Ain't Got No TBone*

Another TBoy mate of whom I am most fond is having his top surgery tomorrow. And every time I think of this (which is quite often this last week or so) two things happen: I have a sudden and quite violent urge to cry and my breasts ache and tingle with milky letdown feeling. These reactions began quite unconsciously, my body responding before my mind could even begin to process what was going on. Trying to work out what my body knows that my mind doesn't, I come up with a list of possibile oxytocin motivators:

* I am happy for him, and can already see his smile on the first binder-less day.
* I am proud of him, as I am with all of my friends who consistently battle to create themselves in their own image.
* I am jealous of him, for the same reasons that I am proud of him. I do not know that I am this brave, or ever can be.
* I am hurting for him, knowing that the pain will be great.
* I feel a strange yearning or regret or ???, knowing that the further he moves towards his body, the further he moves away from mine.

A while ago I was contemplating the details of this top surgery (as you know, quite a few of the boys in my life are living through the process at the moment), and found myself not so much thinking of it in terms of what other people were doing but as something that I would one day do myself. This is not a thought that had ever occurred to me outside the context of 'geez, imagine if I had cancer and had get my tit/s removed, would I get implant/s or tattoo my scars or...?' and maybe the odd Amazon fantasy, you know, 'one tit for nurturing and one non-tit for fighting'. I love my tits, love the pleasures they provide to myself and others, love their milkiness and their imagination. But in this strange moment it seemed quite logical that to turn breast into chest was a decision that I would make at some point. Premonition? Strange inkling that will only make sense much later in the piece? Or just a reaction to hanging about so many gender-variant surgically/hormonally-altered folk that it almost seems unnatural to remain pretty much as is?

The one-breasted Amazon thing intrigues me, and may partly be the inspiration for my current musings on the correlations and conflicts and conversations possible between Breast and Chest.
Breast as soft, in state of flux, changing with moon and mood. Chest as hard, un(for)giving, constant through time and tide. Breast vulnerable and violated, flesh yielding to arrows. Chest with furry armoured pecs, shielding the heart. Breast open, easily accessed, sharing mysteries. Chest sealed, locked up, defending its treasures. Breast wet and talkative, writing riddles in milk. Chest dry and silent, mute and brutish. Breast as nurturing, willing sacrifice. Chest as protecting, the first line of defence.

The above word-association is fairly simplistic, true, and probably revealing more about me than I want it to! Just trying to muddle through all the associations and memories, the differences in cuddles between Mum and Dad when I was a kid, the different safeties and comforts given by each, the differences in textures and tastes and temperatures. And perhaps even the similarities.

* But to continue with Neil Young, I 'Got Mashed Potatoes'

What's Inside A Girl?

Last night I had a nightmare in which I was in a big building running from my partner (not sure of my partner's identity though, or even if it was anyone I know in my waking life at all). I kept ducking into rooms and changing my outfits and wigs and makeup but this person still found me each time, I couldn't hide who I was as much as I tried...

Sometimes I feel like one of those white axoltyls, or maybe a jellyfish. My skin is transparent and my inner workings are forever on show.

Am I not pretty enough? Is my heart too broken?
Do I cry too much? Am I too outspoken?
Don’t I make you laugh? Should I try it harder?
Why do you see right through me?

- Kasey Chambers

'Am I Not Pretty Enough?'

Much Less Grumpy Stompy Bitch Zoo

Much less of a Grumpy Stompy Bitch Zoo today! By the time I made it to Polymorph this afternoon the ball from the jewellery I had 'temporarily' stuck in my lip when I lost my spike was well and truly stuck there. Fortunately, I had been home and found some Lignocaine on my way to get it removed, so applied some while waiting for the train and by the time I got to the studio my lip was a teensy bit numb. Which was nice, as it took a bit of cutting and a hard push before the Pervert of Piercing could get the ball unstuck from my flesh. He is SUCH a sweet boy, just laughed when I was cussing and even found a new black spike for me. Oh, and I bled a bit, and the taste of blood tends to calm me down! All back to normal, though think I will get rings for everyday wear and just bring out the spikes when I'm in the mood for them. They are much much trouble, and even if they ARE spectacularly cute and get me lots of kisses I don't know if I can be bothered with them all the time...

Hung out with my folks last night, got a birthday cake and candles and had calamari and roast vegies and biscuits and cheese and soft drink and random combinations of food that I foraged from the cupboards and fridge. Its always exciting to be over there, so many goodies to eat and drink that I just never buy myself! Then went shopping with my Mum for my birthday pressies, in the sprawling metropolis that is Liverpool Westfields. Arrrgh! Wanted new bed linen, but all I could find that I liked was sheets, so still have to hunt down a none-too-offensive quilt cover and pillowcases. If anyone has any ideas on where to find something quirky and not too pricy in the way of linen please pass on details. I am OVER embroidered flowers and boyish checks and fake polysetser cotton Indian sari prints!

Am caffeinated, nicotined and pumped, so feeling much more together. And might have found a new place to live... shhhh... I do love my housemates a lot, but I am thinking that it may not be good for me to keep living there for a great deal longer for a number of reasons: a) the rent has gone up, but house is still too far away from Newtown and/or Uni to walk home, b) it looks like we will have to get another person to live there to cover the increased rent, and the place feels enough like living in a hostel as it is without adding another permanent resident, c) I am at least 8 years older than all of the people I live with or who hang out in/crash in/trash my lounge room, and in a very different stage in my life, d) I can't live in a place that is full of empty beer bottles, fruit flys, rubbish, overflowing bins (when they are used at all) and washing up that has been there for days. Heck, its true that I am a mildly alcoholic tormented angsty freaky-looking messy student type, so in theory I should LOVE it there, but I am still thinking I need to live in a Big Person House. Will see if anything turns up in the next month or so. Think Lismore is still a fair time away for me, if it happens at all, as I have a lot of projects I want to get into down here, and need somewhere stable. Really don't want the hassle of moving all my stuff again though *grr*. Mayeb I should just buy myself a bus to live in?

