tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-39003032024-03-13T06:47:49.961-04:00Mistress Octavia's Brain BleedFormerly a Record Shop Girl, a Nanny & a Bar Manager by day, currently a Personal Assistant, Professional Dominatrix all the time.
My life, My rants and a whole bunch of l'esprit d'escalier.Ms. O.http://www.blogger.com/profile/13746568061320721565noreply@blogger.comBlogger341125truetag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3900303.post-12190260795117994342022-11-10T23:13:00.001-05:002022-11-10T23:15:13.367-05:00Photographic proof<p> Things always seem so thematic. I’ve had a run of enquiries about #chastity. Something I’ve really only dabbled in and don’t really see as casual play or something I’d want to do with new play partners. Someone I’ve yet to meet but been chatting online with for awhile, asked me permission to take off a #malechastity device he had put on himself. He’d been telling me how much he wanted to be my #sissybitch. I demanded photographic proof. You can find it here: <a href="https://fetlife.com/users/336317/pictures/137584335">https://fetlife.com/users/336317/pictures/137584335</a></p>Ms. O.http://www.blogger.com/profile/13746568061320721565noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3900303.post-59742882420766748972022-08-08T07:23:00.003-04:002022-08-08T07:23:32.476-04:00Time, distance and grief <p><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;">It is 19 months since I’ve become a widow. I recently heard Ed Sheeran‘s visiting hours for the first time and the lyrics kind of blew me away. Unfortunately I am deeply practiced in grief. I lost my mom in 2001, my father in 2014, my husband in March of 2020, then two close friends at the end of August of last year. I hate that my daughter never got to meet my mother. Especially as I see aspects of her personality or talents that I know came from her. My grief over losing my husband has changed. Initially I was just numb, maybe just in shock, definitively depressed perhaps even nonfunctional as for months we went bed to couch, couch to bed. He died the week the world shut down so we were denied all of the typical rituals surrounding death and loss and grief. There was no funeral, no wake. I didn’t sit shiva. I didn’t even put out an obituary for him, which in retrospect I totally could have done, but it never even occurred to me. Recently while lamenting the lack of having done anything to mark his death, a friend told me it was never too late. </span></p><div style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><br /></div><div style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: none; caret-color: rgb(69, 69, 69); color: #454545; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 21px;">I began this post in October of last year, but never went back to finish it. It languished in my drafts for 10 months. We finally did a Celebration of Life for my husband this past March. It was wonderful to hear stories and how beloved he was and it lifted something from my shoulders. I’m now two and a half years out from losing him. My life has begun to come together again. Our daughter is happy, healthy, emotionally self aware and thriving. </span></div><div><span style="color: #454545; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"><span style="caret-color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-size: 21px;"><br /></span></span></div><div><div style="caret-color: rgb(69, 69, 69); color: #454545; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 21px;">Over a decade ago I read the most eloquent and resonant description of grief on a <a href="https://www.reddit.com/r/Assistance/comments/hax0t/my_friend_just_died_i_dont_know_what_to_do/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=ios_app&utm_name=iossmf" target="_blank">reddit thread</a> where the question was "My friend just died. I don't know what to do." I've pulled it up on my phone and shared it with countless people whenever grief and loss are discussed. Here it is in its entirety, Thank you Gsnow, whoever you are:</div><div style="caret-color: rgb(69, 69, 69); color: #454545; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 21px;"><br /></div><div style="caret-color: rgb(69, 69, 69); color: #454545; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 21px;">“Alright, here goes. I'm old. What that means is that I've survived (so far) and a lot of people I've known and loved did not. I've lost friends, so best friends, acquaintances, co-workers, grandparents, mom, relatives, teachers, mentors, students, neighbors, and a host of other folks. I have no children, and I can't imagine the pain it must be to lose a child. But here's my two cents.