GONE.

I have now migrated over to:

http://molliehellcat.tumblr.com/

:)

Wish sounds so much nicer than WANT...

There is so much in my lady spank-bank right now. So many pretty things that I am dying to be able to afford but just cannot at the moment. Instead, I'll consolidate some images into one blog post as a reminder of the things I currently NEED. (Ok, want... but shh.)

MAC Studio Fix Fluid Foundation

This stuff is worth 1000x its weight in gold. Easily the best face-based make-up product I've used. It glides over my combination skin and evens out my patchy-toned nose and cheeks. God I miss being able to afford this stuff...

Care Bear Hoodie

It says "Today is my Grumpy day". What more does a child of the 80s want in a retro hoodie?!

MacBook Pro

Humina, humina, humina.... why can't I afford one of these? They're just the ultimate in laptops for a media enthusiast. To boot, it's sexier than Penelope Cruz in stockings.

Irregular Choice boots

I am 99% certain that my life will not be as satisfying and fulfilling as it can be until I own these boots. Yes, it's shallow and needlessly girly (for me, anyway) but LOOK AT THEM.

Red Latex Gown by House of Harlot

Fap fap fap fap fap fap.... I don't think this needs any more than that as a description. Feels like a lifetime since I last went to a fetish club, but if I had the money I would purely justify this on its sex appeal. That and it is photoshoot-friendly.

I've just realised I could go on for several hours, which I don't know is a good thing. Maybe I have healthy ambition, or a strange delusion... I don't know. Either way, if Santa feels like dropping all of the above down the chimney later this year, would be tremendously grateful ;-)

Avatar: Didn't leave me feeling blue

Last month, I finally got around to seeing Avatar, which has been pegged as a benchmark film by many, and an apparent "must-see" for any film enthusiast. As a co-owner of a rather obese DVD collection, I felt it necessary that I should cast judgement on it.

Now let me first say that I didn't see it in 3D, so perhaps I cannot comment fully on the quality of the visual effects. But even on a fairly low-budget high-res screen it looked pretty damned good. Vibrant, detailed, and just as awe-inspiring as I'd heard.

Now, with regards to the story. This is an area that seems to have been subject to heavy criticism for the similarities to other films or classic tales, such as Dances with Wolves, or even Pochahontas. (I should note that I haven't seen either of these films shamefully enough so I cannot personally comment on the story parallels. Avatar however, IS fairly contrived and tends to stretch the imagination by the first half hour alone. The first time the word "unobtainium" was uttered, both my partner and I scoffed, how ridiculous and unimaginative. We've since found out that this is an actual substance, so we were soon silenced.

As for the rest? Simply put, very simple. But that, for me, did not take away from the experience. Perhaps I would have thought differently had I seen the films that are meant to have already explored these themes on the same line of a story. But I haven't. Therefore I could just sit back and actually get swept up in what I think was just a an escapist fantasy story. No harm in that.

I am interested however, to see where film is going to go next. Avatar utilised 3D technology, animation, and so many other technical fireworks at their disposal I couldn't even think of them, let alone list or spell them. Just got me thinking how this can be built upon - CAN it be built upon? I'm starting to wonder if there is going to be a point when there is nothing else left to explore in this medium and we just end up being spoon-fed old films that have been reinvented on a big budget, techo-scale.

Can just see it now, Agent Higgins of the Linguo tribe takes a youngling Roughian orphan under his wing and teaches her the ways of his kind. My Fair Lady for future generations. A unique story that touches on issues that have never been....oh. Hang on..

Structured anarchy?

So, the move out of London and into a new city has been completed. Metaphorically it was fairly painless, but physically I'm fairly sure that I am still toll-paying. To be expected really. Or is it? Christ knows. The NHS still aren't exactly falling over themselves to help me, despite several desperate pleas.

Predictable whinging aside, I'm re-evaluating what I should be using my blog for, in attempt to actually encourage myself to use it more rather than trying to sift through the myriad of random fuffle that sometimes pours out of my head.

So, what can be expected going forward? Pretty much the same to be honest. Just constant chastising of myself when I don't kick my own ass to write more:

- Reviews. Music, films, kitchenware, make-up, sex toys. Anything is possible under this category.

- Diary. My own personal ramblings and documentation of life. Some of these might end up public, but for the most part they'll be for my eyes only.

- Blog. This pretty much has to be an umbrella term for all debate or opinion-based prose. Makes it easier than picking out three thousand specific terms like debate, poll, rant, waffle, etc.

- Model/Art. As it says, really. If there actually is anyone reading my blog, they'll probably already know that I idly take part in various hobby-like activities.

No doubt I'll completely disregard most of these and wind up just spewing forth whatever I feel compelled to do so, but the general structure is there and even if anarchy does take hold at some point, isn't that the fun of these things?

Add me to your read list, drop me a line. I'd love to talk.

Proud to be different?

Here's a somewhat sensitive subject for people.

I'm an aspiring alternative model. And despite my love for all things fetish, latex, gore, horror, metal music, dark, gothic and the likes, I will never be accepted as a true member of the alt community.

Why?

Because I'm neither heavily inked or pierced. I have a few subtle piercings and a few tattoos that aren't immediately visible. This is instantly met with disdain by a lot of people, which is a terrible shame for several reasons.