Grumpy Stompy Bitch Zoo's Vent For The Day

Ah, brain is all scatty from the weekend and I am stomping about wanting to cry and kick things. Rent had gone up at my place, effective today, and I hadn't been informed so am now more broke than I thought. Lost one of my lip spikes, improvised with a bar and ball until I could get to my piercer and replace it, but overnight the ball has somehow got wedged in my lip and its all closed over and the stupid doctor I saw wouldn't remove it so now I'm off to whatever piercing store is open on a Monday to get them to do who knows what (I am anticipating pain, and not nice pain at that). Haven't had a coffee yet, or a ciggie since yesterday. Kidneys have been hurting, but apparently my test results from the other day were fine. Had a nice night planned at home, with my hot water bottle against my ouchy kidneys and Tales Of The City on DVD and ended up having to rescue LesBeanz from hospital (she'd collapsed, but seems ok now), which was kind of fun but not what I needed when I was knackered and just wanting to chill out. Went to get one of my favourite books from the library, to find an article I REALLY want to read again now, and it is nowhere to be seen. Breasts tingling, but no time to pump now. And I was really hoping that a particular someone I still love would have contacted me by now, but I haven't heard anything- does she even miss me? GRUMPY STOMPY BITCH ZOO, just grouching about the place and looking fierce and not suffering fools too gladly at all. (I haven't actually been rude to anyone yet, which is quite remarkable)

But... it was a brilliant weekend! Started on Wednesday really, when I A Certain Boy took me out for a birthday dinner of yummy Asian food in Marrickville. Then Thursday was a cocktail party at the Slox with SharntSayNo and many perverted pals, big-time boozy Bear-ing, Friday brought a gorgeous afternoon spent lazing about with A Certain Boy, Saturday was Queer Prom (more about that later, including more photos from my show), lots of dancing and sparkles and spanks and even a few whacks with a nice leather belt at Zip, then a picnic in the graveyard yesterday afternoon. Its a fabulous day out there again today, not too warm but blue-skied and happy-making. And tonight I am heading out to visit my parents for another belated birthday dinner, and they will feed me comfort food and I can stay up late watching cable and reading the Sunday papers and then sleep on the lounge. Ahhh... Still some joy left in the world after all!

That's Mr Pussy To You

From a VV article on the work of one Julie Atlas Muz:
'And then there's Mr. Pussy, who is, in fact, Muz's actual private part, best known for his signature handlebar mustache, as well as his smoking habits— cigars, cigarettes, pipes—and impressive collection of hats. (Including a turban.) In a video installation, Muz even makes him talk. She first discovered him five or six years ago: "I would bring people into the bathroom and do little puppet shows with my vagina," she says, adding, "I was stone-cold sober."
Mr. Pussy soon took on a life of his own, and now has his own beauty regime. "There was a very long, awkward phase," Muz says. "He would get into everything. He would sometimes close shut and turn into a chastity belt of woven hair. He's got split ends, and I need to trim it and condition it." Other than that, "I don't know that much about him," she says. "I don't understand him—he's come out of me. As an exhibitionist, I don't have any shame. That's a positive thing."'

QUEER PROM *CHANGE OF VENUE*

Queer Prom has changed location to Lan Franchis, 144 Cleveland St Chippendale.
Saturday 27th January (ie this one), doors open at 7, shows at 7:30pm.
Which is handy for those of us who want go Zip-ping at The Burdekin afterwards...

Taking The Piss

Well, that was an adventure. Began with getting naked and all alcohol-swabbed down by the doctor- 'well, that's a lot of metal'! Then a catheter inserted, through which they filled my bladder with dye. Was a weird sensation, familiar yet different as when I have been catheterised before it was a) on a pool table in front of a bunch of leather folk/at a play party and b) flowing the other way. When I was absolutely bursting my bits, they put a pan under me and asked me to pee while they took happy snaps. Unfortunately I got a weird cramp when I moved at just this moment, so was sitting there unable to piss for love or money for a couple of minutes. It hurt a lot, and still does ache a little. But when I finally did pee, I could watch it on the screen- which of course I found immensely exciting. And my jewellery shows up perfectly! After this a nurse came in and inserted a butterly canula into my arm, and I wriggled with glee as I watched it slide into the vein... Sigh... then she pushed a couple of vials of dye through, and waited. Sure enough, I got all of the anticipated/promised effects: a hot flush, a metallic taste in my mouth, and the oddest sensation of peeing when indeed I wasn't. Nurse found it amusing that I was grinning when this latter effect hit me 'yes, some patients love that bit', expressed appreciation for the cutting on my face and toddled off. The x-ray person took lots of snaps, moved me about, took some more, and at one point wrapped a big belt around my waist that inflated with a hand pump (just like a blood pressure cuff) so that the dye stayed in my kidneys a bit longer. It was rather similar to wearing a corset, tight and restricting but not unpleasant as such. All in all, despite the horrors of the preperation yesterday and the rather early start (had to be there 8am) it was quite a fun adventure... and the pictures are indeed pretty!

VISIBLE: A FEMMETHOLOGY - Call for Submissions

VISIBLE: A FEMMETHOLOGY an anthology of writing on queer femme identity.
Editor: Maria Angeline Publisher: Merge Press. Anticipated Publication Date: Spring 2008

"Femmes are still invisible. Society can't see past our heels to hear our stories, so we must continue to build platforms for our voices. Visible: A Femmethology, a forthcoming anthology about the power and complications in presenting femme as a gender and breaking the traditional meaning of feminine, aims to showcase blunt, personal essays exploring what "femme" means to those who claim it as an identity.Give me your experiences, your inner dialogues, your theories and practices. Please do not send fiction, poetry, or erotica. I will not consider any material to which you do not fully own the rights. I am seeking prose that is thoughtful, analytical, raw, challenging, exploratory, and uniquely you."

CONDITIONS: Essays must be previously unpublished, 1500-6000 words in length, and typed double-spaced. You may submit more than one essay. PRIZE: Contributing writers will share 25% of the net profits of Visible: A Femmethology and receive a free copy of the anthology. ENTRY FEE: None DEADLINE: March 15, 2007

The info is all from this site: http://www.femmethology.com/call-for-submissions/It states: Send SUBMISSIONS ONLY to Maria Angeline at femmethology at mergepress dot com. Include your legal name, pseudonym (if any) you wish to use, address, phone number, email, and the bio you would like to appear in the book if your selection is chosen for publication. Put the title of your essay in the subject line of the email. Each essay must be emailed separately.