</div><div style="caret-color: rgb(69, 69, 69); color: #454545; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 21px;"><br /></div><div style="caret-color: rgb(69, 69, 69); color: #454545; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 21px;">I wish I could say you get used to people dying. I never did. I don't want to. It tears a hole through me whenever somebody I love dies, no matter the circumstances. But I don't want it to "not matter". I don't want it to be something that just passes. My scars are a testament to the love and the relationship that I had for and with that person. And if the scar is deep, so was the love. So be it. Scars are a testament to life. Scars are a testament that I can love deeply and live deeply and be cut, or even gouged, and that I can heal and continue to live and continue to love. And the scar tissue is stronger than the original flesh ever was. Scars are a testament to life. Scars are only ugly to people who can't see.</div><div style="caret-color: rgb(69, 69, 69); color: #454545; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 21px;"><br /></div><div style="caret-color: rgb(69, 69, 69); color: #454545; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 21px;">As for grief, you'll find it comes in waves. When the ship is first wrecked, you're drowning, with wreckage all around you. Everything floating around you reminds you of the beauty and the magnificence of the ship that was, and is no more. And all you can do is float. You find some piece of the wreckage and you hang on for a while. Maybe it's some physical thing. Maybe it's a happy memory or a photograph. Maybe it's a person who is also floating. For a while, all you can do is float. Stay alive.</div><div style="caret-color: rgb(69, 69, 69); color: #454545; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 21px;"><br /></div><div style="caret-color: rgb(69, 69, 69); color: #454545; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 21px;">In the beginning, the waves are 100 feet tall and crash over you without mercy. They come 10 seconds apart and don't even give you time to catch your breath. All you can do is hang on and float. After a while, maybe weeks, maybe months, you'll find the waves are still 100 feet tall, but they come further apart. When they come, they still crash all over you and wipe you out. But in between, you can breathe, you can function. You never know what's going to trigger the grief. It might be a song, a picture, a street intersection, the smell of a cup of coffee. It can be just about anything...and the wave comes crashing. But in between waves, there is life.</div><div style="caret-color: rgb(69, 69, 69); color: #454545; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 21px;"><br /></div><div style="caret-color: rgb(69, 69, 69); color: #454545; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 21px;">Somewhere down the line, and it's different for everybody, you find that the waves are only 80 feet tall. Or 50 feet tall. And while they still come, they come further apart. You can see them coming. An anniversary, a birthday, or Christmas, or landing at O'Hare. You can see it coming, for the most part, and prepare yourself. And when it washes over you, you know that somehow you will, again, come out the other side. Soaking wet, sputtering, still hanging on to some tiny piece of the wreckage, but you'll come out.</div><div style="caret-color: rgb(69, 69, 69); color: #454545; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 21px;"><br /></div><div style="caret-color: rgb(69, 69, 69); color: #454545; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 21px;">Take it from an old guy. The waves never stop coming, and somehow you don't really want them to. But you learn that you'll survive them. And other waves will come. And you'll survive them too. If you're lucky, you'll have lots of scars from lots of loves. And lots of shipwrecks.”</div><div style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: none; caret-color: rgb(69, 69, 69); color: #454545; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 21px;"><br /></div><div style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: none; caret-color: rgb(69, 69, 69); color: #454545; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 21px;"><div><br /></div><div><br /></div></div></div><br class="Apple-interchange-newline" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;" />Ms. O.http://www.blogger.com/profile/13746568061320721565noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3900303.post-91348774431983854232021-07-19T19:13:00.000-04:002021-07-19T19:13:18.348-04:00Post-(?)Pandemic Update So much has changed since my last post. Of the greatest note is that I am now a widow. My husband had a heart attack the week the world shut down. Enough time has passed that my grief has settled and my energy is focused on embracing and living the life that I am grateful to have. Somehow my daughter is now 8 years old. #mominatrix. We’ve just moved and as I unpack and set up our new home, I’ve been updating <a href="https://www.amazon.com/hz/wishlist/ls/95F1V3NJEX1Q?ref_=wl_share" target="_blank">my wishlist</a>. I’m taking <a href="https://www.niteflirt.com/listings/show/5358743-Pro-Domme-will-HONESTLY-discuss-any-aspect-of-BDSM" target="_blank">Niteflirt</a> calls