The alternative community "pride" themselves on being more accepting than other social groups. The attitude of some people contradicts this. I've had more than one snide comment from people about my lack of sleeve/leg/full body tattoos.

Firstly, there is no way around it. Good tattoos by a reputable artist are expensive. VERY expensive. Artists whose work I admire usually start at around £80 per hour, and for large pieces you could be looking at 12 hours work for example. I don't have access to that kind of money, even if I was to save. It's a lot of money for someone like me that struggles to get by as it is.

Which leads me neatly onto work. Sure, I'll always be on the campaign bandwagon that is waving the flag to accept alternative types in the workplace. But to be honest, in 25 years of living, I've not seen much progress with regards to this in a lot of career paths. I'm not naive enough to expect this to do a massive u-turn anytime soon. As such, I can't help but be aware that if I don't make enough to survive by modelling, or when this chapter of my life is over I must get a day job. Unless I can wangle a lottery win this is inevitable. I'm a trained journalist, so the majority of jobs I go for will end up being office-based. While I'd love to walk in with a beautifully colourful and imagination inked body, chances are that my interviewers are going to judge early on. And while of course that's a shitty fact, it's a fact nonetheless. And I can't expect any different.

Likewise, with my hair colour. I love having tomato-red hair. It's bright, I feel sexy and it works very well in pictures. But I wouldn't kick up a fuss about going back to a natural shade if it meant getting a steady job with an income that means I can live comfortably.

I don't want to start yet another campaign bearing the slogan "Accept me! This is who I am!". But I would like to see elitism take a step down once in a while. Yes, I appreciate that the whole point of having heavily modded girls in commercial magazines is the point, that you don't see these girls in say, FHM. But why can't being alternative be about attitude and state of mind? In my natural form, I'm a 5'6 average-looking blonde. This doesn't mean that I don't listen to heavy metal. Nor does it mean I don't spend hours looking at pictures of amazing tattoos, wishing I had the money to get something more elaborate than I already have.

But isn't that part of the beauty of the contradiction here? If I could afford it, I'd reach a compromise. But for now, I shall continue to live as I choose.

Viva la individuality...

Tales from the City: Part Two

My Mother has always been into musicals. Mostly Andre Lloyd Webber's work, but not limited to his only. As such I grew up on this kinda thing (as well as my Dad's love for country and rock). Naturally, I fell in love with theatre and always felt a bit gutted that I never got the chance to go and see some of my favourite musicals. That is, until I moved to London and was in reach of London's world-renowned West End - Theatreland.

I know there's a "loser" stigma" that goes with a lot of musical-lovers but to be honest, I don't care, I'm going to share my experiences of those that stuck in my memory ;-)

Wicked - Victoria Apollo

Having been an avid Wizard of Oz fan as a child, I was naturally intrigued that there was going to be a musical based on the early lives of the two witches, Glinda the Good, and the wicked Witch of the West. Having not been a huge fan of the book by Gregory Maguire, I finally got to see the musical with an open mind - I am pleased to report that the musical is only VERY loosely based on the book. While maintaining its edginess, it also eliminates the whimsy that is an ongoing theme in the book.

Anyway, while the musical is enchanting, funny, touching and pure escapism it was the performance by Elphaba (the green witch) that led to a far more intoxicating love for the show. A one Miss Kerry Ellis (no longer performing as Elphaba sadly) is quite simply a tremendous performer, and her heart clearly leaps into every note she sings. I'll always remember the shows I saw her in very fondly. It's extraordinary when a performer captures an audience in this way.

The Phantom of the Opera - Her Majesty's Theatre

This was the big one for me. I first heard the original cast recording at a very young age, and was, like my mother, mesmerised. While I never really got into opera music (though later I would learn to love opera/metal) this musical-opera really did strike that balance. It's a beautiful story, really. I know, the lead is a borderline nutter with a penchant for casual violence and murder. But don't let that deter you.

While the first time I saw this musical will stay in my mind forever as a standalone memory, the second time was the one that seared through my body and pulled me into the music from start to finish. Partly, I think, because I had a much better view of the stage, partly because I was seeing it with my Mum - the originator of my love for the musical. But the performers had something that makes a show worth seeing. Chemistry. Ramin Karimloo as Phantom and Robyn North as Christine were perfect together. I mean perfect. When Christine faints into Phantom's arms towards the end of "Music of the Night" I actually almost gasped, right there, feeling every last tingle of Phantom's astonishment that the woman he loved was there, in his arms.

Still, there are some musicals that I haven't had the pleasure of seeing yet and would love to do so before I die:

Les Mis

My Fair Lady

Love Never Dies

Cats (highly unlikely, sadly)

Also recommended:

Blood Brothers, Avenue Q

Tales from the City: Part One

I don't remember when I first visited London.

I have patchy memories of various school or family trips, but none that really stand out as my "first" London experience. Again, a few odd visits as a teenager, nothing strikingly notable.

The first and lasting impression came with my selection of University. Although my campus lies on the outskirts of London/Middlesex in Harrow, at the time it still seemed very cityish to me. Especially the pace of things there. The attitude of people is what stuck with me though. I come from a very small village in North Essex. Very civilised, countryside corner of the county. My high school (while a horrid experience for me) had very little in the way of culture diversity, and anybody remotely different came up against a wall of hatred from most people.