Fear Of An Evil Kidney

NeverTooOld suggested to me today that kidney problems are in some systems believed to be related to fear. Did myself a bit of a Google, and seems she was right again! From Fertility Formulas, discussing Traditional Chinese Medicine:

The emotions pertaining to the Kidneys are fear, fright, and shock (adrenal hormones.) Excessive rumination in any of these emotional states can injure the Kidneys according to Traditional Chinese Medical theory. Extremes of these emotions can also cause severe hormonal fluctuations in any endocrine organ and cause the “flight or fight response”. These hormonal fluctuations can upset the reproductive capacity. TCM recognizes that fear causes a struggle between Yin and Yang, loss of essence, and cuts of the relationship between the Heart and the Kidney. We reestablish good balance between Yin and Yang through reflective thought... Excessive sexual activity, too much “partying”, overproduction of ejaculate via intercourse or masturbation, excessive orgasms, or hormonal stimulation all may weaken the Kidney-Essence... The most common cause of Kidney deficiency is overwork which can be physical and mental. Work stress, mental anxiety, lack of relaxation, lack of sleep, long work hours, hurried, irregular eating schedules, or any excessive cerebral activity without physical release draws upon the essence of the Kidney...

I'm in utter agreeance with the fear, fright and shock connection. These emotional states have plagued me for at least the last 12 months, or probably much longer than that.However- too much partying? Excessive orgasms? Excessive sexual activity? Excessive cerebral activity? How does one define such things? Grrr. Sitting here starving hungry because I'm fasting (water/clear liquids/bugger all else), with massive stomach cramps because of the evil 'clear you out before the tests' powder concoction I had to consume earlier. These damn kidney-pictures better be pretty after all this!

XX BOYS

It is indeed a day for Tboys. Found that Horsexe quote, caught up for ginger tea and conversation with A Certain Boy, and now Hunter has sent me the link to the fabulous XXBoys website. Quite a nice perve really, and some nice quotes from the boys and men featured. Like this one from Jordan in Denver:

in between these things and beyond them boy, noun, mine. a boy of my own definition. if you change the meaning enough does it cease to exist? does it become something else entirely? if i can be this boy, mine... boy with sharp teeth and soft hair. boy with bound chest and painted lips.

boy with steel boots and corset. who is to say i cannot be your boy?

Horsexe

Re: The 'typical' transsexual woman (ie FTM)

'Unlike "classic" female homosexuals, they are reluctant to allow their partners to touch the female parts of their body. This is why they choose non-homosexual women. As far as possible, female transsexuals strive to the point of imposture to pass off as men in the presence of their girlfriends... virility is something they must possess'

- Catherine Millot
' Horsexe: Essay on Transsexuality' (1983)

Somebody gave me a copy of this book recently, and I've only skimmed it while half-asleep.This quote just struck me last night, though I'm not sure quite what I want to say about it... any comments?

Spurs, Tiara, Stars and a Bucket Hat

Crackers

Went to see Crackers (part of the Sydney Festival) on Friday night with the Littlest Leprechaun and a couple of other quirky folk, out in the mosquito-infested wetlands at Homebush Bay. The show was set out in a circle, with fireworks in the middle and all around the outside, and the crowd inbetween. There were projections on a huge cylindrical screen, and people who looked kind of like scarecrows, dressed all in black with huge sparklers attached to their heads and arms, wire figures with crackers bursting from them, and a vast array of sparkly things whizzing along wires and technicolour stars splitting the sky and fizzing like sherbet on my tongue. It was immensely exciting to be in the middle of all the ash and brimstone...

The Gambler

I'm not much of a Gambler, Kenny Rogers' style or otherwise. I rarely know when to hold them and when to fold them, or when to walk away and when to run. I take stupid risks, put everything at stake even when my gut instinct says to do otherwise. I invest so much that I really have no choice but to stay in the game to the bitter end. I don't want to believe that I am going to lose it all, even if I have time and time before. Why? Optimism? Desperation? Delusion? Arrogance?

It is true that every hand's a winner, and every hand's a loser. If only I had a poker face I might win sometimes, but my cards are always on the table. Double or nothing.

Thanks for Spanks

Big thanks to all who made my Birthday Festival so wonderful: who drank rum with me at the Pirate Party (unofficial event), oohed and ahhed at Crackers with me, spanked me at Hellfire, bought me drinks everywhere, danced with me at the Impy, gave me birthday face-slaps, and got down and hoe-downed with me at the Spurs (special thx here to Whoretic for getting my favourite Spurs cover version, Shivers, dedicated to me). I am still blushing bruises and seeing stars..

Now, for a big week ahead. Much work to be done, kidney function tests, supervisor meeting, making my show for Queer Prom, maybe the Sly for a couple of hours (or maybe not, might need to give the Sly a break again), boot-naughtiness with Hunter, then Bear party on Thursday night. And this heat is exhausting! Can barely move, just slothing about in my towel all day, its 5pm and I haven't even made it to the shower or outside for a cigarette. Lazy, lazy day.

Awww... pretties...

And while I am playing around with photos, here are some of the December show I did with the PolyMorph lads, courtesy of the good folk at www.hellfiresydney.com.

Sail Ho 'SS You'd Do It If You Loved Me'!

Aye, me brain be too addled by rum, sodomy and the gash to be posting much detail of last eve's cavortings, so here be some photographs to give ye a view of the ship and crew... That be Captain ZooBeard herself with CabinBoy GreyEvilTwin on ye right, and the vessel on ye left.

Flirt Alert

'I don't like it when
You play with my needs
You ain't nothing but a prick tease
If you don't wanna fuck me, baby, baby fuck off'

-Jayne County
'Fuck Off' (quoted from memory)

Ah, flirtations can be lovely. The anticipation, the furtive glances, the eye contact that lasts just a little longer than is polite, the 'accidental' touches, the increase in heartbeat every time the phone rings, that spark when you pass each other in the street, the blushing when caught at it, the carefully planned moves... I do like romance and courting, champagne and flowers and giggles. These things can me dizzy with delight and hungry for love.

Then again, sometimes I feel more like Jayne County.

Butch Mommy

Just came across this article on being a Butch Mommy at PlayButch.com. Truly, this concept had never occurred to me! Always a new twist to be turned...

ONE VELVET EVENING

This is the ACON girls fundraiser I was telling you about a while ago. Friday February 9th, 8pm until late. DJs Sveta *swoon* and Beaker, plus performances (three guesses who is doing one of them!) and 'The Super Supremes'. At The Factory Theatre- 105 Victoria Rd, Enmore. Tickets $20+bf, available from www.moshtix.com.au or call 9550 3666.