and in person sessions on a very limited basis again. #hamptonsdominatrixMs. O.http://www.blogger.com/profile/13746568061320721565noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3900303.post-44287631122250590622020-01-16T12:14:00.001-05:002020-01-16T12:14:41.269-05:00Fetish Origins and the Ghosts of High SchoolAlmost every sexual fetish seems to stem from a pivotal event in childhood. I've heard countless stories from my clients over the years about the seductively dangled high heel or the sister's underpants or playing under the table surrounded by stocking clad feet. I've recreated those scenarios many times. Recently however I heard from a high school classmate of my own. A moment that I don't even recollect has been seared into his memory and provided wank material for nearly three decades. It seems we were 16, sitting on a couch. I slipped my boots and socks off, tucked a leg beneath me and caught him ogling my bare foot. He says I locked eyes with him, looked down at my foot, back at him and gave a devilish grin. He felt busted and embarrassed, but thoroughly titillated. And my immaculate, large feet have figured in his fantasies ever since. When he reached out to me and said "I need to ask you a question" I was certain he'd seen an ad or stumbled across my site and wanted to check if it were actually me. But he hadn't. In a drunken haze he wanted to know if I remembered catching him staring at my bare feet 28 years ago. I still don't recollect that incredibly important moment for him, but I know he never expected my reply: "No!!! I don't. But that's hysterical. I've been a prodomme for 25 years. I have size 12 feet. Foot fetishists are my bread and butter!"Ms. O.http://www.blogger.com/profile/13746568061320721565noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3900303.post-61511280775321745282019-09-05T06:41:00.001-04:002019-09-05T06:42:40.184-04:00I’m not a financial Domme, but...#tipme #paymyrent!<span style="font-family: "helveticaneue"; font-size: 12px;">I’m not a financial Domme, but I do have a $16 per day latte habit. Perhaps <a href="http://hamptoncoffeecompany.com/product/virtual-giftcard" target="_blank">you should sponsor that.</a> I’ve always spent my $$ on experiences. When I lived in the city I took taxis, then Ubers everywhere. Got massages and facials regularly. Even now, my grooming budget is obscene! I regularly have my eyebrows/pussy/legs waxed, speaking of "sponsorship" I don't think EWC does gift certificate (idiots!) but a <a href="https://www.waxcenter.com/wax-pass" target="_blank">prepaid wax pass</a> or unlimited package would make a lovely tribute/gift/tip. #tipher #tipme #paymyrent (<a href="https://www.instagram.com/jacqthestripper/" target="_blank">Jacq the Stripper</a> is a god damn genius). I accept <a href="https://cash.app/$OctaviaArena" target="_blank">cashapp</a>, <a href="https://venmo.com/misslj631" target="_blank">venmo</a> and <a href="https://www.giftrocket.com/" target="_blank">giftrocket</a>. Amazon gift certificates are great, and when I'm flush, I LOOOOOVE them, but let's be realistic, my landlord, doesn't accept them. Dying my hair (come on now, did you really think these fantastic shades of red were natural?!?!), eyelash extensions, manicures, pedicures, chiropractic services--I am all about #selfcare these days--all cost $$$. I drive a 2001 explorer. Sure I find nice cars sexy. Maybe one day I'll learn to drive stick and get an Aston Martin. Lol. In the meantime if it gets me from point a to point b without costing me too much $/annoyance with repairs I really don’t care. Though I must say (type?) those suicide doors on Teslas are HOT. Maybe I should go hybrid and do my part for the planet. Anyone own a car dealership? I’m sure we can work out some kind of barter. Lol. Essentially I have always prioritized experiences over things. I don't own any property (hoping to change that in the next few years!) but I've seen a fair amount of the world. My daughter had a passport before she was a year old. As I dip my toes back into the pay for play and public lifestyle scenes, I really need potential slaves to understand that</span><span style="font-family: "helveticaneue"; font-size: 12px;"> my daughter and husband will always and forever take priority over you. </span><br />
