Shut up, you love it.

So a while ago, a “friend”, had this dream she had her vagina pierced. It wasn’t me, it was a friend. One who can’t be named either, not even with a pseudonym. Anywho, my friend (not me) had this dream her snatch was pierced- just like the lip or whatever. She told me about it the next day on facebook and I was all “Well, did you like it?” and she was all, “I’ll tell you about it in private...”. You know, because we were talking on facebook, and like, not everyone’s down with that kind of thing. I don’t understand why. I mean, not that I was the one who had the dream or anything but still.

Now with genital piercings on the brain of late, I’ve spent the past few weeks researching, google imaging and discussing the topic with anyone who will listen. It’s not an easy topic to breach with people though. “So I was talking to my friend about vag piercings..." The colour kind of drains from their face , horror seeps into their eyes and then suddenly they’re shrieking “OH MY GOD!! YOU PIERCED YOUR VAGINA?!?!”. The next thing you know, everyone else in the room has heard and now assumes you lead a secret double life as a dominatrix extraordinaire with the bejewelled genitalia to match.

To avoid judgement, I’ve resorted to feeding my obsession with drunken ramblings aimed at people I’ve just met or don’t know very well. The ones who I corner unexpectedly at parties and then shamelessly deny their existence come the morning. Kind of like the one night stand equivalent of conversation. My same friend, the one who had the dream- she got her nipple pierced a few months ago- not me, my friend. She recons she got the idea when her girlfriend was going on about how much she hated nipple piercings,it seemed like the most obvious move to make. As it turns out, the nipple piercing is like the kinky little tid bit you never knew you wanted but once you found, you couldn’t live without. You know the type. But the va jay jay. That’s a whole other jurisdiction of kinky. Fraught with danger, dripping with edge, bursting with possibility.

The idea lead me to an interesting conversation with another friend in which we discussed finer details like the implications a piercing may have to waxing and the actual location of said piercing. This friend told me she used to have her clit pierced but found it was overstimulating-to the point where she actually orgasmed on a bus when she was sitting over the back tyre. Fascinating. My endless prowl through the depths of google lead me to other insights on the topic: when done well it actually seems like a relatively safe piercing! And did you know it heals faster than your ears? And apparently it hurts less?!

“I pierce many professional women, housewives, mothers, and even grandmothers”, stated one seasoned piercer on what seemed like the web’s most definitve guide to piercing the never regions. Seriously?? Are all these women parading around on public transport having secret orgasms too? This gives a whole new meaning to people who sit next to you on an empty bus. With all this research and talk and the like my friend (not me) is totally considering it now. I mean aside from the possibility of it all going horribly wrong and she being a sexual cripple with a severely impaired ability to orgasm, what’s the worst that could happen??

In other news I have a new favourite band- they refer to themselves as “gospel punk garage jammers”. Well, hello!

The great hiatus

So it's been a while. I can explain though! Firstly, I was in exams so I had to BAN myself from blogging just to be able to absorb everything I possibly could on fascinating subjects like corporate structure and debt securitization. Let me tell you what a party that was! Then fate dealt me a total sucker punch to the jaw and my computer died the night before my last exam, taking all my notes, music, photos and blog drafts down with it. Fuck you apple. Did you know that if you make your first ever apple purchase from the apple store at Chermside you can elect to be clapped and cheered out of the store by staff? I imagine other shoppers would join in too. Excuse me while I throw up in my mouth a little.

So due to my douche bag of a computer now doing nothing but taking up space on my desk I've been forced downstairs to the "family computer". This is usually accompanied by my 19 year old brother watching children’s cartoons on Cartoon Network in the background. He's not even stoned. Having the family computer inflicted on me is depressing for other reasons too- I can't google feral things like anal warts or the naked mole rat to then post on my friend’s facebook pages, effectively killing their sex life for a good week or so. Nor can I browse online sex stores, red tube is completely out of the question, and my stalking has to be made somewhat discreet so that my family doesn’t pick up on what a creep I really am. Sigh. Life sure is tough for me right now. Lots has happened in my absence though, most of which I can't be arsed to write about. However, I figured I do owe some form of explanation for what Ive been doing with my time (nothing) which can be summarised by a list of 3 things I've grown to love and 3 I’ve grown to hate while I’ve been gone.