But here? Different races, nationalities, genders, ages were going about their studies, laughing at units. I should mention that I've never been adverse to any culture groups of any nature, but up until that point I hadn't been exposed to anything like that, so I suppose I was quite naive.

I think that helped me choose that uni to be honest. The country lass in me wanted to learn the city way of life, and with most things that burn brightly, I was drawn to it. Eventually though, it burned my fingers and I'm ready to turn my back on the fire for the time being. Naturally, this leads me to reminisce some of my favourite memories from living/studying in the capital of England. I'll probably share these sporadically in the two weeks before we move to Peterborough.

Starting with a fairly recent(ish) memory. New Year's Eve 2008. Nothing out of the ordinary as far as being in London goes. But the company really was fantastic. Having been signed off work a few weeks previously, I was a bit of a black hole. But these guys brought me out of it to enjoy New Year's. My oldest friend and my boyfriend. There are so, SO many good nights to choose from with these guys, but this one stood out, because it epitomised what people will do for you when they care about you. :-)

A quick few thoughts...

Things that bug me, Monday edition:

Bad hair extensions. There's just no excuse for it if you have the money to spend on making yourself orange. I'm talking mis-matched blondes, plasticy, nasty looking wefted hair that's just been slopped in. Not pleasant.

On that same topic, bleach blondes that have random splodges of brown or back on their head. No, you don't look edgy, you look like a spaniel. (I'm a fine one to talk with my fake dreads, but please... at least they're one colour that match my real hair).

Blogger. It won't let me change my primary email address. Seriously... what's the point in limiting your functionality in this day and age?

IBS. Speaks for itself. It's messy, painful and debilitating.

The end.

Soundtrack to my Today

Those that know me will already know that my music taste knows no boundaries and I refuse to apologise for this fact. While my main passions will always be rooted in rock/metal, there is so much out there that sails through me and inspires me, so why the hell not enjoy it.

As such, there is an eclectic mix of stuff that makes its way onto my playlists these days, thought I'd share some of these songs, and maybe introduce someone that might stop by to something new. I really do encourage people to try listening to an artist they never would have thought of choosing before. You never know what you might find buried inside you.

Them Crooked Vultures - Gunman

Infectious, soul-lifting beat. Listen to it when feeling sluggish, it's nigh on impossible to sit still. Rest of the album is pretty damn great too, given the supergroup credentials, it's hardly surprising.

Lady Gaga - Dance in the Dark

Anyone seen Party Monster? This track sounds pretty much like it's straight out of that film. 80s beats smoothly mixed with that unmistakable Gaga sound, plus the lyrics are actually quite lovely.

Leonard Cohen - Hallelujah

Apparently this is one of the most covered songs of all time. Naturally one must go to the original track to find the root of why it was covered. In this case, it's pretty damned obvious that the velvety smooth voice of Cohen tells the story of the song perfectly. Also, check out "I'm your man" by the same artist. Intensely sexy tune.

KMFDM - Hau Ruck

Heard this live for the first time last year and quite frankly I was blown away by the onstage presence of KMFDM, this song in particular takes on a new persona when played - it not only remains one of my favourite industrial track beats - it also becomes sleazily sexy.

Motley Crue - Animal In Me

My "new" favourite band. I say new, because they replaced a band that was in my heart for a very long time. Their music inspires me in so, SO many ways these days, and it was bloody hard to pick a track, but I can't ignore the passion of this song. Written by Sixx, detailing the early days of his relationship with Kat Von D, it's a rock ballad with edge.

Pete Yorn - Lose You

It makes me cry, which this kind of soft indie-ish music NEVER does. Enough said, really.

Sixx A.M - Life is Beautiful

This song is currently my "pick-me-up" tune. It has Nikki Sixx's handiwork all over it. Catchy pop-undertoned hook, with a sleazy rock beat and thought-provoking lyrics. It takes some getting used to hearing him lyrics/bass beats with a vocalist that isn't Vince Neil, but persevere. I think it's worth it.

Dolly Parton - Jolene

Shut up, those now on the floor laughing. I can't ever forget my first foray into music, courtesy of my Dad and his unrelenting love of country music. While I still favour Johnny Cash over most country artists, who can deny the buxom-blondes take on every typical country "don't steal my man" formula isn't catchy as hell?

--

Anyone who has a similarly mixed playlist at the moment, comment, message me, add me to twitter (@paran0ir). Would love to keep on discovering new tunes that make life that little more enjoyable.

Mollie comes out to play..

Torture Garden Valentine's Ball 2010 - Mollie reviews

My fourth experience of the world renowned fetish club fell managed to coincide with one of the holidays that I usually choose to ignore on account of it seems a bit odd to make a point of lavishing love on the same day as everyone else. Torture Garden however, is different. It's more a case of lavishing love on oneself, and pretty much anyone that you'd like to play with. And this was Mollie's first outing where she could play.

Despite a few hiccups with outfitting, a recent health complaint left me unable to teeter in my usual choice of stilettos, my companions and I managed to get ourselves on our way by 11pm, aiming for a midnight arrival, tres stylish, I feel.