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Ms. O.http://www.blogger.com/profile/13746568061320721565noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3900303.post-68188703957731426652019-08-25T06:32:00.001-04:002019-08-25T06:32:45.691-04:00<span style="caret-color: rgb(69, 69, 69); color: #454545; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 14px; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">As a year round resident of the Hamptons, there are definitely many elements of small town living. I’ve warned my regular clients that they may encounter me in the wild and that any type of public play is strictly prohibited. This is basic common sense. Particularly if I’m with my daughter, approaching me with a “Hello Mistress!” or calling me Octavia (you never thought that was my given name did you?) is entirely inappropriate. I’m totally fine with a hello or any other friendly greeting—that’s up to you, as a sexworker for 25 years, I’d NEVER out a client in public. And since I have a $16 a day latte habit, you may always feel free to sponsor my morning coffee. It seems the coffee shop is where I most often run into clients. Twice in the last week. Hamptons Coffee Company gift certificates make a great gift/tribute, hint. Hint. </span>Ms. O.http://www.blogger.com/profile/13746568061320721565noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3900303.post-79071248951361516762018-07-04T03:04:00.002-04:002018-07-04T11:05:31.187-04:00I am now officially accepting new clients again. I was so certain that new photos were an absolute necessity, after all, I'm now 43 and my last shoot was at least 8 years ago if not longer. Upon going over the images, I realized that though these new pictures were shot June 2018, they easily could have been from 15 years ago. I essentially look the same. See if you can tell which images were just taken and which are old enough to drink! Also note, you may want to mute your sound as the app required a sountrack. Enjoy:<br />
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="540" scrolling="no" src="https://slide.ly/gallery/embed/e77890c75b4613d123c929792a5789e5/audio/0" width="720"></iframe>Mistress Octavia Arena by <a href="http://slide.ly/gallery?utm_source=embed_link" target="_blank">Slidely Photo Gallery</a>Ms. O.http://www.blogger.com/profile/13746568061320721565noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3900303.post-73925360534297424112018-02-17T12:26:00.001-05:002018-02-17T12:26:23.552-05:00Just a heads up Cleveland and Chicago February 2018I am approximately 80% retired. I rarely see new clients in NYC, but could never deny my oldest and most loyal slaves the opportunity to worship My size 12 feet or serve Me in their appropriate capacities. That said, I'm going to be in Chicago next week for the first time since 2006 and since I had such a great time playing when I was there last, I figured I would make myself available for a few very limited and select appointments. To be considered, send an email to <a href="mailto:mistressoctavia@gmail.com" style="font-family: skia; font-weight: 700;" target="_blank">mistressoctavia@gmail.com</a> and tell me if we met when I was last in Chicago, a bit about you, your interests, fantasies and experience.Ms. O.http://www.blogger.com/profile/13746568061320721565noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3900303.post-9863548861781984082016-04-02T22:20:00.001-04:002019-07-26T00:00:43.671-04:00Books! Books! Books!<span style="background-color: white; color: #454545; font-family: "uictfonttextstylebody"; font-size: 17px;">I finally pulled my bookshelves and books out of storage and set up a corner of our living room as a little book nook/reading area. My husband is bewildered at the amount of joy this simple act has brought me. As a lifelong bookworm, I just missed my books! They've been in storage since our short lived move to SF 6 years ago! It was like greeting old friends as I pulled them from the boxes. Now I suppose it is possible that there's a box of books still sitting in our storage space that I missed, but my big surprise was the titles that just aren't there. The very first how-to books I ever read on BDSM (penthouse forum letters excepted) were <a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/0963976389" target="_blank">S&M 101</a> by Jay Wiseman and <a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/0964596008" target="_blank">Screw the Roses, Send Me the Thorns</a> by Philip Miller & Molly Devon and NEITHER of them seem to still be in my collection, thus they've been promptly added to <a href="https://www.amazon.com/hz/wishlist/ls/95F1V3NJEX1Q?ref_=wl_share" target="_blank">my amazon wishlist</a>. I did find that I own more "sexy books" than I had realized. A combination of erotica, BDSM how-to and more intellectual sexual theory take up several shelves. I'm going to have to do a culling before our extended family is in the house for our daughter's birthday. I'm thinking it will be fine to leave <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Sleeping-Beauty-Trilogy-Box-Set/dp/0452294754/" target="_blank">the sleeping beauty books,</a> but perhaps <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Family-Jewels-Guide-Genital-Torment/dp/1890159344" target="_blank">The Family Jewels</a> will need to find a more discreet spot in our home.