Let's start with things I hate:

1. People who say "Oh you don't really hate them!"

Let me explain with an example:

Me: Oh my god I hate that slag guts whore, who does she think she is??

Other person: Oh Jane, hate is such a strong word- you don’t really hate her, you don’t really hate anyone!

Woaah, excuse me?? "I don't really hate anyone"? Does this happen to anyone else or just me? Am I the only one who is blessed with all these self righteous do gooders who take it upon themselves to correct my emotions for me? Seriously, every time I hear those words fall out of some ones arse kissing mouth I feel like somewhere there is a stall going unmanned at a church bake sale. Get back to your post fuck face and stop imposing your freakishly good mood on the rest of the world.

2. Wonderwall by Oasis.

Jesus Christ all mighty. This song to me is some sort of right of passage for every douche bag who ever sat behind a microphone holding an acoustic guitar at an all ages family friendly venue. Furthermore, the amount of love themed mix cd’s this ends up on is sickening- "oh it’s our song"- yes, you and the rest of the pathetic prepubescent population. Ugh.


3. Sex scenes in The L Word.

So I’ve been watching the L Word a tad lately, mainly because I'm on holidays and it’s on TV. It’s a relationship of convenience really. Sadly, it’s only reminded me why I hate the L Word to begin with. Don't get me wrong, the show served its purpose once upon a time in my life. You know, back when I was like 17 and didn’t have any lesbian friends, wasn't getting laid and it was pretty much my only outlet into the lesbian world besides stalking people on myspace (I started out early). But then I got into the real world and had no need for The L Word any longer. My real distaste for the show actually stems from the sex scenes though- of all things! Let me map one out for you: girls make out in bed with much huffing and puffing, hand creeps under sheets towards one girl’s vag, there’s a brief moment of what looks like PURE ecstasy and then bam! Orgasmo! For fucksake, no gets anyone off with handjob that fast, or even that well really. Honestly, I think I learned more about lesbian sex in that Sex and The City episode where Samantha becomes a lesbian then I do from The L Word.

Now for things I love:

1. www.peopleofwalmart.com

For those of you who don’t know, this is a site for the pathetic, overweight, badly tattooed and shockingly dressed hicks tramping through wall mart at any given moment across America. The sad saps make it from their daily lives to our computer screens via the cold hearted bearers of camera phones waiting at every turn. Gold. The hate mail is just to die for too by the way! It worries me thought that four separate people recommended me this site with an “Oh my god Jane! You'd love this, it made me think of you!” Should I be worried that I’ve created an image for myself as being some sort of heartless bitch who finds pleasure at another’s expense? My spider senses say no.

2. Lady gaga's facebook status updates

Do you ever hunt someone down on the internet, find their various social networking sites, add them and then to your dismay realise they hardly use the internet? It’s a real downer for any seasoned internet stalker. But Lady Gaga, well! That woman is like a dream with her constant updates and what not. Some of which even seem to be personally posted by her! She's taken to referring to her fans as her “little monsters” since the release of Fame Monster. This makes me feel closer to her given she's bestowed upon me some sort of collective nickname. Also, I feel like I’ve really been there for her through a lot lately you know? From the day I gave my support when her father had heart surgery to the sigh of relief I breathed when she found her lavender wig (which apparently had been lost for sometime). Yes, my status liking really knows no bounds when it comes to the Ga! I think I'm getting a little obsessive though, when she made an appearance on Ellen recently I found I already knew most of what she had to say just from following her status updates. Whatever, we're practically on first name basis.