The venue remains the same as the last two events I attended. SeOne just off London Bridge, a huge clubbing location, is pretty much perfect for the fetish underworld to stage their frolics at. A mix of larger rooms, smaller alcoves and dungeon-like spaces lend themselves well to the layout of TG, high ceilings in the ballroom in particular had wonderful scope for decoration – sumptuous red curtains, boudoir décor and mandatory poles made this room pretty much our stop point.

But enough about the interior. We were there to play.

My companion, Mr M and Susie looked delicious, and I felt sufficiently vampish strutting around beside them. Again, so many beautiful outfits, beautiful people. The atmosphere was different to any other TG I've been to, there certainly was an amorous touch to the air. As well as your usual domme/dom and submissives indulging in their own brand of BDSM, there were also people observing them, watching their writhing bodies and contorting faces. As we took the weight off our feet in one of the comfortable seating areas, Mr M and myself found ourselves entranced by a strikingly beautiful domme (encased in a stunning cream corset), encouraging her devoted sub to go down on her. As he teased at her thighs with his tongue, her lips parted and suddenly, there was nobody else around, just those two. And us watching. Mr M squeezed my thigh, perhaps affectionately, perhaps in a statement of his dominance over me, allowing me to enjoy the spectacle. There was a wonderful moment where the bass of the music pulsed through the furniture and the corseted lady cried out into the night, the vibes proving to be just what she needed to tip her over the edge.

I think this was the point that we decided it was necessary to play. No more a perfect place for this than the Arabian Nights room, where there was all sorts of apparatus and equipment, sure to keep us salivating at the options. After watching an incredibly magnetic performance where a dancer moved with a live snake, we settled to watch a scene. A hot as hell submissive, clad in red latex, clung to an A-frame, biting her lip in tortured pleasure as her companions spanked her, with a variety of severity and implements.

Of course, is was inevitable that just watching wasn't enough for me anymore, so I requested that Mr M let me approach. Upon his granting, I tentatively asked red latex if she'd allow me to kiss her. This was my first time entering somebody elses scene, so I was very prepared to be knocked back. However, she responded by snaking a hand behind my neck and kissing me passionately. Hell. It was my single hottest moment at a fetish club so far. Until Mr M tugged me away (much to my protests) and positioned me on the opposite side of the frame. I was encouraged to reignite the passionate clinch that I had just been dragged from, but this time I was to receive some attention of my own. So while I had the absolute pleasure of becoming acquainted with a gorgeous woman, I was also receiving a hard spanking from an increasingly excited Mr M.

At one point I remember pausing, only to find fingertips teasing me into another clinch, this time with the corseted lady we had watched reached climax earlier. She was equally a wonderful kissing partner, soft, sensual and her scent travelling straight down my torso settling in my thighs.

This continued for around five or so minutes until red latex was lead away by her companion. Before we parted, she introduced herself as J. My exchanged cheek-kisses and went on our way. Even now, writing this back, I feel that familiar warmth growing inside me. My first play at TG involving other women was really quite something. I believe that it served to open my mind, and Mr M's too.

The rest of our evening played out in the ballroom, where we acquired a table and just observed. Which is nothing to be sniffed at when you're at such a place. There's so much to see, to do, to taste, to feel.

I just have an inkling that next time, there'll be a lot more feeling going on.

Storm in a DD Cup

This is an issue that never used to apply to me, and I'm actually kind of proud now that it does...

I remember my first bra. My Mum bought it for me from our local Friday market after relentless nagging from me, having noticed that pretty much all the girls in PE at school now wore bras. I didn't have any friends at school, and only really spoke to one or two people of the same sex, so when Mum came home brandishing a 30AA bra, I was mortified to discover that it was still too big. I didn't know who to talk to, so I just wore it anyway, and suffered the jokes in the girls changing rooms. I pretty much remained at this size throughout puberty, my hips grew, I got body hair, got hormonal at the stupid things and discovered my clitoris.

But my breasts? They weren't budging. I didn't have my first period until nearly the age of 17 as well, to add insult to injury. Boys only noticed the girls that strained the buttons of their school shirts like bulging water balloons in a hankie. Bee stings weren't attractive. Though I used to affectionately refer to mine as "the eggs", being pale skinned as it was, I also had really pale nipples. It was just hideous. The first time I was ever "intimate" with a male, I remember the look of pure disappointment on his face. Like a kid wanting to get a GI Joe for Christmas and receiving a pair of Barney socks.

But anyway, once my periods got going I did actually manage to grow a somewhat acceptable pair of tits as far as general society goes. At a steady B-C cup throughout my late teens and early twenties, I found bra-buying a hassle-free concept, guys seemed content with the size I was, and I thought my days of mammary-related anguish were over.

Enter the unexplained, but probably hormonal, weight gain. It went on my hips and my breasts, like a second wave of puberty. Is that even remotely possible? Got myself measured just before Christmas of 2009, and anyone who knows me will know that I've been screeching my size from the rooptops like a horny teenager shouting that he's just laid the class whore.

32DD. Oh yes, they're all mine, and I can't stop looking at them/playing with them/admiring them in all manner of tops.

