Monthly Archives: November 2007
New in the gallery: Stripper
I bought myself a birthday present in the form of a Flickr Pro account so I can go overboard with my self-portraiture… Super Sekrit Flickr Account goodness ahoy… :D
Yesterday me and Leia Ewok Village hit the town in search of costume accessories for my Fake Birthday and to visit a speciality shoe shop that I had recently been made aware of. After a fair bit of trawling we managed to find all the bits and bobs, though unfortunately Leia could not find a pair of white stilettos to her liking (fabulously, she’s being Marilyn Monroe NOT an Essex Girl).
The shoes in Puss In Boots were amazing, and me and Leia proceeded to gleefully try on a variety of platform heights and heel styles. I really wanted to try on these cool beribboned wedge heel boots but alas they were out of stock. Leia settled on a beauteous pair of black patent platforms that had red corset-style lacing on the underside and the heel- Muy muy caliente.
I tried on a towering pair of clear slip ons that had blue glittery powder in the heels and a really nice pair of grey satin trucker girl-embellished heels that were very pretty but just a little too high for me to cope with- I almost fell on my arse twice whilst gingerly parading backwards and forwards in front of the shop mirror. They even had the clear Tip Jar shoes which you can buy little light-up balls that you can shove inside the sole. Ooh, light up pirate shoes.
I settled on a pair of these patent black beauties as shown above- Not too high for me to cope with even with the 5″ spike heel, a little long on my foot but still picturesque and surprisingly comfortable to walk around in- They have a very thick foot bed; I suppose this is for the comfort of their usual adult entertainment customers. Girl’s gotta earn…
Leia Ewok Village and Woods, Tiger very generously bought me two-thirds of my lovely new shoes as a birthday present… Thank You! I wore them out later dahn tahn for a trial run- After making ninety-eight per cent of the journey there in my flats of course- They (and by extension I) were pretty damned hot to look at when I caught sight of my reflected self in the shop windows. Although they are not obscenely high they still give the proper look of the stripper shoe, and for around half the price of the ones found in Faith.
I managed the majority of the evening in them successfully navigating slick pavement, raised ironwork and cracks between floorboards (the heel is that sharp) but had to admit defeat when a patch of tactile paving near some traffic lights caused me to stumble and my ankle cried NO. My flats were soon retrieved.
Strangely, all the men who took an interest did not praise my new shoes- They liked my cherry red tights. What do they know about style… Fucking Ben Sherman toting motherfuckers… Of course if one of them happened to be MW#1 and he complimented me on my shoes i’d stupidly be all eeee…
The rest of my presents are still unwrapped. I’m doing well…
So here we go… A roundup of my weekend.
My cousin The Bride looked gorgeous in a custom-made ivory gown that cost €1600- That is ivory people, not cream or oyster or white- ivory. The shoes that cut her feet to ribbons cost €400; apparently the first thing she’s going to do upon reaching the honeymoon location of Barbados is get a pedicure… These were the shoes that you could barely see poking out from under her voluminous skirts by the way…
The wedding service was rather disgracefully religious and I pointed out to all and sundry the story of Lillith in comparison to the story of Adam’s Rib presented in the order-of-service. It was all deadly serious in the church but at least at the end the groom gave my cousin a big happy snog at the altar. Eeee.
The after show was held in a beautiful castle hotel and wonder of wonders, I got a room to myself, which was even better as I did not have to pay and it was far, far away from my parents. Hoorah. When me and my Mum went to check my room out she commented on how it was a nice treat for my birthday; I pointed out that it was not like I was staying there for my birthday- It was merely a side effect of someone else’s party…
I spent my one night in the loveliest room I had ever stayed in- A huge wooden sled-style bed topped with a delightfully silken crushed velvet throw, with lots of dark wood and leather. It was also very big and the Molton Brown toiletries (yes, all stolen by myself) were used to good effect in the big-enough-for-two porn-style shower- I highly recommend the Heavenly Gingerlily Shower gel… Mmm silky…
There were around 100-150 guests at a guess and we had a four course meal- I had smoked salmon, carrot and coriander soup, pink grapefruit sorbet (tasted of that sharp flavour you get when you reach the stick in an ice lolly), the most delicious fillet of beef with red wine jus (hello mister gravy) and a chocolate tarte. All super-delish and I was close to exploding out of my dress by the end (the stomach not the boobs people).