3. This song:

The Champion of Bad Taste (Part 2)

As you know I have a penchant for all things low brow. It’s really quite a delicious and ironic paradox when taken into account I also write a fashion blog. In my own defence though, fashion is art and to quote Marilyn Manson in (s)AINT, “I’m not an artist I’m a fucking work of art”. I’m not sure how referencing a 90’s antichrist of non-descript gender supports the point I’m trying to make- actually I’m failing to grasp what point it is I’m making but as they say, “if you can’t convince- confuse.” Moving on, I begin my tale of bad taste with a proposition: Have you ever asked yourself the very profound question of, “If I were ever asked to do an impromptu performance at Eurovision, WHAT would I wear?” No? Oh. Well if I were to ask myself that question, then this particular article would be my most obvious answer.

Behold:

(The vest I mean)

It came to me on a sunny autumn afternoon, just after I had finished work. I’d been good with my spending that week and therefore had a budget to blow! I figured I’d scour through the shops in Paddington near the cafe I work at. [Wow, I just read over that and saw what a horrible cliché I’m shaping up to be- working at a cafe in Paddington, writing fashion blogs, wearing kitsch for the sake of kitsch... someone please stage me an intervention?] Anywho, there it was in Side Street. I tried on my vile delight, bustling into the small change room, hardly a care for the curtain that didn’t quite close properly. My departure from the change room was not quite so festive- much less to do with the rancid fart the former occupant had left me and more to do with the impracticalities of the vest. I looked helplessly at the shop assistant and sighed, “But what would I wear it with?” He struggled with feeble suggestions, though he knew as well as I that the situation was dire. As I left the store, what happened that afternoon my friends, was a little thing called “divine intervention”.

The Stooges started playing on my iPod. Search and Destroy. The shrieking guitars and Iggy Pop’s angst-ridden wails answered my question in a heartbeat: “What the fuck wouldn’t I wear it with??” I turned on the spot and marched myself back to Side Street. Done. Bought. Sold. Fuck yeah.

That afternoon I rode off into the sunset dripping with rock n roll, a strut in my step, ready to get all Joan Jett up in this bitch. You know how it is. I arrived home brandishing my holy grail in the quest for bad taste. In my head it was one of those rare garments that straddles the fine line between totally awesome and totally eurotrash. You know- one of THOSE. Sure, in my head at least. In reality it was more like the vest downed 9 shots of tequila, tripped face first over that “fine line” and then tried to have sex with eurotrash’s cat. This is the kind of vest I’d hope to find myself wearing teamed with leopard print tights after emerging from a week long punk rock festival in Tokyo. I can’t imagine when else it would be acceptable, but of course in the name of vulgarity, there lies the source of my passion!

Kiki La Rue's Guide to female freeballing

Recently, I underwent a monumental personal revolution. The beginning of my seismological change can be pinpointed to my best friend’s recent 20th birthday party. I was telling her how ravishing she looked that night, when she began grinning at me like a cheeky 5 year old.

“Guess what ..” she started .
“What?” I replied, eager to be in on the mischief.
“I’m not wearing any underwear!”
“Really?!” I gasped, looking quizzically and openly at her crotch.

Wow. It was almost shocking but then I figured it didn’t really surprise me. My friend, who I can’t name for obvious reasons, but has requested we simply refer to her as “Kiki La Rue”, has long since been one to go braless so it was only a matter of time before she went all the way. If anything Kiki’s new branch into the underworld of undergarments is simply a sign of the times. Forget burning bras, the 21st century is still about women’s sexual liberation but our generation has wisened up a little- we’re sparing our breasts from gravity’s onslaught and the revolution has flown south! A little bit of frontal crack has become about as shocking as leaked sex videos. Yawn. There is nary a media outlet you can look at without getting a good solid crotch shot. The internet is a veritable catalogue of celebrity bits and flashes of various socialites’ va-jay-jays are part and parcel to most monthly media publications. With the popularity of female freeballing undeniable and now in my own backyard, I decided I wanted in. I hatched a plan to try it myself during a brief trip to my local shopping centre. At first I’d have to say I loved it. That was up until I got out of the car. My confidence quickly shrivelled up and assumed the form of a gnarled prune. With my failure weighing heavily on my mind it was time to go back to the drawing board and talk to the inspiration behind my brief moment of liberation. I decided to interview Kiki La Rue:

How long have you been freeballing Kiki?