Tits and Arse

Some days I just love my research. This on the right is a 'breastmilk hand expression trainer', and on the left is the 'sultan anal sphincter trainer'. Both are available from Limbs and Things UK, which provides all manner of body part models including umbilical cords, a translucent uterus, a birthing simulator, a double layer bowel and mock arterial blood.

Boobs Will Eat Me

From Head Injury Theatre again.

Its An Ill Breast That Gives No Milk

A combination of illness, not pumping enough (partially because my pump broke *boo*), temporarily running out of meds, and possibly all the antibiotics I've been taking left me a little lacking in the milk department of late. But now I'm feeling much better and returned to a more 'normal' routine, and my milk has come back in. Which means that my breasts are in a constant state of flux. Practically non-existant at some points, big and bouncy at others, pushing tight against my clothing or just hanging around at a loose end. Strange thing is that often this seems to have no relation to how full of milk they actually are, or how long it has been since I have pumped. Makes me more grateful than ever that I don't bother with a bra, as I would have to change it three times a day to make sure it even vaguely fitted.

Speaking of illness, went back to the doctor for a check-up today. Still get the odd twinge in my kidneys, and pretty tired most of the time. Can get out and about in limited amounts, but if I spend a whole day/night doing chores or working or playing with my friends then often I can barely get out of bed the next afternoon. Its annoying- I spent half of last year in a state of depression and lethargy and now that mentally I am getting myself sorted (comparitively at least) I am physically sickly and weak. Doctor has ordered two tests, both of which sound quite interesting. The first involves injecting/ingesting (?) some sort of dye it seems, and the second is performed whilst I am pissing. Apaprently a large number of people refuse the latter, but I figured I have done stranger things for lesser gain and I do get to keep the pictures so what's to lose? Hmm, do hope that its nothing serious going on with my dear kidneys (or anything else). This whole episode has had me a little worried... with any luck its not something that will recur or need any major treatment, and will be just a case of not trying to do too much, drinking lots of water and eating lots of fruit and vegies. Fingers crossed.

Lesbian Clowns, Rubber Chickens and Mime

While trawling through Google Images for some mime inspiration (don't ask), I somehow ended up at Head Injury Theatre's 'Pornographic Nightmare Fuel' page, a review of some of the most bizarre porn films ever. As in clown sex, Alice In Wonderland, paper mache tits, a storytelling sock puppet, paper-bag-over-head-with-smily-face-drawn-on fetish, Asswoman, Christmas porn and of course, what lead me to this page in the first place, mime sex:
'I really don't understand why having sex with mimes is so common. Now, clown sex is all over the place (which is scary in its own right), but the fact that there are any number of films where women and men are dressed as mimes, doing all sorts of things, is just unnerving. Is it a French thing? Is it a satire of how people in pornos rarely talk anyway? Maybe I'm thinking too hard about this.'
Makes me think that maybe it is time that Tallulah (my rubber chicken) and Twolulah (her stunt double) came out of retirement?

AHOY! PIRATE PARTY INVITE!

Arrrrrrrrrr!!!!!!!!

Avast! Captain ZooBeard and her Merry CrewSluts be inviting all ye pirates, captains, swashbucklers, buccaneers, comely wenches, mermaids, salty dogs, cabin boys, buxom beauties and bilge rats to the launch of the SS "You'd Do It If You Loved Me"
Set sail this here Thursday, 18th January 2007, from 7pm-ish
(Address not be posted on this here blog, but treasure map be available on request)

Bring ye your grog and your hornpipe, and be dressed in your finest ruffled shirt and eyepatch or be prepared to walk the plank (ie dress-ups most appreciated)!

Clueless landlocked lubbers can click here for hints on pirate garb and lingo, or on this here English to Pirate translator for ways to be speakin' like a real corsair.

Jolly my Roger and shiver me timbers and I'll be seein' all you scurvy dogs handsomely!

Pastis, Prawns and Produce

Today has been a day of delicious food with delightful friends. After a meeting with my supervisor I hooked up with the Buxom Wench at Varga Bar. Was too stroked by heat to eat very much, but a soy latte was joined by the most perfect brushetta. Good company, good coffee and slices of juicy tomato, fresh basil and olive oil on a crispy wholemeal baguette. Sometimes the simple things really are the best.

Later on I popped over to This Charming Man's place to return some stuff I had borrowed, and came out with silverbeet and lettuce fresh from his vegie patch. Inspired all over again to get out in the dirt and produce some produce, especially after recent chats with Freeq and The Littlest Leprechaun about the goodies from their gardens (did buy some herbs recently, but then I went away and forgot to leave watering instructions and they all perished). As I was leaving TCM's I ran into Les Filthy Frog, an dear friend and an amazing cook. Turns out he lives a few doors up from TCM, and as we both had no plans for the evening he invited me in for champagne and pastis. Pastis I drink even though I don't like it, because it takes me back to the time I was with LFF in Antibes. We were staying with his brother in a villa, and took a day trip to St Paul De Vance, a gorgeous artisan town in the French Riviera that is full of galleries and workshops and tiny little winding cobblestoned streets. We spent a very long time in a shop that specialised in oils and honeys and vinegars. After much tasting and deliberation a 60 year old balsamic was selected and purchased, which we proceeded to drizzle over a particularly good parmeson and consume by the pool with a bottle of pastis. Bliss! LFF introduced me to a lot of good food on my French tour, including snails and foie gras* and confit of duck and the peculiar delights of Kalimotxo (a bizarre Basque concotion of cola and red wine that is probably only tolerable if floating in the Meditterean in the middle of the night. Heaven knows it wasn't quite as appealing when I concocted it at my friend's place the other night). Back at LFF's place tonight, he asked if I wanted to stay for dinner. I was not going to say no to any meal prepared by the man first served me 14 course dinners full of sorbets and terrines and home baked breads, not to mention the infamous 'Cake Orgies'. He has four different kinds of truffle oil in his pantry, and salt that smells like 'violets by the sea', and waching him conjure up magic in his kitchen is truly inspiring. So I stayed, and a couple of hours later we sat down to a simple salad of prawns, bacon (vegie-what? I am SO naughty), capsicum, chilli, poached egg, and fresh herbs from the garden. And pastis. Delicious! After much reminiscing and catching up on old times and silliness I rolled out into the street and onto the bus for a quick visit to GC, before heading home to find LesBeanz hanging out watching DVDs. Finished the night with one of her famous chartreuse hot chocolates. Satisfied and sleepy now...

