous occasions. I'll share a few stories here soon. They are not fun or entertaining. In fact, you will probably find them extremely disturbing. The worst part is that such episodes appear to be extremely commonplace. It's on my mind this morning because I just read this article.

* I just posted the above words and then paced around my apartment for a few moments, tried to play with my cat, and finally just accepted the overwhelming feelings of vulnerability and anger washing over me. I have witnessed medical professionals engaging in horrible, cruel behavior while they were on the job. The actions of many of these people have doubtlessly affected countless individuals and families. Of course many great people work in the medical field, but better oversight is needed to help banish the incompetents from the profession.

- XO Tanya

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Adult Expo 2008

2008-01-06T13:14:00.001-08:00

Have I mentioned that Summer and I will be at booth #8091 at the upcoming Adult Entertainment Expo from January 9 - 12?

Come meet us!

- XXOO Tanya

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Deliverance

2008-01-04T10:15:00.001-08:00

Rich bitch Tanya Danielle is waiting for her valet to carry in the new purchases that she made during her shopping expedition. She just hired this new valet, Francesca Le, because her five former valets had either quit or committed suicide in the past year. Tanya sighs with disgust as she waits for Francesca to deposit the boxes and bags onto her bed. She doesn't think Francesca is moving fast enough. It annoys Tanya to no end that she even has to pay the proletariat to serve her. She thinks that they should do it for free. When her servants are not working with enough alacrity Tanya feels entitled to give them a quick shove or a kick in the shins to hasten their progress. At the moment Tanya is gearing up to abuse Francesca but Francesca speedily exits the room after setting Tanya's stuff on the bed. Tanya forgets all about her and begins admiring the new clothing that she had bought. So enrapt is she in her activity that she does not hear Francesca sneaking up behind her. It's too late by the time Francesca grabs her savagely by the arm. Francesca's fingers clamp down on Tanya's undeveloped bicep and she hisses these words into Tanya's ear:

"Were you looking forward to another day of debasing your employees, you stuck-up, rich bitch?! Well, guess what? Today is going to be different. Do you know who I am?"

Tanya begins to tremble and whimper, unable to shake off Francesca's death grip.

"Do you know who I am?!" Francesca demands again, shoving her face mere millimeters away from Tanya's eyeballs.

"N-no!" Tanya sputters.

"I'm one of your neighbors - you stupid, oblivious cunt - and I've been watching how you treat your staff. Now I'm going to teach you a lesson that you will not be able to forget! I guarantee that you will never abuse another employee again after I'm done with you. You've been waiting a lifetime for the beatdown I'm about to give to you!!!"

Turns out that it wasn't just a mere beatdown that Tanya suffered at the hands of her neighbor. Join TanyaDanielle.com now to witness this mind-warping assault!

- XXOO Tanya

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Have we met?

2008-01-03T21:27:00.000-08:00

Have we met before? If not, then we may as well introduce ourselves at the Las Vegas Adult Entertainment Expo (visit AdultEntertainmentExpo.com for all info) on Jan.9-12th. My friend Summer Cummings and I will be at booth #8091. Many of our model buddies will be joining us throughout the convention - just look for the booth filled with hot babes and giant racks!

- XO Tanya

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Guess I'm not always a cheerful drunk..

2008-01-02T15:45:00.000-08:00

Years ago someone did something to me that deeply offended me. His name popped up in conversation recently. I remember the conversation, but I must have been drinking later that night and I don't recall writing down anything about it. Yet I must have because I just found these words (in my handwriting) on a crumpled up piece of paper underneath my couch:

unforgiving

everybody else is expressing concern for his well-being, their faces twisted with emotion

"he weighs less than a hundred pounds"

"the back pockets on his jeans touch because he's lost so much weight"

"he's living in a hotel in downtown LA"

"he called from a pay phone the other day"

someone turns to me

"you remember Lou.. don't you?"

if they only knew

they are worried that he might perish

I know they are unduly excited, wasting their emotions on a near-certain impossibility

he's not going to die

he's a cockroach

he'd survive a nuclear holocaust

personally, I hope he has to suck some dick while he's wallowing in the sewer trying to support his crack habit

I'd like to say that out loud, but I don't

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One of Palo Alto's favorite daughters (hahaha.. )

2008-01-01T11:34:00.000-08:00

I got a little chuckle over something yesterday. Check out the “noteworthy residents” on this page. I was born at Stanford Hospital in Palo Alto and grew up in a neighboring city. During my teenage years I attended Castilleja School in Palo Alto. My parents’ attempt to give me a sheltered adolescence at a girls’ school really backfired on them, primarily because I've spent all the succeeding years seeking out as much debauchery as I can find.