I’ve been actively free balling for 9 months or so. I first got a taste for it NYE 07-08 when I was wearing a sheer dress and a white g-string underneath. My boyfriend was quick to tell me he could see the g-string through the dress. Seeing as I was freshly waxed down there, I decided to take the risk and not wear underwear. Although I got drunk, fell over and accidently flashed a few people, it didn’t deter me.

What inspires you to freeball?

Regular free ball inspiration was the introduction of tights into mainstream fashion – I could never live with the horror of a VPL (visible panty line); and g strings get uncomfortable and cause you to squirm. Sometimes it can get all up in your shit and it hurts to walk. Obviously, free balling was the next logical step.

How often would you say you freeball?

Probably 3 times a week – whenever I wear tights or just feel lazy and want some air.

Why do you freeball?

No VPL, it feels good, and it just adds that little but of excitement to the day when there’s a risk of being caught!


What is your advice to anyone wishing to try freeballing for themselves?

Start slow. Maybe try short periods like a quick trip to the shops - don’t just jump in there all at once because you’ll most likely get self conscious and imagine that everyone, from the little old lady with her wheelie walker to the kid in the frozen food aisle, KNOWS you have no underwear on. And are judging you for it.

Have you had any near misses?

The aforementioned time at NYE. They denied seeing anything, but I know they did, I think they tried to spare my feelings. Other than that I’ve been very lucky.

Any other thoughts you’d like to share on freeballing?

Some people freak out when I tell them I’m freeballing, they sometimes move away from me like they’re scared they’re going to catch something that only my underwear can protect them from. I used to get defensive about it, now I’m comfortable and don’t care. You have to build confidence to pull it off and not become insecure about it, but when you get over yourself consciousness, it opens up a whole new world of pantless experiences.

Off with your head!

We must lose our minds
We must go raving mad
We must be completely insanity
If we are to find ourselves

We must lose our minds
If we are to live to learn to love
We must lose our minds so,
...Off with your head!!

ANNOUNCEMENT

I have started a third blog! This is very exciting news- I think so anyway. My new blog is completely different from the rants and raves of this blog and will be a less cynical look at the ever emerging Brisbane fashion scene. If this sounds like it could be your thing, check it out!

http://nodogsbody.vitaeblog.com/

I'll still continue to rant and rave on poetry and voyeurism of course.

ta!

Snuggies- the rant that had to be

My sister bought a snuggie. Actually it’s not even a snuggie, its one of those no name brand snuggie lookalikes- I didn’t even know you could buy no name brand Snuggie lookalikes yet, but apparently you can. It’s the most obnoxious shade of pink ever to be made into a fabric and has firmly established itself as the eyesore of the house. My sister is fully aware of the nauseating splendour the discount snuggie has adorned her with and takes great pleasure in fluttering into my room like some queen of the retarded factory off cut bin. Fun fact: if you turn a dressing gown back to front, you not only look like a major douche but you will also have your very own snuggie! WOW! Isn’t that something? It just goes to show how dumb Snuggies truly are.

Also, Snuggies really creep me out. The infomercial where everyone is wearing them at a football game irks me in a way I just can’t quite put my finger on. Could you imagine turning up at your local football club only to find everyone dressed in matching robes? That’s some serious twilight zone shit right there. I feel the only time Snuggies are appropriate is at mass gatherings of radical religious cults in Deep South America. Seriously, the only people who should wear them are those who would marry off their underage daughters to 50 year old Christian leaders who already have more wives then they can count on two hands. Or maybe Jedi’s, I don’t think I’d have anything against Obi Won Kenobi having a cognac and cigarette whilst dressed in a snuggie.

It gets worse though, there is actually a website called “the snuggie sutra” which as the name suggests, is a site that describes various sex positions incorporating a Snuggie:

http://thesnuggiesutra.com/

The prospect of getting off while wearing a Snuggie makes me feel a little bit perverted. Sure, I appreciate making everyday households items into sex props just as much as the next person, but fucking someone who is wearing what is essentially a blanket? They may as well just wear a pillow as a hat and be done with it for all I’m concerned.


Exhibit a) a family of douche bags amongst normal people.