* The foie gras meal was the first time I fully comprehended the fact that 'food and sex' is totally different to 'food sex'. That dinner left me shaken and speechless in a post-culinary-induced-orgasmic state for hours. Swoon.

Blast from a Pervy Past

While trawling through the Hellfire website I came across pix of ZOO'S VERY FIRST SHOW (with Lizz K, in early 2003-ish?). Marvel at her technicoloured hair! Her chubby little tummy! The amusing use of mirror balls and candles! But don't just take my word for it, believe the hype that our 'role-reversing girl-on-girl show contrasted serious sadism with moments of masochistic beauty'! Some things never change. Spiky things and sparkly things still make me smile, lots.

Femme Fables

'But that's the trick. These feelings make me dependent and raw, wide open to any demand that a lover might make. They shift my balance, make me compromise to avoid conflict, and seduce me into not struggling aganist any difference which comes up between us. I desire unity at any cost, sometimes at the expense of my own independence and needs. I am in a panic not to be walled in alone. I feel my body to be without its own engine; I am unplugged into her desire for me and cannot opersate without it. I feel like a beggar released from bondage for a moment, but threatened with the return to it if the relationship ends, if I am inadequate at holding this lover in a spell of desire for me. I see how little control I have over the life of the relationship, even with hard work and commitment.'

- Amber L. Hollibaugh
'Femme Fables'
in Brazen Femme: Queering Femininity
ed Brushwood Rose and Camilleri

Condom In A Can

Thanks to the Voice for this one: Scientists at Germany's Institute for Condom Consultancy have developed a spray-on condom to solve the problem of ill-fitting prophylactics. Stick your cock in a can, press a button, and your willy's coated in latex that dries in only five seconds. On the Institute's website (spraykondom.de) the process is described as "a bit like a car wash."

If you go to the website listed, you can sign up as a condom-in-a-can tester.

Limp Wristed Beer Drinking Poly Prince

Arrrrrrrrrrrrggggggggggggghhhhhhhhhhhh.... much naughty Zoo had much naughty beer last night.... and LIMP WRIST WERE BRILLIANT! Has been quite a while since this old bitch has been anywhere near a mosh pit, but I managed to not get too badly mangled up. And it was delightful to see so such a big cross-section of dykelings and bears and freaks and leatherboys and punx all crammed into Manacle. After bouncing about at the gig I got a cab to The Sly, stayed 'til closing then went to another friend's place and then ended up back at Beculum's somehow. All very odd, and all very messy, and all very ouchy now. Feeling emotionally adolescent and physically middle-aged.

Came home with a handful of stickers, a badge, a CD and a t-shirt that say 'LIMP WRIST- GET BLOWN' next to a picture of some filthy faggot. Speaking of merchandise, my fave t-shirt (and trucker cap, badge, bag etc) of the day, thanks to Whoretic is 2QT2BBIO. Closely followed by Feminist Fucktoy. Dang! Just as I was typing that I came across another new favourite- the Poly? Wanna Partner? range. Beautiful!

And speaking of polyamoury, the moment I start posting about wanting a husband/husboy/husbutch and shacking up and getting strangely monogamous tendencies and desires the possible possibility of poly-ammy-blahblah came up again in my life. Very glad it did, even if I am not quite sure where I stand with it all. Part of me wants to be swept off my feet by Prince/ess Charming, to live in wedded bliss never desiring another, but then the rest of me knows that life is not a fairtyale. Certainly, mine seems more like an excessively drawn-out and unbelievable Ancient Epic Tragi-Comedic Mythological Extravaganza with each new scene that is played out.

The other day I wondered here if my Prince has indeed already kissed me and is waiting for me to wake up to the magic. For reasons I can't explain, I have a strong feeling this is the case. I just have a hunch that I have already been touched by my Fate. And that maybe happy endings do happen after all.

*CENSORED* Queer Prom

Unwanted Faerie's crew at *CENSORED* are holding a Queer Prom, on Saturday the 27th January. So far, the performance line-up is: Buggirl, The Blush Foundation, Celia Curtis, Scary D, Cake Lady, Tranny Cops and some DJs. And Zoo (probably doing something gory with some housemates). More details as I get them.

Oh, and for the person who rang me this morning whilst I was still a-slumber, no, I haven't 'found God' and as far as I know Spurs For Jesus are not some right-wing Christian fundie nutter band. Or maybe they are, and all the beer-drinking and their 'tragic roll-call of themes:Lust, Betrayal, Murder, Sin & Salvation, Eatin & Cheatin, Drinkin & Thinkin, Law-breakin, Alienation, Poverty' are all just a front for their missionary work. Hmm, how can one ever tell these things? Just reading their list of all the songs they have ever attempted, and found Lynne Hamilton's 'On The Inside'. Isn't that the theme song from Prisoner???

I Need Lunch

I-I don't need your company
Girls like you all come for free
I-I don't really wanna dance
Girl, I just wanna get in your pants

I-I don't wantcha to hang around
Girl I don't need ya to drag me down
Well I-I don't really wanna dance
Girl, I just wanna get in your pants

Now listen girl

You try and try
You want we're just more than friends
You cry and cry
You know i'll prick ya'in the end
Look at me that way, bitch
Your face is gonna getta punch
I said I don't need no cook girl
I need lunch

Now listen to me baby

I-you go find yourself a factory man
Girl-you were born with dishpan hands
Well I, baby, I don't need romance
You know, girl, I just wanna get in your pants

I said-I need lunch

Feed me!!

- Dead Boys
'I Need Lunch'

Children Of The Turkey Baster

There is the small matter that I have next to no interest in doing what comes naturally with any bio-blokes in order to make babies. (Even when from time to time I do crave contact with boy-juice, its usually when I am having a total faggot moment and don't even have girl-bits anymore, let alone a female reproductive system).

So any offspring I may eventually gestate will probably be Children of The Turkey Baster. Which is all fine, as there is already a range of 'proud baster baby' infant attire in which to dress them up (bib available from Lesbian Mama Baby Wear.)

Blokes and Babies

When I lived in Sweden one of the things that struck me was the amount of men I saw out and about with their kids during the week. This no doubt had a lot to do with their maternity/paternity laws, which meant you got extra paid parenting leave if the father took some of it (I think). For some reason I found it infinately fascinating to watch these daddies wrangle the large winter prams on and off the buses and through supermarket aisles, to see packs of men and children doing lunch together, and papa bears collecting the older kids from school. There is something about seeing that soft squishy side of boys that makes me think that maybe they ain't all that bad after all, and almost makes me inspired to grab one and procreate.