</span>Ms. O.http://www.blogger.com/profile/13746568061320721565noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3900303.post-27026526054943378242016-03-28T19:37:00.001-04:002016-03-28T19:37:07.723-04:00A Decade of Anticipation<span style="color: #454545; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 17px; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">Last month I had a session with someone who has been trying to see me for a full decade. My travel plans, blizzards and the universe in general seem to have colluded to keep him from getting under my feet and being humiliated by me in person. We've had dozens of Niteflirt chats since 2006, but actually playing together just never coalesced until last month. I was excited to meet him and very very slightly anxious--I'm not the same woman I was a decade ago. Speaking of which, I really need to find a photographer and update my site--I just threw my old site up at a new URL: <a href="http://www.mistressoctavia.com/" target="_blank">www.MistressOctavia.com </a>I've no desire to advertise falsely, I just don't have new pictures yet (I so remember being a snotty 24 year old house mistress being like, why are those dommes advertising with old photos?!?! It's like lying!) Anyway, our session was so much fun! There were moments where he was so scared of me, his eyes wide with terror, drawing in his breath and unconsciously holding it until I reminded him to breathe for me. His suffering was absolutely delicious! We did some basic CBT (thankfully he understood that Cock and Ball Torture is NOT an euphemism for a hand job! LOL), a bunch of verbal humiliation, some foot and leg worship and a touch of smothering. I also finished with a golden shower, like monsoon finale! Perhaps I overwhelmed him, I probably asked if he was OK half a dozen times before we parted ways. </span><br />
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Ms. O.http://www.blogger.com/profile/13746568061320721565noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3900303.post-63226895864108469392016-03-10T01:30:00.000-05:002016-03-10T01:31:21.614-05:00My site is gone, but...Instagram! Twitter!As you may or may not have noticed, octaviaarena.com is no longer my website. It's some link farm that has absolutely nothing to do with me. You see, I never owned my domain. A friend registered it for me and then (very kindly, I might add) hosted it for free for approximately 15 years. The unfortunate part is that I never even had the chance to renew it when it expired this last time as it was out of redemption and owned by someone else by the time I realized my site was no longer live. So...that kinda sucks, but I'm a grownup now and will be taking care of registering a domain and hosting my site myself. I suppose new photos were in order anyway. That will happen along with a new site at some point, but in the meantime, I've joined <a href="https://www.instagram.com/MsOctaviaArena/" target="_blank">Instagram</a> and <a href="https://twitter.com/MsOctaviaArena" target="_blank">Twitter</a>. My handle on both is @MsOctaviaArena<br />
<br />Ms. O.http://www.blogger.com/profile/13746568061320721565noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3900303.post-2616657358968962342016-02-12T02:44:00.002-05:002016-02-12T02:45:17.219-05:00I feel like I left you hanging with my pregnancy....My daughter is now two and a half. This kid had stories before she even came out of the womb! She was conceived on our one year wedding anniversary during the Hurricane Sandy blackout. I did not discover I was pregnant until we were 19 weeks in (no, I am not an idiot, I just have PCOS and a very irregular period). She then made her grand entrance into the world via emergency c-section 9 weeks early. Basically, to my knowledge, I was pregnant for 12 weeks. She is so smart, utterly adorable and amazes me nearly every single day. She is also healthy, but her first year was pretty intense. To put it succinctly, she was (is?) medically complex. <br />
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She was born with a birth defect that required three surgeries in her first year. She was hospitalized four times and underwent full anesthesia four times before she was 7 months old. Her genetic anomaly is called Imperforate Anus and means that she was born with her tiny baby butthole sealed shut. Modern medicine and surgical techniques are truly miraculous because unless you caught sight of her colostomy scar, if I didn't tell you, you would never know.<br />
<br />Ms. O.http://www.blogger.com/profile/13746568061320721565noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3900303.post-51751466796971097322013-04-25T23:32:00.001-04:002013-04-25T23:32:26.351-04:00Obligatory once a year check in post and oh yeah--I'm pregnant!I have had this blog for a very long time. My life has changed dramatically in the decade and six months since my first post. I am married (to the chef <a href="http://www.selacat.blogspot.com/2009/05/love-and-pork-fat.html" target="_blank">I hauled pork fat back from Italy </a>for) and currently pregnant with our first child. I've been thinking of advertising for foot sessions--my feet have grown to a SIZE 13!!! It has been so long since I wrote like this I barely remember how. I'm trying to decide what topic