But with the joy, comes pain. Pain. Apparently, most shops expect women with this size (a slimmer torso but fuller breasts) to have implants, therefore rich enough to shell out for custom sized bras, or designer labels that cater for such women.

In Primark at the weekend, and I mean a HUGE Primark, among the scores of lovely and affordable lingerie, I found ONE bra in my size. One. Same story in other high street stores that generally are accepted to be pocket-friendly on frugal ladies like myself. My issue is this: not all girls with smaller band sizes but fuller cup sizes are silicon-toting bikini adorning goddesses with zero fat on them. I can't explain my body size... narrow ribs and shoulders... then just BREASTS, bit of a curvy belly, and ARSE. That's it. That's my shape.

Doesn't mean however that I am happy to either pay extortionate amounts to house my happy breasticles. Or settle for plain over-the-shoulder-boulder-holder style flouncies.

La Senza have the right idea - their DD+ range starts at the lower end of the band size scale, and still offer sexy lingerie that doesn't go too mad on price.

But I really would like to see the uber pocketfriendly shops having a bit more consideration for us girls that have boobs. REAL ones, not fake.

Now please excuse me while I go play with them some more.

Writing isn't a cure..

Popular chick-lit writer Marian Keyes posted a newsletter on her web site this week, admitting her ongoing battle with depression. She went on to explain that she'd be taking some time out, and unsurprisingly in the age of understanding, there was an outpouring of support on her web site.

Inevitably there'll be holier-than-thou types that berate her, and comment that depression seems to just be 'fashion' etc, these days. Believe me, I've heard it all over the years, and while they never stop irking me, I've come to expect that attitude.

But this comment from Margaret Drabble (Guardian) really rattled my cage.

"Marian Keyes, in speaking out about her current desperate state, is already moving on. She is a writer and she will probably write her way out of it. That's what writers do."

To use her own ludicrous logic, there are no words to describe this woman's ignorance. Someone already commented on the piece but I will reiterate it here - Sylvia Plath did well to write herself out of depression, didn't she? Yes, she put out some food for the family then put her head in the oven.

She also puts the current openness of depression sufferers down to fashion. Really? Audicity, much? I think you'll find that most people feel able to be open now because of the general acceptance level going up - NOT because there is a bandwagon to jump on. And even if there were, who the hell is Drabble to take away a chance for depressive people to feel better?

And anyway, anyone who has suffered with any form of mental illness, will tell you that there aren't words to describe how desperate the feelings can get sometimes. It's as simple as that, there ARE no words. And if it were that simple to get over, there'd be a very rich person sitting on a basic and powerful cure.

It just angers me that in a world that popularizes all sorts of cultures, a rambling, knowledge-less journalist would cheapen the chance that any sufferer takes to feel better.

I've never been a fan of Marian Keyes' books - but I feel thorough pity and empathy for her. Hope she's back in business soon.

Links:
Guardian article: HERE

Marian Keyes' blog posting: HERE

New year, new promises

It's a truth universally acknowledged that with the arrival of January 1st, comes a hoarde of resolutions from far and wide, slumped into one huge pot of broken promises that suddenly seem more relevant because "time is renewed". It's annoying bandwagon, but one that I am of course going to jump on and bore people with. Though I don't call them resolutions. More... targets. Makes it sound a bit more fighting.

Write more.

Here, there, everywhere. I want to blog more, at least twice a week, more if possible. There is so much I want to say both in the fiction and reality arenas and the only way this is going to happen is by forcing myself to write a whole lot more.

Take care of myself

I can't work at the moment because of a health problem that has no current solution. I'm in pain a lot of the time and always tired. Wherever this ends up leading, I will tackle it head on, and manage my time so that I devote enough of it to finally getting my body in its best condition. And yes, this means quitting smoking and cutting right down on alcohol.

Learn and master a new skill

I don't know what this is yet, and chances are that I won't know until later on this year. I'm not going to be specific about it, for all I know it could be knitting, drawing comfortably with a graphics tab, basic photography, learn the world's capital cities. I want to be able to say I've put my mind to something and learned a new skill.

Don't dream it...be it.

I've tried on several occasions to turn my hand at modelling. Shoots I have done have always come back with great results and fantastic feedback from photographers, but then I don't chase anything up. It's been this way for about five years now. I enjoy it, and I'm still young enough to try new things with regards to it. I'm learning to love the way I look, so I want to celebrate that and work hard to achieve something, even if its just getting my pictures printed somewhere, just a one off.

Stop obsessing about getting off my meds

It might happen this year, it might not. I've finally learned that the important thing is to learn to live with myself the way I am NOW, rather than spend too much time thinking about wanting to get to know the person I could be when I'm not medicated.

And as with last year, I hope this year brings me the opportunities to meet new people, some in one-off chance meetings, others might wind up imprinting themselves on my heart long enough to become a friend. But I've learned how to interact with people now, I'm not the shy, bullied little girl I was in school. I've come this far, and there is no way in hell I'm giving up now.

Happy New Year.

Semi-annual rant

Well, I would have put all of this crap in several hundred tweets on Twitter, but I feel a full-on rant is needed to cleanse me of my recent mind-blockages. I'm going to be a pedantic fuck and put everything under neat little headers. We don't all have to be neanderthal about our outpourings now, do we?

