Your Blogress On The Radio

Well, my phone-sex story got BoingBoinged and Farked yesterday, thus catapulting me overnight from perfect obscurity to Z-list blogosphere celebrity status. (And I've accomplished absolutely nothing these past 24 hours, save doing vanity searches of blogs and Websites. Sad.)

On Monday I'm supposed to do a radio interview with a local morning show; it's scheduled to take place at 9:30 a.m. Eastern time. According to the program manager, or whoever it was I spoke to, it'll be streamed live; if you're interested, you can check their Website here.

And if any of you know how to record a copy of my interview, to send to me, I'd be very appreciative.

I suspect I'm going to HATE how I sound. Like all people, when I hear my own self speak my voice resonates through my skull and sounds much richer and deeper than it is. I'd always thought I spoke with a nice sexy contralto voice, until I heard the recording I made for the phone-sex line and was horrified to discover I'd apparently inhaled a blimpful of helium without realizing it.

I also suspect they're going to ask me to do The Voice, which is why the over-the-phone interview will not take place at my desk, which is in a noisy, crowded newsroom, but at my boss' desk, located in an office with a shuttable door.

EDIT: Check out the comments thread, where Ron Hardin was good enough to post a link to a recording he made of the interview. I think I generally sounded all right, even though I stumbled over a few sentences. "Less ickier?" Hmmph--and me a holder of two English degrees.

Too early in the morning. That's my excuse.

A Drug Warrior Falls On Her Sword

For all Connecticut's faults, let's give credit where it's due: my state appears poised to become the thirteenth in the nation to allow the use of medical marijuana. Most of the legislators support it. But a local semi-alternative journalist (whose name sounds hauntingly familiar) interviewed one who does not and, after failing to get a straight answer as to why medical-pot patients belong in jail, asked point-blank how long a particular one should be incarcerated.

Turns out drug warriors dislike such questions. Huh. Who knew?

For A Good Time, Call Jennifer: My Brief Career As A Phone Sex Worker

Here it is, guys! I'm a little unhappy with a couple of the cuts-for-space they made; it reads a little choppy to me, compared to the version I turned in. But I'm quite happy with it overall. And since linking to the story completely shatters any half-assed attempts I once made to maintain a semblance of online anonymity:

Hi, y'all! My name's Jennifer Abel and I'm a thirtysomething libertarian born in Yankeeland and raised down South before returning North after college. I spent the first decade after school wasting my potential in the vain pursuit of career respectability and a living wage before finally becoming a writer for the sort of publication that lets me do things like leave work for the afternoon to talk dirty on a phone sex line.

By the way, my check from the chatline arrived last night. Turns out my records and calculations were wrong: I actually made over twice as much as I predicted in the story.

WELL-AFTER-THE-FACT-EDIT: Until the Advocate finishes revamping its Website, my story is no longer available at the previous link. But it was copied here, on a Website called American Sex Gazette. Thank god for copyright violators.