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Sunday, August 26, 2012

Designer Vag

The Perfect Vagina: a documentary on the growing trend of plastic surgery on your cooch. I warn you, this is horrifying - you see a 21-year-old girl go under the knife.

You're going to want to beat the shit out of a lot of guys they talk to. (But I am sort of love in with the mulleted guy in the park who is all, "I have never not liked a vagina!" though.)

The woman who makes people "talk for their vagina" sort of makes me facepalm. But you know, if it helps people not hack up their ladybits for cosmetic purposes? Go for it.It's honestly depressing how many of the women in this film just think their genitals are hideous. Like, I'm sorry, ALL genitals are kind of weird looking, male and female.

...don't read the comments on the page, either. Fuck me, people are stupid.


And so continues my week of depressing documentaries! Also watched: the suicide forest of Japan, several horrible drug docs, and one on "England's Jersey Shore."

Thursday, August 23, 2012

Tits McGee

The other night, my friend Tranny Zuko poked at a bubble in my shirt.

"What is that?" he asked.

"...double-boob," I sighed.

That's when your bra caused a little hump of flesh where your breast spills out of your cup. It's not supposed to happen, but when you've got giant boobs? It happens. A lot.

Know what else happens? Nearly suffocating yourself during pilates.

I've been working out steadily for months now, and I've dropped weight everywhere but my chest. I feel stronger, and better, but... AGH, the boobs! So I made a decision: on Tuesday, I'm talking to my doctor about breast reduction surgery.

Every since making the decision and talking to my sister and mother, it's just been like... I want it done NOW. Now now now! Yes, I know you can't do jack shit for a week after, and yeah, it takes between one and two months before you can 'do sports' or whatever, and it can take a year before your boobs get totally settled... I don't care. I just keep looking down and going, "goddamn, you could FIT THINGS AND NOT SUFFOCATE ME."

As a burlesque performer, a lot of people have seen my boobs. Duh. And honestly, part of my resistance to the idea of surgery is a result of being in the burlesque scene. For one thing? People know me by my breasts. When I've mentioned before to people that they annoy me, I get a lot of, "but you have the perfect boobs!" and so on and so forth. Yeah, sure, perfect if you don't want to DO shit.

You can't get cheap bras to turn into show bras. You hear the other girls all, "I got it on sale for ten bucks!" as they gleefully rhinestone their multi-coloured underthings. They get to fit the cute normal-sized pasties. And dance moves? When you have two huge fat sacks on your front, doing certain moves is really hard, or downright impossible.

Burlesque is an interesting subculture because it's sexual, but also filled with feminists. Burlesque performers are encouraged to feel beautiful regardless of body shape. So in a weird way, getting a tit job also feels like a betrayal to that spirit. You're changing your body. That's not a core value in burlesque. (At least not in the circles I run in.)

And of course, there's scarring. That's a concern, if only because I wonder if for the rest of my life people will assume I got implants. Because let's face it - even with a reduction, I'll still be busty. ...but I won't be a fucking I cup anymore.

But ultimately? It's my body. And the health and mental benefits will be immeasurable. So.

And goddamn am I going shopping after. FOR PRETTY BRAS.

Friday, August 17, 2012

It is too hot to function.

I am making rotting nipple pasties.

And I want a sandwich.

Friday, August 3, 2012

O Fortuna

All good things must come to and end.

This Tuesday, July 31, marked the last day that my mother's shop The Sacred Well was open for business. There are multiple reasons for the closing, most of which I am not comfortable discussing on the blog just yet, and it was a sad day for my mother, my sister, my aunts and myself.

I was there for the start of the Sacred Well, so it was only fitting I be there for the end. I went out to Chilliwack, and stayed for a few days to help my mother close up the store. There were things left unsold, of course, which means when I did come home I came back with a lot of goodies. I grabbed a bunch of books, some good some not so good, and I plan to eventually review them all here.


Before I went out to the Valley, I asked my mother if she could call my cousin's husband Spencer and see if there was any way he could fit me in for an appointment. He does tattoos, you see, and by a stroke of luck he'd had a cancellation. And so on Wednesday morning I went to Captain's Tattoo and had some work done.

This is the first piece I've had done that has any colour.  The figure is the Fortune card from the Gypsy Oracle Deck, and I have to say Spencer did a damn fine job. The boy has a light touch, and the few hours I spent on his table were actually very pleasant.


Tonight I'm just sitting around watching the old Aeon Flux cartoon and altering a dress. I'm also stretching some shoes. See, I found a pair of wedges that I bought a while back and found too small. Voodoo, meanwhile, finds them a bit too big, and so they sit in the closet, unworn. But there's a trick that may salvage them.

You put on a pair of socks, then your shoes. You then blast all the tight places of your shoes with a hairdryer, then leave them on for a while to cool. Repeat again if needed.


Of course, you look like a total idiot when you do this...

 But what the fuck ever, your shoes will fit!