Bon Fucking Jovi

Yup. It's happened, as I suspected it might one day. I have fallen out of love with the New Jersey rockers that have shaped so much of my life so far. But after Lost Highway was such a disappointing album they had everything to prove with The Circle. And what did they give us? An album of regurgitated tosh that is ripped off most of their old stuff, clearly just pumped out of the music industry machine, so they can justify making huge amounts of money from a tour where they charge fans extortionate amounts of money to see them from even a huge distance away. Then charge REAL fans (said with tongue firmly in-cheek) a gastronomical amount of money to get close to the fucking sell-outs. Not happy. Crue, you have my heart.

There are NO MORE Christmas songs

Having dragged my exhausted self out of bed this groggy Sunday morning, switched on TV to discover a rundown of 50 best Christmas songs. Now, my favourite festive tune always has been the original Band Aid single, Do They Know It's Christmas?. I'm talking the 1984 version here (it was at number 1 when I was born). This happened to be playing when we switched over. Then imagine my disappointment to see it at numer 27. Nay mind, I thought. There are, after all, a great deal of Christmas songs. However, two tunes later, meaning MORE HIGHLY RATED than this yule classic - Cheeky Girls "Have a Cheeky Christmas". Mortified, horrified, but more importantly, unsurprised at the lack of integrity remaining in the music industry. I for one will be purchasing RATM's Killing In The Name in a bid to push it towards the "coveted" number 1 spot on the big day later this month. Fuck you Simon Cowell, you ruined entertainment.

Girly-girly-cutespeak

I've spent a long time building up my vocabulary, and it grows by the day. I like to think that when people meet me and converse with me that they think I am an articulate woman and respect me. But there is something that has superseded this in terms of like, love, desire and respect. Cutesy speaking. First witnessed it on a forum I used to use around a year or so ago. Grown women my age and often older would say things with a z at the end, with the seemingly innocent enough intention of making it sound fluffy. So hugs, became 'hugglez'. (Yes, sorry for overuse of quote marks here, but sorry, I cannot bring myself to say these are real words). Another one that appeared to grow out of control was 'plox' which I recently discovered means please. 'Lulz', 'oh em gee', 'nom' (and its derivatives), 'woot' are examples of the spawn of this horrific phenomenon. The worst thing about it? Men seem to eat it the fuck up! On several occasions I was set upon by males of the aforementioned forum for turning my nose up at a 20-something woman saying "snufflez... plox gimme hugglez, nomming choc would help" or something juvenile like that. Men apparently think it's sweet and endearing. Of course, these girls can swivel on a sixpence with their language use and tell a guy she can "choke on his dik till he screamz" to become purring sex vixens.

Now, before I come off like a jealous hag that I don't get attention like these army of net-cute-speak lasses, I would like to stipulate the reason it fucks me off is because I like a companion to have a good range words, some imagination. Male or female. And as I said, I work hard to make sure that I am always learning new things. Engaging new words that I can then use, on person, and online. I don't buy the "it's easier to type short words" argument. Nope. We all write covering letters on computers these days and do we start "Dear Sirz"? No. We don't. Past caring how I'm perceived for my stance on this, because quite frankly, I am disinclined acquiesce to comment on juvenility.

Ageism/discrimination in general

Two things I would like to say to people I work with/customers I serve. Number ONE. I am nearly 25, this does not make me too old to understand that it's hard being young. Fuck off. Number TWO. My hair colour does not make me fair game for creepy come-ons/satanist accusations. Point and whisper all you like. But I don't walk up to you and ask you if your prostitute mother let her pimp rape you now, do I? Grow some tact.

I really should put an extreme content warning at the start of these things, but being myself and backwards in forward thinking... here it is now.

CONTAINS SWEARING AND OFFENSIVE MATERIAL.

Until next time.

The kids aren't alright...

So, sex education is to become compulsory after the age of 15. I am aware that this is now old news, but there have been many waves of opinion from various MPs, journalists, TV presenters, teachers etc.

My absolute favourite of these was Mary Wakefield's column in last Saturday's Independent. Now I usually am fairly tolerant of broadsheet columnists because their editors are generally cufflinked facists. But Wakefield has some rather interesting (read stupid) points to make as far as sex education in schools is concerned. I quote:

"Where's the need for sex ed in the 21st-century Britain? There's sex on movie screens, on billboards, in magazines; sex in pop songs trickling down iPod wires straight into auditory cortices of every sentient tot."

Ok, she has a point about sexual content being easily accessed, but that's as far as my agreement goes. With a culture that shifts at the pace ours does, there surely has to be the flexibility in a child's upbringing. It's just a fact of life now that children aren't as innocent as they were. They are exposed to unconventional things much earlier in life with the evolution of the family unit; divorce, same-sex marriages, step siblings. Of course it would be lovely if we could raise our kids as beautiful cherubs right up until they hit adolescence and THEN teach them how to live as an adult, but the truth is that kind of excuse just won't wash today.

I read a very interesting article in the Times, it's a long one so I'll just link it HERE. Dutch kids at the age of 12 display blase attitudes as they talk about anal sex, masturbation and the age of consent. They live in a place where the red light district isn't just a Saturday night cat-call, it's a way of life. So you'd expect there to be far more debauchery among their young, right? Wrong. They have the lowest teen pregnancy rate in Europe, with the average age of a teen losing their virginity being around 17. I don't need to remind ANYONE of the figures for Britain.