The other day I was doing drinks with some mates, and one of them had brought their 6ish year old daughter along. She spent most of her time mucking around with one particular male friend, and watching them interact made me all warm and fuzzy. He was fantastic with her, doing up her shoelaces and making her giggle and I was suddenly overtaken by the desire to settle down with a nice boy/butch and make babies. I remember that when I was her age (6 or 7 or so) I used to imagine being a Mummy but couldn't quite work out why you needed a Daddy. Despite having a fantastic relationship with my own Dad (and still have, bless him) I recall asking my Mum what the point of fathers was, and why I couldn't just breed on my own. For years when I considered parenting it was either as an entirely solo venture ('cept for the obvious matter of boy-juice), or with a group of women in some sort of hippy commune-type situation. Now I want a husband.

Not sure exactly what has prompted this and my last post (about shacking up). Maybe its hormonal, maybe its because yet another birthday is fast approaching and I'm still a childless spinster, maybe its because I am still pining over lost people and plans that I really believed in and was prepared to work at, maybe its because I'm lactating and its making me want to nest and nurture. I've been bethrothed three times (one man, one grrl-bear, one pet), and never got hitched. The joke isn't funny anymore. I want the boy/butch, I want the wedding ring/tattoo/cutting, I want the house, I (almost) want the babies.

The Buxom Wench has just assured me that my Prince will come. Maybe. Maybe I already had my Prince and I lost him/her. Maybe s/he is here now and I just can't recognise it. Maybe I am my own Prince?

Or maybe my Prince has already kissed me and is just waiting for me to wake up?

Single Bed

You’re getting married
And you’re crazy about her
You really miss me
I know exactly what you mean

Oh that’s so nice to hear
You’ve planted
All your roots down there
I’m still wandering
Like the fruit fallen from the tree
Is she nice to you not like me
Like the wife she was raised to be

- Bitch and Animal
'Six States Away'

Ran into an ex-lover on the street today and she told me she was shacking up with her girlfriend. This was straigh after I had finished having coffee with another ex who told me she had been past the house we shared and it had new tenants in it, and we both talked about how much we missed that place sometimes. Then another friend emailed to tell me she 'might be engaged', which presumably will lead to cohabitation eventually.

I miss being shacked up with someone a lot. Sure, I have the share-house thing happening, but its hardly the same- as much as I love my housemates. I want someone to cook with and do the dishes with and cuddle up with each night, someone to yell at about not taking the garbage out and have bubble baths with and do the groceries with and to shift furniture with and hold dinner parties with and grow vegies with and who knows how to replace the washers and will listen to when I read out my writing or carry on with performance ideas. Someone who will still be there in the morning, someone to just hang around with and to shag without knowing one of you will have to leave again soon. I have spent most of my adult life living with partners, and even after this six months here I'm not completely used to sleeping alone. I cover the empty half of my bed with books and toys and try to ignore that it is only my breath that disrupts the silence.

Yes, I know how pathetic that will sound to a lot of my readers. Maybe I should just move Mechtild the Lactating Blow Up Doll onto the other pillow and be done with it.

Academia Blues

'i choose my friends only far too well
i'm up on the pavement, they're all down in the cellar
with their government grants and my i.q.
they brought me down to size, academia blues'

- lloyd cole
'perfect skin'

i am procrastinating. i can't get to work on my phd, don't know where to begin. should have done a coursework degree, had set reading lists and tasks! i do have a project i am meant to be working on for my supervisor, but i can't remember how i am supposed to go about it. totally lost. don't know why i am attempting this anyway. don't think like an academic. don't know any theory. have trouble remembering anything i read. feel like my IQ is getting lower by the second. can barely write. can't think clearly, moments of clarity are few and far between. tired, stressed, sickly. all seems hopeless. feel totally fraudulent, i shouldn't be here, i'm not one of them. i don't know what foucault thinks about anything, and most of the time i don't care. i attend seminars and conferences and barely understand a word. i don't know that i want to do this anymore, but i can't figure out anything else to do. soon it will be my yearly assessment, and i don't know what i have done so far. fuck all really, a literature review and six months of heartbroken crying and drinking. talked a lot about what i might do, and not done much of anything. i come to uni and stare blankly at the screen for hours, fluffing about on emails and blogging and sleeping at my desk.

yet when i speak about my work to others i am often very passionate. i can see the value of it, the quirkiness, the potential. if only i could realise it, put it into practice, get something happening. what is missing? discipline? willpower? direction? energy? vodka? coffee?

If You Love Your Gender Set It Free (Lismore Part Three)

Have been meaning to tell you about the actual parties part of Tropical Fruits, so here goes, starting with NYE:

Got frocked up at the hotel room of Ms Succulent and SlamminSam, in my new haircut and silver-flecked dress and shiny belt and stick on stars and glitter. (Not a brilliant photo, was more sparkly in the flesh). The set-up was the same as last year. Cafe area with lots of beds and comfy couches, women's space, men's space, cocktail lounge, two pavilions of dancing, art hall, and plenty of other places to lounge and lurk about. Palm trees lit up from underneath in the colours of the rainbow, strings of blue fairy lights everywhere, a sparkly silver archway at the entrance and a pool made from hay bales and filled with big inflatable balls. Fireworks were brilliant again! Can't describe them really, just lots of oohs and aahs and bangs and bursts and some pretty ones at the end that were formed like love-hearts. Yay! Art exhibibition was nothing too exciting really, though I did pick up some stickers that said 'If you love your gender... set it free' and 'Every cunt's a winner', so it wasn't a dead loss. A Certain Boy was DJing in the Slippery Nipple cocktail lounge, a big clubhouse with the walls covered in black plastic and lots of UV decorations. His set was great, and we hung out and danced there intermittently, though you couldn't smoke or bring your drinks from outside into the room so it took a bit of negotiating to get more than two of us in there at one time. Wandered briefly into the middle dance hall, but was all a bit too much like Arq for my liking- shirtless hairless boys and not much else. Sveta played 12-3 in Trade, incredible as ever, which brought every dirty dyke and pervert in the place to the front. Danced hard, and watched the floorshow provided when a young hussy of our acquantaince was captured, stripped, and gone down upon by some of the local ladies (quite consensually of course). Oh yes, and something was happening with a chupa chup, though I couldn't quite see what! After Sveta came Lloyd (?), and more dancing.