The music came courtesy of a swing band (with an excellently mohawked lead singer) who were awesome and after attempting one dance the giant blue wedges came off and I bounced around to the point of nausea in my beseamed stockinged feet only. I thought my outfit came off pretty well- I was sooo pleased I upped the ante and bought the swirly dress (THANKS DAVE)- my fascinator was voted best headgear, which was a fucking feat when looking at all the expensive hats others were wearing. The morning after the Mother of the Bride, not known for being the most cuddly of people actually said I looked beautiful- And I don’t think anyone has ever said that to me, not even my Mum.
I managed to keep the boozing to my limits and I mixed with all pretty well; I must say though I was really glad to escape my parents when we left, especially my Dad, who was as predicted being a bit of a prick… Guesstimates amongst the attendees were on around €30-50k spent for the entire wedding weekend. Seriously.
I felt pretty good all weekend, with not a single tear shed nor did I isolate myself or feel like a big giant loser in such fancy company. Even my night alone in the lovely room was grand although I did spend a while wishing I had someone to share my bed with so that we could make full use of the furniture and shower, so I had someone to curl up with under the soft velvet throw and who would sling me over their shoulder and carry me across the gravel drive when my shoes temporarily disabled me. I resorted to trainers.
On the way back the train was delayed, me and my Bro had to get a taxi to the airport as were were late, that got stuck in traffic and after racing to check-in and then to the gate I found that my flight was delayed by over an hour. When we finally did land there was no gate to go so so we had to wait for steps and buses to get off the plane and into the terminal; the steps did not turn up for ten minutes then the baggage took fifteen minutes to come out and by the time I got the bastard coach back home it was just shy of midnight. So I got around about five minutes of my birthday. No birthday kiss for me, as per usual.
I passed most of the nightmare train, taxi and plane journey thinking sordid thoughts about MW#1, but by the time I was on the coach home I was composing variations on a goodbye letter. After I didn’t receive a birthday text it struck me that I would goddamn definitely send one for his birthday, and the fact that I did not just showed the level of botheredness he has about me and how it’s just another small example of how he does not seem to give much of a fuck and how everything is so unequal. Questions are going to be asked.
Anyway, I was thinking of cancelling the upcoming costumed fake-birthday party as I felt quite down when I got home, but I guess it gives a focal point over the festive season. I am keeping all my cards and presents unopened until then, though this relies on my willpower remaining resolute…
Fucking hell… the festive season :( Another New Year spent wishing I could get a kiss from someone I cared for come midnight- This keeps the one-hundred percent record of no-shows intact. Woo. It’s like if no-one who loves me is willing to spend the evening with me i’d much rather be completely alone, well just me, Patrick and a DVD for company.
I am so washed out- Shower then bed I think. Maybe some Molton Brown action. Le sigh. Whenever I sit down for any period it is rather painful to stand up- My calves are very sore from either the stacked heels or the excessive dancing or an electrolyte imbalance from the drinking, eating and travelling or DVT from the plane. All I know is they’re sore and need a massage. Humph.
I’m back. I’m alive. My birthday has passed. The wedding went well. I managed not to shed any tears all weekend. Things around the wedding did not go so well i.e. the travel and the behaviour of my Dad. Quelle surprise. I feel more than a little glum. Work in a few hours. Joy oh joy. More later.
Reading the ridiculousness of this article about designing the every day for the statistically improbable I looked up one of the companies mentioned and found this interesting video of their product:
Off I go once more into the breach… Wedding of the Decade weekend starts tomorrow…
A few months ago I decided what to wear to my cousin’s upcoming nuptials; I knew exactly what I was going to wear and with what accessories. Come this week I realised that it was not going to be glam enough (thanks Dave) and so spent hours trawling round the shops looking for something appropriate.