And look at the way we do things - parents would rather plonk their kids in front of Eastenders or Coronation St, where we see young actresses often portraying young mothers being glamourised in relevant awards shows with accolades going to the "sexiest soap star". I agree that parents should be wanting to protect their children from certain things, but I find myself right back at my previous point that times have changed, and I cannot stress that enough.

Children are impressionable. If they see an adult become awkward and protective at the mention of anything sexual, they are going to be even more confused about it, far more likely to avoid placing that adult in the same situation again, and god forbid they might actually want to approach a parent with a query about why they see big brother pitching a tent more often in the morning than any other time of day.

Knowledge doesn't mean action. Just because people might know how to fire a gun doesn't mean they're going to sod off and massacre a small town in rural England. Until we can sit down with children and treat them in accordance with the way our lives are led in the 2000's, there is still going to be debate on the soaring figures of teen pregnancies, STIs, and horrified broadsheet journalists' hearts breaking at the lost innocence of childhood.

Grow up, it's only sex.

Girls are no longer girls

Anyone who was anywhere near adolescence in the late 1990s will remember the girls pictured to the right. B*witched. One of the many pop acts of the 90s that make me smile whimsically when I see them, or hear them mentioned. While watching some old music videos recently, this one cropped up and it really did just strike me how different girl groups are just 10 years apart.

For example. Girls Aloud. Yeah, it was fairly inevitable that I was going to use them as the benchmark. While pop music isn't really my passion of choice, I do appreciate a good pop song and there's no doubt that Girls Aloud have had more than a few during their stint in the UK music scene. Clearly more of a longevity thing than B*witched. But my pang of sadness was for the lost innocence of girliness. Putting on your jeans, hanging out with friends, singing about tying boys up in treehouses (yes, bad analogy). Look at Girls Aloud.

I don't even need to post a picture of them, they're eponymous with sexiness, seduction and desire as far as a lot of people are concerned. Surrounding their pop careers is the unstable and delectable details of their personal lives, how they stay "skinny" and what footballer is flavour of the week. Magazines fawn over what they are wearing, how skimpy the outfits. I accept that times will evolve. Things change. But I can't get past the obviously sinister undertones of placing so much emphasis on physical appearance.

For example, Cheryl Cole's solo debut on the X Factor was nothing short of vocally weak. She sounded out of her depth, and I get the feeling that most X Factor winners would blow her out of the water. But she was hailed as a success, the leading line being "Cheryl looked hot..." or some other derivative of the stupidly tiny outfit she was wearing clinging to her rail-thin frame.

When B*witched performed on Top of the Pops, or SMTV live, yeah it was cheesy. But it was music. Four girls singing (or, ahem, miming) while jumping around having a bloody good time. But yes... now it's about the show. If you can mime, while looking smoking in a latex one piece, then you're practically halfway there. Doesn't help with halfwits like Simon Cowell being a fickle tart.

I know I sound like a fat, bitter and jealous woman. I have to say that the only thing I am jealous of is the bank account that these waifs come home to. I'm a normal sized woman (size 10 thank you very much) and I'm not bitter that I didn't chase fame.

On second thoughts I can breathe fire through my nostrils....

Feministic Tendencies

I've a line that I would like to draw, blur it, then throw it away. That would be the one between being a strong-willed woman with fighting spirit, and being a bitch.

I witnessed an incident in an old job (that shall remain nameless) whereby a junior member of staff was pulled up on a few minor mistakes, and during this exchange, the female superior asked if there were any personal reasons that she should know about that might be affecting the junior's performance.

Speaking with the girl later, she remarked "How DARE she ask that, what a bitch!". At the time I agreed. But in hindsight, I believe that this was probably quite a diplomatic way of approaching a member of staff that had made numerous mistakes, no matter how small. There are several occasions where I have wished for such an approach from authority. But then, would I also take the standpoint my former colleague had?

In essence, this really is just another rant about how hard women have to fight in the world to be taken seriously, but then this fight must be reigned in at the right moments, lest we be labelled bitches. I for one can't stand having to be pigeon-holed - but it happens. And I work hard to try and make sure that I achieve a balance of polite, shrewd and ambitious, but friendly, approachable and intelligent, but not arrogant. It's hard. But there's something I have learned in the past year or so... I can't keep working THAT hard.

Who am I kidding. I'll slap a whimsical but hardened smile on, pull on some smart (but not arrogantly priced) shoes.

Ain't life fucking grand when you have tits.

Riding High

Finally got myself a horse to ride out the recession - a job. It's only part time, and it's not my career choice, but it's something I have done before, and something I am passionate about. I now work a the flagship HMV store in London's Oxford Circus. It's always crazy busy, and there's a lot of people that work there. Not to mention the sheer size of the store. But I'll get there. I've got a far stronger mind than my body could ever be.