to cover--the controversial nature of doing sessions while visibly pregnant? the amazing story of how/when I found out I was pregnant? According to the traffic logs, it looks like I still have readers, the question is what are you here looking for? And do I even provide that service these days...Ms. O.http://www.blogger.com/profile/13746568061320721565noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3900303.post-35010078931493099802012-07-18T22:35:00.000-04:002012-07-18T22:35:10.863-04:00Ancient HistoryI suppose I've made many "I'm baaaaack" posts, so I won't claim that I'll be blogging regularly again this time. After all the last time I actually was doing that it was 2005. However, I am around and about, taking <a href="http://www.niteflirt.com/listings/show/5358743-Pro-Domme-will-HONESTLY-discuss-any-aspect-of-BDSM">niteflirt</a> calls and the occasional session. But I came across the video linked below the other day. I can't even remember what year it is from, but it holds the distinction of being the only BDSM video I have ever made. It features <a href="http://www.mistresssade.com/Mistress_Sade/Home.html">Mistress Sade</a> whom I just adore (in general and as a play partner) and I engaging in a bit of enthusiastic trampling. Enjoy!<br />
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<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/949mFWPWbSs?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>Ms. O.http://www.blogger.com/profile/13746568061320721565noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3900303.post-88518987302528517612011-02-13T10:35:00.002-05:002011-02-13T10:38:02.388-05:00Things Change...I had a great time in San Francisco, but I'm a true New Yorker. I'm in South East Asia (yes, AGAIN!) through late April, after which I will be accepting appointments in NY again.Ms. O.http://www.blogger.com/profile/13746568061320721565noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3900303.post-62220119628331194402010-11-30T15:29:00.002-05:002010-11-30T15:31:30.847-05:00A Plan Is In Place!Farewell NYC. In less than two weeks I'm headed to San Francisco! I've never been, but have been told most of my life that I would love it there, so...I'm going to try it out.Ms. O.http://www.blogger.com/profile/13746568061320721565noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3900303.post-68201601392150773932010-09-19T17:52:00.002-04:002010-09-19T18:00:19.662-04:00I never really left...It just was most appropriate for me to have a low public profile. I've continued to play with a select few clients and friends but am once again ready to add to that roster. I'm excited about playing with new people and am quite curious what the current pro-scene is like. I spent most of the summer out of the US bouncing around Thailand (yes AGAIN--I do love it there!) and Indonesia. I may only be in NYC for a few months, I'll update as my travel plans coalesce. I know that I really am not interested in another cold NYC winter.Ms. O.http://www.blogger.com/profile/13746568061320721565noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3900303.post-16838978313725392792010-04-20T23:25:00.002-04:002010-04-20T23:27:44.002-04:00the next stepIf you are reading this, you are someone I actually know and for some reason or another trust. My vanilla career path has led me to a place where Octavia may no longer exist on the internet. This is an exciting and wonderful time for me.Ms. O.http://www.blogger.com/profile/13746568061320721565noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3900303.post-37718494458350540992009-12-07T18:19:00.003-05:002009-12-07T18:32:24.544-05:00Really Fun Roof Photoshoot<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_kUjXo224T1I/Sx2QYxJuJnI/AAAAAAAAADc/bp6t8aZOvxg/s1600-h/roof1109cfeet.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_kUjXo224T1I/Sx2QYxJuJnI/AAAAAAAAADc/bp6t8aZOvxg/s320/roof1109cfeet.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5412641082354574962" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_kUjXo224T1I/Sx2QYZCjs8I/AAAAAAAAADU/J-eS4YBMZg0/s1600-h/roof1109best.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_kUjXo224T1I/Sx2QYZCjs8I/AAAAAAAAADU/J-eS4YBMZg0/s320/roof1109best.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5412641075882079170" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_kUjXo224T1I/Sx2QYNrYz5I/AAAAAAAAADM/W2aiZzS7glw/s1600-h/meanie.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_kUjXo224T1I/Sx2QYNrYz5I/AAAAAAAAADM/W2aiZzS7glw/s320/meanie.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5412641072832106386" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_kUjXo224T1I/Sx2QXwvifXI/AAAAAAAAADE/TlCqx7vCgbg/s1600-h/edited+nfl+sh.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_kUjXo224T1I/Sx2QXwvifXI/AAAAAAAAADE/TlCqx7vCgbg/s320/edited+nfl+sh.