All in all it was a great party. Is much more chilled and friendly than Sydney affairs I think, and the crowd consisted of a little bit of everything and everyone all mushed up together (one of my fave outfits of the night was a BrisVegas girl in boardshorts and a leather harness!). Had a line and a half a cap of sparkliness and so was pretty bouncy (with only a brief jelly-legs moment at the end). I didn't get up to any dirtiness at all, just a few midnight kisses from friends when the new year was counted down, but enjoyed the generally debauched flavour of the party all the same. Was perfectly happy cruising about, drinking beer and chatting and dancing and schmoozing and dancing and wandering back to the campsite and back to the party and more sitting about talking and drinking coffee in the cafe until the sun came up.

Didn't make it to the pool party. Kidney infection had really started to hit by that point and I couldn't do much but lie about in the tent all day. Did make it to Recovery though, and danced as much as the pain and exhaustion would allow, then went back to camp and lay in bed with a Nimbin cookie listening to the end of the party and the cows across the road. Nice.

Lezzos In Weird Jobs

My mate Katrina writes for LOTL and is 'looking for lesbians in unusual or unreconised professions, or lesbians that live and work with each other, to profile'. If this be you, and you are interested in being interviewed, please contact her at info@katrinafox.com . Ta!

'Take Your Tongue Out Of My Mouth...Because I'm Kissing You Goodbye'

Ah, I do love Spurs for Jesus! Went to their gig at the Hopetoun last night with an assortment of buddies, and despite not being able to dance much (very ouchy back pain from infected double-ureter-ed right kidney) had a fabulous night. There was a couple of old guys who showed the rest of us how to really bust a move! One, Bruce, was right up the front from the start, singing along, performing actions to most of the songs and doing a bizarre sort of choochootrain boogie across the floor. Then another old bloke in cowboy hat and long white hair, looking like a character from a Kenny Rogers song, proceeded to take his hat off and do a headstand, and while in this position fling his legs about in various formations. For almost a whole song. This pair got almost as many cheers from the audience as the band did. Decided I needed to take some Spurs home with me, so bought myself the Dark Side of The Saloon CD, and the very fetching t-shirt.

Am declaring The Spurs as my Official Birthday event, so hope to see a whole lot of you at The Hopetoun on the 21st, from 6pm (free gig). Still planning to go see Crackers on the Saturday, then friends are having a combined birthday/housewarming type affair so will head along to that. And don't forget that Hellfire is on the 19th, and I am more than happy to accept early birthday surprises that night!

Whores and Bitches Who Sleep With Women

Femme is the position that deliberate feminine sexual agency often occupies in queer girl subcultures. Slut is the position openly sexual single women tend to occupy in most hetero (and some homo) cultures. Ho is the position that professional sexual women occupy in this society and a number of others. But the distinctions between these particular categories often blur, many of us have occupied all three positions, and the social sanctions are damn near the same. Betcha we shop in the same stores, wrestle similar demons, carry comparable fears throughout the world. Chances are we frequently get mistaken for each other. And we will all be framed as "whores and bitches who sleep with women" the moment the nightstick comes down.
So, in my opinion, we can't talk about femme, about femininity, about anything related, without talking about ho.

- Kathryn Payne
'Whores and Bitches Who Sleep With Women'
in Brazen Femme: Queering Femininity, ed Brushwood Rose and Camilleri

Camping Out (Lismore Part Two)

Some Fruity Highlights and Lowlights:
* Daytrip out to Protester Falls (left), The Channon and Nimbin with LisIsMore (LIM), CharleyHorse and the BrisVegas Girls. Walked through the bush and oohed and aahed at the waterfall. Unfortunately there was no swimming allowed due the prescence of some endangered froggies, but was still a beautiful walk. The Channon provided icecream and lollies, and Nimbin the usual cookies. And the scenery everywhere is just... ahhh... why do I live in the city again?
* Had a moment while drinking beer at the hotel of Ms Succulent, A Certain Boy and SlamminSam and decided that I needed to clipper the sides of my hair. But with the assistance and inspiration of the Unwanted Faerie it turned out to be a little more than a trim (see above). I think it is rather fetchingly fraggle-ish, and most folk seem to agree. Nothing like a ridiculous haircut to snap me into a silly holiday mood. Just need to remember that when hair be that short, sunscreen is a good option when heading out in summer. Very red burnt head the first day!
* For a town full of hippies its not that easy to get vego food. 'You'd be in the minority' the milk-barmaid informed me when I asked if I could get the combination omelette sans ham, bacon and chicken, before telling me I couldn't have it without meat because 'they come pre-made'. Grr. Mostly the vego option seemed to consist of ordering your meal and requesting no bacon, like nobody would actually construct a meal without meat. Weird. Mighty fine sweet potato and coconut hotcakes at Dragonfly though, and pretty good coffee too, so not all lost on the culinary front.
* Setting up the party. Reckon I've earned more than a couple of Butch Brownie Points for all the lugging I did. Turned up at 8:30 on the first morning, still in glitter eyeliner and a frock from the night before, and immediately starting loading up the truck at the Trop Fruits clubhouse. Couches, chairs, tables, first aid kits, fabric, bamboo, poles, you name it, we packed it into the back of the truck and then unloaded it at the showground. Next day was more of the same, including a whole house worth of furniture. Then I helped a lovely hippy boy, who apparently was on one of the first men's communes years ago, up to the party hire place to collect a couple of fridges and a pie warmer. He had a fabulous ancient Kombi ute, with the same brown vinyl seats I remember from the van my family had when I was young, and told great stories, and the hire place had a pet flying fox (and an old woman running it who thought the party was called Topical Fruits). The workcrew are just fantastic, and as we did our shifts so early we mostly worked with the locals. They are all mad as cut snakes, superfriendly, scarily strong and multitasking geniuses, lifting large pieces of furniture with one hand while taking a mobile phonecall and puffing on a ciggie and screeching instructions to the volunteers.
* Camping under the cattle sheds. We set up in the 'debauched dyke' corner, which ended up including a motley assortment of freaks of all proclivities and persuasions. Decorated a little: strung up fabric and hung feathers and silver bows from it, and of course some of the gayboys had fairy lights. As much as I missed having a cuddlebunny, it was rather nice to have my own tent to retreat to, just flop about on he blow-up bed reading and writing and dreaming. On recovery day there was a storm and lying alone listening to the rain on the tin roof of the shed and feeling the cool breeze blowing through the flyscreen was bliss.
* Ministry of Sound. Found out there was a MoS show on at a pub in Lismore, and tried to drag the other trashpuppies I was camping with to come along. Eventually one decided to join me, and we grabbed a lift in with another friend who was meeting people there. Got there after midnight and it was sold out. Friend of a friend was a VIP, so after maybe an hour of fluffing about we squeezed our way in, just in time to hear about the last half hour's worth. Was worth the trouble just to see that many barely-legal girlies in white hotpants and silver high heels, being courted by the usual poxy teenage boys, all with pupils like dinner plates. Surreal. MoS was basically like listening to a CD, but the local DJ who came on after was darker and dirtier and so I danced my little boots off. Strange night, but fun somehow.
* Wild things. The showground was full of fun fauna: for the first couple of days a frog lived in one of the boy's toilets, we saw a few rabbits, were woken every morning to kookaburras and baby magpies schreeching, could hear possums scratching across the tin roof of the cattle shed at night, and there were lots of bats at twilight.
* Didn't get up to any ouchy-fun, although I did pierce one nipple (see above). Think some of the more vanilla lesbians at our end of the shed were a least confused by me. And safe sex. Early on one of the ACON fairies had come and deposited a whole box of gloves, a whole box of condoms and some dams. For a few days they lay in the communal area, then when I came home one night they were all assembled neatly inside the vestibule of my tent. Hint? Or gift?
* Drinking cheap champagne and red bull at the campsite. Some things only work in certain contexts, and I think this mix is one of them. As be dinner of pizza-flavoured biscuits and two minute noodles, followed by coco pops for dessert. Actually, that's a three course meal.