Sadly, the majority of the pretty or sophisticated stuff on offer in most of the shops was around 100 quid over my budget. I found myself fighting to hold back the tears in House of Fraser as I looked at what I knew all the young professionals would be wearing- all of which I could not afford, all of which could not be justified as investment purchases as I had no personal events to wear them to and no-one to wear them out with. Anyway… over an hour later I managed to find a great dress for the majestic price of £45- strapless, black and white swirls, silky, prom-style; I even bought a goddamned fascinator. Yes. Really. I’ll look really lovely getting rained on.
All this cash being dropped for someone else’s party… and I will be spending my birthday escaping my family and travelling home. Funtastic. I know that at the wedding I will still feel awkward and like a pleb in comparison to the well-groomed professionals, that my Dad will make some disgustingly inappropriate comment about my appearance and that I will spend most of the evening sat at a table on my own. I am not sure whether drinking will help, i’m thinking i’ll try and keep it to a minimum and maybe slope off to my hotel room and read a book. Unfortunately I am going to be sharing with my Mum, so I can’t even feel glum in private. Eeee.
Help Me – Exhibition featuring These Are Their Stories – Watercolours of L&O: SVU corpses
NSFW Planet Unicorn – A planet of gay unicorns
My Zombie Eye – Freeeaky tattooed eyeball
NSFW Forget-me-not – SHOWstudio
Exhibitionist spiny anteater reveals bizarre penis
Monster Crochet: The Saw That Dripped Blood…SCARF! – Crochet saw
The Glove That Saves Lives – PopSci – Resuscitation helper
J SMITH ESQUIRE – RCA show – Millinery of a dark and interesting nature
NSFW Ejaculation ethics – Smut and Steff
Art about Life – Art Net – Skull Show Art
NSFW Paradis Magazine – High quality nudity of a thought-provoking sort
Palatine Half Cup Bra – Aubade – Pretty ruching, alas not in my size – Silkstorm
everything you never wanted to know about crohns disease – vented spleen – Comic created in 24 hours
World’s Weirdest Moths
Star Wars Crafts – Jabba the Puppet – Awesome full-sized homemade Hutt
Animal Rights Extremists Wreck Scientist’s House – Denialism- ethylmethyldeath sounds poetic
The ethnobiology of voodoo zombification – Neurophilosophy
NSFW Hel-Looks SWAT – Something Awful – Slagging off the fashion freaks of Helsinki
I Was Peckinpah’s Girl Friday – Really engaging portrait of Sam Pekinpah’s lover/ assistant/ punch bag/ dialogue writer Katy Haber
Glass harmonica – Angelic Organ of Evil – Instrument to drive you to Satan
Human Sexuality Image Bank
NSFW I Am Elena & Lost in Fucking Translation – Disturbing yet effective anti-trafficking campaign from the Helen Bamber Foundation
whitney music box var. 8 – chromatic – 88 organ pipes, rev.
Exhibition @ Infovis’07 – Collections as an approach to information visualization
NSFW When the Hunted Becomes the Hunter – Reverse Cowgirl – The simply amazing work of the artist Laurel Nakadate
Project Facade – Plastic surgery post-battlefield
Torture and death via Exposure in animal skin & Crocodile shears
Why has the world gone pink mad? It’s the colour of hypocrisy, gingivitis and all things girly – Germaine Greer rant
How to Say I Love You by Paul Ford – A list sarcastic and true
Action T4 – Nazis ridding the world of retards
Astley Clarke – Super gorgeous jewellery that is superly unaffordable
Paint It Black – Sight & Sound – Michael Mann on the colour of night
Ikea as walk-in videogame – David Byrne
I Can Feel the Soil Falling Over My Head – One D At A Time – Loss
Book Dust – “Books (many culled from dumpsters and thrift store bins) are lovingly vandalized back to life so they can assert themselves against the culture which turned them into debris.”
Constraint City – Map made of pain – Walk the streets and feel it
Tony Vaccaro – Soldier photographer to rival Capa, who lived without the glamour
Swastika Night – Orwellian fantasy from a female perspective
MW#1 invited me round his place for food and Family Guy (hello cankles); things were more than a little strained to start off with. I found myself thinking, “this is bollocks, I want to go home” but after McDonalds and a glass of red I grew warm and fuzzy and relaxed and I began to enjoy myself.