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5412641065064889714" /></a><br />So...Octavia Arena has returned! I am accepting sessions again. My hair is darker & shorter and I'm embracing the BBW tagline, however my legs are as muscular and strong as ever. I haven't had the chance to update the gallery on my site yet, but here are my favorites from last week's photo shoot.Ms. O.http://www.blogger.com/profile/13746568061320721565noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3900303.post-85868890424053805712009-08-25T23:33:00.002-04:002009-08-25T23:42:58.285-04:00Tastes like my childhood...Earlier this evening a friend and I stopped by <a href="http://shop.russanddaughters.com/store/">Russ & Daughters</a> to pick up some <a href="http://shop.russanddaughters.com/store/product/280/Caviar-Cream-Cheese-/">caviar cream cheese</a>. Something I missed deeply while I was living in Long Island. She happened to also order some <a href="http://shop.russanddaughters.com/store/product/245/Pickled-Herring-Cream-%26-Onions/">pickled herring fillets in cream sauce</a>. I asked for a bite and upon eating it, I literally exclaimed "This tastes like my childhood!" I'm sure I've blogged about sense memory before, but this experience made me think about what other flavors defined my childhood. The first to come up was chopped chicken liver. Guess those two tastes make it pretty clear that I was raised a New York Jew. Vanilla chocolate chip Italian ices are another one, and I guess that's about growing up on Staten Island (the origin of <a href="http://www.ralphsices.com/">Ralph's Ices</a>). This whole thought process made me wonder about other people's childhood food memories. I asked my house guest come roommate and her response was gingersnap cookies, her grandmother always had them around. My paternal grandmother always had coolwhip. My maternal grandmother always had tunafish salad, but it rarely reminds me of her. What flavors bring you back to being a little kid?Ms. O.http://www.blogger.com/profile/13746568061320721565noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3900303.post-59010770019372127282009-07-22T00:48:00.002-04:002009-07-22T01:01:48.372-04:00When the crazies find my blog...So, after receiving a few stupid spam comments about viagra, etc, I changed my comments section to the "moderated" setting. That explains why sometimes you might leave a comment but it doesn't show up for a few days or ever at all. Yep, I can censor at will. When I received the alert that someone had commented on my last entry, I thought perhaps someone else had also read & loved The Help. Oh no. Not at all. Upon reading <a href="https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3900303&postID=4598051470801826937">this comment</a> I was just about to click the delete button, when I realized this was too insane not to share.Ms. O.http://www.blogger.com/profile/13746568061320721565noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3900303.post-45980514708018269372009-07-18T22:06:00.004-04:002009-07-18T22:37:22.465-04:00When a really good novel makes me want to write again...I'm in the midst of a really, really good novel. <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Help-Kathryn-Stockett/dp/0399155341/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1247968989&sr=8-1">The Help</a> by Kathryn Stockett. It is one of those books that I'm enjoying so much, I'll sometimes put it down just because I don't want it to end. It also marks the first kindle book that I wish I'd purchased in "real book" form because I want it on my shelves. I currently am carrying about 20 ebooks around via the kindle app on my iphone. Some of them I would have purchased as actual books, but there's a few I probably would rather no one saw me reading. But this one is different. Sure there's a trace of my yankee white bleeding heart liberal upbringing that is angered by the subject matter (essentially the racist white southerners who hire black maids to raise their children & cook their food, but can't deign to share a bathroom with them), but I think this novel goes further than that. To a place or level of emotion that is universal. I was about 13 or 14 when I came up with the theory that at 2 o'clock in the morning, once everyone's usual social barriers are down, we can all relate to each other. And I was probably a bit older when I came up with my cheerleader broken nail theory. (ie: the tragedy of a broken nail for a cheerleader might be utterly laughable to anyone not quite so shallow, but that cheerleader's feelings about the situation are just as real and valid to her as anyone experiencing a "real" tragedy). <br /><br />This novel reminds me why I had planned on being a writer for my entire childhood. I want to tell a story that hasn't been told before. I want to create characters that are so real they breathe right off of the page and people feel their struggles, triumphs and fear as if they were the closest of friends. I haven't written fiction in so many years that I almost changed the "wants" in the last sentence to "wanted". But the truth is that I do still want to write again. Someday. Yeah yeah I know, writers