In any case, I’m happy that I can be on a list - any list - between the co-founders of Google and The Grateful Dead.

- XO Tanya

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Random story: The Padded Cell

2007-12-31T15:48:00.001-08:00

My friend Marc spent most of 1979 working in Detroit. I believe he was installing wiring for a cable television company. His rough, burly coworkers took him to a little bar called The Padded Cell in the Lincoln Park section of the city. They paid an an admission fee at the door because exotic dancers were performing on a small stage within the establishment. Marc can’t remember whether they danced nude or topless. The doorman collecting the entry fee owned The Padded Cell and his wife and daughter were working there as strippers..

Join TanyaDanielle.com now to read the rest of this twisted story in the members' blog!

- XXOO Tanya

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Summer's House of Horrors

2007-12-31T11:40:00.000-08:00

Meet the new proprietress of the new Bates Motel: Ms. Summer Cummings. This twisted video will be coming to CustomVideoTheatre.com soon!

- XXOO Tanya

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Mercedes and companion

2007-12-31T09:56:00.000-08:00

A few days ago I stumbled across a few XXX clips of me and Jewell Marceau. Someone had provided some compelling text to accompany the videos. This morning I was surfing around the same site and saw a page of links leading to videos of my friend Mercedes. I clicked on one entitled "Douchebag fucks sexy Mercedes Ashley on the front lawn". Turns out the douchebag is one Nick Manning.

It's amazing how a little well worded prose can reel you right in.

- XO Tanya

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Custom video shoot: Summer Cummings

2007-12-30T16:29:00.001-08:00

Summer Cummings and I are shooting custom videos today. Hopefully she won't laugh at my boobs and make me cry like she did during our last shoot (see above pics.)

Just kidding. Those photos were taken during the shooting of Boob Fight! which is now playing at DeviantDownloads.com. I'm sure Summer and I will have fun today and no one will burst into tears... unless it's in the script.

- XO Tanya

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Locker Room Catfight

2007-12-28T22:14:00.001-08:00

New at DeviantDownloads.com: Locker Room Catfight

Every once in a while fetish models need a little break from the industry. I decided to stop shooting for a month or two and talked Jewell Marceau into joining me on my hiatus. We had fun drinking ourselves into oblivion during our first two weeks of vacation, but then we got kind of bored. And, more pertinently, we found that we were broke. Jewell blamed me for corrupting her and blowing all her money. I accused her of being even more irresponsible and frivolous than myself. Our angry words solved nothing, of course. We began sitting home every night even though our cable TV service had been disconnected due to the unpaid bill. Our lack of funds almost prompted us to start booking shoots again. Thank Heaven I came up with a better idea. I'd been washing down fast food and Twinkies with Boone's Farm every night and I really did not relish the idea of appearing on camera with the extra weight I had gained. By a stroke of luck I found out that a local gym was hiring janitors for their night shift. The gym even offered unlimited use of the gym to all members of their staff. How perfect! Jewell and I could earn some extra money and also train at the gym for free.

We spoke to the manager with great anticipation and he hired us on the spot because I have a great deal of experience in the custodial profession. I assured him that I would show Jewell the ropes. Unfortunately our first few days on the job did not go well. Jewell objected to my efforts at supervision because she is hardheaded and lazy. Her temper flared one night when she decided that she no longer wanted to be my protege. I became highly indignant that she was disregarding my expert advice and I attempted to shove a wooden mop handle up her asshole. Jewell retaliated by smashing me into the glass wall of the shower. I then tried to blind her with whatever shampoos and soaps were within reach. Needless to say Jewell fought me every step of the way, matching each of my dirty tricks with one of her own..

Buy Locker Room Catfight at DeviantDownloads.com to witness this nasty spectacle now!

- XO Tanya

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