We talked about pleasingly random things, we mocked each other a bit, I appreciated his mastery of making popping noises using his mouth and his fingers; In a shocking turn of events I even got to stretch out on the same sofa as him- It was a good evening. I had not just been invited round because there was wrestling to be watched, I had been invited round on my own merits, because he would like to see me- This was an improvement.
He is however still in the penalty box. He implies that it won’t be long until he sees me again but I know from past proclamations that any such statement has to be taken with a metric tonne of sodium chloride. Just because he can make me shiver with pleasure all the way from my head to my newly-painted toenails does not mean he can escape my wrath, nor does it mean that our messy non-relation/friendship is resolved or back on track…
In an embarrassingly clichéd way, I feel more than a little relaxed today. I want to write about what he does that makes me feel so, but knowing the readership of this navel-gazing tome, I don’t want to make my readers vomit onto their keyboards…
Will he once again ignore me for months? If this turns out to be the case will I be able to ignore the intense feelings of calm contentment that wash over me when he holds me close and end our non-relation/friendship? Am I just being used for sex? At times I feel like I should just walk away, but then there are evenings like the above, where I am reminded why I was friends with him in the first place.
And my clothes smell of him, and the folds of my skin offer up slivers of scent when I move as reminders of his gentle, lingering touch and his soft speckled skin… but then I sleep alone again and he spends his time giving pleasure to others whilst I hug a soft toy for comfort. Le sigh.
Edit- I’ve been pondering this all day as I wasn’t happy with the end of this post. It’s not that I sleep alone when he is off giving pleasure to others, it’s more painful that he is off living his life with another. I’m well-trained enough to know not to ask who he is living it with instead of me but still it hurts. Do I need that emotional pain in MY life?
Another wistfully beautiful post from Having My Cake:
“Bruce Lee said ‘Don’t think, feeeel…’. If he could only stop listening to the negative demons in his head.”
Having his Cake
…And I was doing so well. I’d managed to go for months and months without contacting MW#1 in any vaguely sexual manner, but two glasses of wine led to me feeling overly relaxed and I sent the offending text message. Now I feel like a big dumb dork and wish I hadn’t sent it so I don’t feel like a big dumb dork. Humph. At least it wasn’t an out and out call for affection or plain sex, because i’ve gotten pretty good at internalising all those sorts of feelings and (usually) manage to avoid broadcasting them to MW#1… somehow this does not help me feel less stupid-o.
Saturday me and the lovely McCy took in a local fireworks display. It was all good, and I thoroughly enjoyed being juvenile and grinning my way through the entire display; I also did lots of oohing and aahhhing at the appropriate moments. The two glow-in-the-dark necklaces I purchased were like *totally super awesome* and made me very happy, albeit in a “she’s too easily pleased” kind of way. Eeee.
After the weeping of the weekend I’ve been freaking myself out a little with “moments” where I hear or see or think about something and start to tear up. Today it was driving to school, crying behind my big sunglasses whilst listening to I’m Still Waiting, then it was whilst on the phone talking to my Mum. She’d offered me a birthday spa treatment at the country house we’ll be staying in for The Wedding; I turned it down saying it was a kind offer, that i’d love a treatment but not there and not over that weekend. Alone at a big event celebrating love and commitment in a beautiful, romantic house getting massaged by someone who’s getting paid to do so, getting made “attractive” for no-one whatsoever to be interested… yay.
I don’t want to make my Mum sad by her knowing I am sad, and I don’t want to keep going on about how The Wedding weekend is going to be hard, because it’ll be good to see people and it’s only for two bastard days. My birthday, the high emotions of a wedding, the forced mixing with family members, very painful MW#1 issues and being alone, it’s like i’m being ganged up on by a large amount of emotional shite at the same time.
I’m fine the majority of the time, then I get ambushed by random emotional upset or anguish is set into motion by something I experience. I look at underwear and feel sad, I look at sex toys and pornography and feel similarly. I feel like i’ve been given a swift kick to the chest; my back gets tight and very sore when i’m feeling glum too- Ah the joys of psychosomatic medicine. Le sigh.
Excellent, i’m tearing up again… Self-torture with the beautiful Dave Berry version of The Crying Game isn’t healthy.
The Crying Game