write. I guess I'm just a reader these days, but this novel makes me want to write.Ms. O.http://www.blogger.com/profile/13746568061320721565noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3900303.post-11688955405253682342009-05-25T23:51:00.002-04:002009-05-26T00:08:04.813-04:00Love and Pork FatThe gift I brought back from Italy for my boyfriend was definitely not on the list of standard European knickknacks or souvenirs. While most people return from Italy with things like rosaries or these <a href="http://romegiftshop.com/apdavmadinit.html">obnoxious aprons</a>, I hauled 2 kilos of <a href="http://fxcuisine.com/default.asp?language=2&Display=8&resolution=high">guanciale</a> in my backpack. Yes, I carried around nearly 5 lbs of pork fat as a gift for my boyfriend. I wasn't sure it was the right choice until I gave it to him. He loved it. This is probably where I should mention, for those of you who don't know, that my beloved is a chef. <br /><br />We are very happy together and our "rightness" for each other is proven over and over again in the most random ways. I don't recall if I mentioned this while I was blogging about the trip, but A & I got into the habit of taking "food porn" photos at nearly every meal. It was only once I downloaded my 600+ photos that I realized with faint embarrassment how many I had taken of food. When I showed my photos to my boyfriend, he not only was interested in my food pics, he berated me for not remembering some of the ingredients I had photographed! It was just one of those tiny things that make a relationship great. Who else would or could appreciate that my enduring memory of traveling Italy is the absolutely phenomenal food I ate daily?Ms. O.http://www.blogger.com/profile/13746568061320721565noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3900303.post-85318423217408392942009-05-18T06:54:00.003-04:002009-05-18T07:05:27.351-04:00Good Morning!It isn't even 7am and I'm fully awake with most of a cup of coffee already in my system. Jetlag? Perhaps, but my alarm is set for 7:30am because (drumroll, please) I'm starting my new job today! I'm so excited and very slightly nervous. I really can't compare how I felt last night and this morning with anything other than the first day of school when I was a kid. I haven't had a job that required I even be awake before 10am in about 15 years. No clue what this means for my availability, I'll be hammering out a schedule later today. I'll never forget being about 20 with a lifestyle that meant I accepted phone calls through six am but woe to anyone calling me before noon. I had signing up as with a temp agency and a week or two later answered an early morning call with "Who the fuck is calling me at this godforsaken hour?" Needless to say, I didn't get offered that gig.Ms. O.http://www.blogger.com/profile/13746568061320721565noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3900303.post-29453575741107502792009-05-12T17:29:00.002-04:002009-05-12T18:01:51.739-04:00Driving all overI'm sitting here listening to the sheep in the distance trying to figure out if I can do today justice with words. A and I have always loved to be in a car together. Our friendship is somehow ideally suited to long drives with random discussions on nearly any topic from deep examinations of self to questions like, "what's the origin of the term <a href="http://www.answers.com/topic/pothole">pothole</a>?" Today we drove around and about Tuscany hitting several towns along the way. We began in Pienza, which though beautiful was really a tourist town, with a delicious lunch at <a href="http://www.fodors.com/world/europe/italy/tuscany-with-siena/review-49749.html">Trattoria Osteria Sette Di Vino</a>. MMMMMMMM...there is nothing quite like fresh cheese literally grilled with bacon. Later in the day we hit Montepulciano, which though it had the same charm of winding hilly cobbled streets, seemed to actually have a local population. We visited Il Casale, an agrotourism working organic farm and tasted some of the most amazing cheese I've ever had. When I inquired about buying some to take home, Massimo explained that it just wouldn't survive the journey. Beyond peeking at goats and sheep and playing with sheepdog puppies, the highlight was meeting Rinaldo. He used to work in automobiles in Germany. Once he lost his job, he went back to school to learn how to make cheese. After shedding our dusty sandals, we donned plastic clogs and he guided us through his cheese-making process. We both just fell in love with him. I will definitely post some pix of this and him. It was so amazing.<br /><br />We went over to Bagno Vignoni to check out the hot springs and fancy spa, but tired of the experience before we really even had it. Dinner was in Montalcino and though the food was phenomenal, I was a bit preoccupied trying to get a perfect sunset photo. I'll let you be the judge of whether I got it or not.Ms. O.http://www.blogger.com/profile/13746568061320721565noreply@blogger.com0