It did make me think about the recession, and just how bleak it is behind closed doors. My favourite shop on Oxford St was always Borders. I could genuinely lose a couple hours in there, perusing the shelves, reading chapters as a taster, having a coffee, learning things from random reference books. Now it's gone. Apparently it's been in trouble for some time, suffering the undercurrent of the supermarket chains, undercutting them on prices. Which I think is so desperately sad. Supermarkets meet their supply demands from external suppliers that I don't think are affiliated with publishing houses, now, I'm not sure how accurate that is, but if it is, then publishers are losing money. Or at least not making as much as they used to.

I don't know what I'd do if publishers started going out of business.

I know that the futureheads of the world might start moaning that I should get with the times... it's all about ebooks. Reading stuff online. Hm. I can't get on board with that I'm afraid. Of course, bringing reading to a new audience is never going to be a bad thing. But I just cannot deny myself the pure pleasure of finding a book I've been itching to read, buying it, getting home, and turning those all-important first few pages. That feeling of having the labour of the author there, in front of you - in physical form.

I just hope that like some industries, the publishing industry can come out the other side of this dull time with something to smile about. Sure, it looks really shitty at the moment. But I am confident that I am not alone in wanting it to survive more than most industries.

Teaching us to think dirty

Everybody's talking about.

Of COURSE everybody is talking about it, you can't turn a metaphorical corner without having it thrust under your nose. Sex, obviously. According to those in the know (magazines, apparently) everybody is doing it. Again, duh. It's enjoyable right? It's something everybody should indulge in.

Despite this free and open-minded society we live in, I can't help but feel a bit stifled. By one area in particular. Advisory articles. How to be sexy. How to feel sexy. How to make him think he feels sexy. How to tell the world you feel sexy when you don't feel sexy through the use of sexy body language. We appear to have crafted a world that is so fascinated by sexuality that there is the need to paint by numbers when it comes to exploration. This to me, seems insane. Whatever happened to just turning down the lights and having an evening with your lover, where you talk about things that get you going, thus leading to consensual, adult fun. Instead there is this need to enact "position of the week" which just seems a little contrived to me. Can just picture it..

"Ok, I'm ready... let's try that new thing"

"What, NOW?"

"Yes, now, I'm nearly finished"

"Oh... well... ok, your left leg needs to be that side.."

"Hang on."

"Ouch!"

"Sorry, hold on..."

"That's it, stop there"

"I can't hold that!"

"Shit!"

"What?!"

"I think I sprained something.."

I'm probably being over dramatic of course, but perhaps I am just too deeply involved in living my life with fetish undertones. The power of suggestion, and experimentation. Which I am all for, remember.

I just resent being told by a Sexpert (that's a valid job title now, though lord knows what the BTEC certificate might say) that I should be doing things a certain way, or trying certain things to other people's specifications.

I just want to have sex for christ sake, not perform genital acrobatics.

With that in mind, I'd like to point anyone who may read this to my favourite publication for open-minded attitudes towards sex. Of course there is the odd "Sex by numbers" thing, but the forum is well worth checking out.

http://www.scarletmagazine.co.uk/

And remember to stay safe. If he takes down his pants and it's green, it's fair to say you don't want it inside you.

In the beginning... Rubber and Latex.

Today, I want to talk about rubber clothing. Take a look at the picture on the left (credits to honour.co.uk) THIS is the dress I am currently hankering after most, above all other clothing. Yet, to point this out to people in my close circle of friends, the response is generally "oh my gosh!" or "oh.. that's different". Which is fine, really. Variation of taste is a concept that I can grasp fine. To be honest, I never used to think rubber or latex was for evening wear, so to speak. I thought that it belonged behind closed doors with your partner. With friends. At themed parties for close-knit groups. I can't pinpoint the exact time in my life where my mind relaxed and saw that I wanted to wear these things ALL the time.

There is one particular event I can think of that epitomises this most, and so reaching the crux, the nitty gritty of my first blog here.

Torture Garden. Arguably the world's best known fetish night. Around the world, on selected nights, popular nightclubs become luxurious boudoirs, in which open minded, sexually thinking adults can play, explore and generally follow their desires. My first Torture Garden experience involved a great deal of nerves, anticipation and excitement. Dressing somewhat modestly by fetish terms, I waited to go in with a good friend of mine, who was a great deal more relaxed about the whole thing. The moment we were in though, any doubts I could have rambled about melted away with a gentle breath of decadent sexuality. Bodies, all shapes and sizes, clad in a mindfucking array of clothing, meshing together as sumptuous music carried along the dingy corridors.

As the night frolicked into twilight hours, there was a realisation that shuddered blissfully up my spine. When a person cast their eyes up and down you, they were not passing judgement, not by any means. They were enjoying you. Hundreds of pairs of eyes hungrily devouring you, as a visual entity. And my god, when I realised this I felt amazing. And it's a feeling that is very addictive let me tell you. When you wear a rubber outfit at a fetish night, you become a sexually awakened person, one that feels every burning pair of eyes that bores into their curves, their bones, their mind.

Long story short, I want every insecure person to try going to a fetish night. To slip into an item of rubber or latex and just let the night flow into morning. It's not for everyone, and some people might never choose to go again, which of course is fine. But for each of those people, there just could be someone that has ignited a burning desire for exploration and feels the addiction that sweeps into their very core when they realise that wearing latex, makes you, to others, a sexually confident, beautiful and proud human.

Mmm.. sexy.