Tell you about the actual parties soon :)

Christmas Wrap-Up

Ah, yes, well, Christmas has been and gone for another year. And as usual, most of it was fun, with the odd stressy nervous breakdown moment. Scored myself a pile of pressies: the obligatory candle (vanilla this year), couple of DVDs , some CDs from GC, camp light, spiffing new esky, air mattress (single, hence borrowing a double!), crystal necklace, notebook with corset-lacing up the front, amazing Taschen book on wax anatomical models, another book called Brazen Femme which I shall be quoting here soon, plus some other bits and bobs. Ate a lot, including ham and chicken (four types of overboiled vegies on offer, versus six type of meats. Too much of a challenge for this little vegaquarian), plum pudding with white sauce laced with rum, fruit mince pies, random nuts and pretzels etc. Pulled bonbons and wore silly hats and read crap jokes to each other. Less cousins around to play with this year, but still a fair bit of family fun with the immediates and a motley assortment of extendeds.

Then over to This Charming Man's (TCM was formerly The Lost Boy, but reckon the poor thing deserves a cheerier title these days) place for an Orphan's Xmas. Drank much beer and played with the Hyperhounds, ate many of those weird little Pfeffernusse gingerbread bikkies and sat around the bonfire talking nonsense until the wee small hours. All turned a little pear-shaped due to my drunken confusion, but somehow sorted itself out. And so it was Boxing Day, another Christmas fulfilled...

Land of Milk and Honey (Lismore, Part One)

Found myself back in Lismore for the third time in twelve months. Sleeping alone on a double air mattress The Lost Boy bought for our Great Northern roadtrip, in a three-man tent that SauerKraut selected for ourTropical Fruits adventure. Same town, same bed, same walls, same pub (and same carpark), same pet shop, same breastpump, same party, same organic produce, same macadamias and honey from roadside stalls and same Nimbin cookies. Same hills covered in banana trees and palms.

This place is where I pumped the first real drop of milk from my breasts, and the last place it seemed possible that I could fall in love and live happily ever after in a big old house with a vegie patch and a verandah covered in fairy lights. Here I could be earth-mother, nurturer, life-giver. I could feed from my flesh and the fruits of my labour.

Zipped up in this world I have borrowed from old flames, I toss and turn. My surroundings are familiar but I can't recognise my dreams anymore.

(Photo is of a tree along the track to Protester Falls. I love the round, damp, fertile sensuality of it)

Birthday Zoo

'Tis my birthday on the 20th of the month, which conveniently is a Saturday night. Just weighing up my celebration options. Thinking I might like to head out to Olympic Park (Homebush) to see Crackers:

'The World Famous is an internationally acclaimed company of creative pyrotechnicians, with a passion for playing with fire. Their latest creation - a free event for those who dare - is definitely not for the faint of heart.The world is full of risks to be avoided. Cities are crowded, disease is rife, threats lie all around - and fireworks are too loud. We are only safe when locked in our homes. But some fools deliberately court danger by stepping outside the safety zone, playing with fire, jumping off cliffs, lighting the blue touch paper...A celebration of the explosive and dangerous beauty of fire, Crackers? is performed 'in the round', with the audience surrounded by flames, smoke, spinning wheels and fireworks. A symphony of pyrotechnic sounds fills their ears alongside moments of delicate beauty - dancing flames, glittering saxon wheels and the 'human sparkler''

And then just head on to whatever else looks like fun that night, dancing and or getting drunken and debauched. Keep it simple. Let me know if you are interested.

Graf Life

Here's a story from the Voice for those of you interested in street art. Graf Life tells the tale of 11 Spring St, a building which, 'originally designed in the 1880s to house carriages and their horses, had for many years appeared abandoned, except at night, when its windows mysteriously displayed candle-like lights. There were rumors of an eccentric inventor, of ghosts, of David Bowie. The exterior, never cleaned, gradually became a kind of wailing wall, a requisite stop not only for graffiti writers but also for a burgeoning number of street artists, a group that steadfastly shuns the gallery system. By the mid '90s, figures, faces, letters, cartoons, stickers, wheat-pasted posters, and even attached sculpture formed a wild patchwork mural that would literally change each nigh, a strange and colorful irreverence that established the Candle Building (as it had come to be known) as an internationally-known landmark.'

Dog

I learned how to bark and I learned how to bite
When you start bleeding you talk all night
Here's the place where the scent got lost

Scratched at the gate and I scratched at the ground
My hair stands up when the gate swings around
It's all comin' out into the open
And I'm lickin' your hand all over

- Hunters and Collectors
'Dog'

Bad Dog, Spurs, Kidney and Not Much Else

With maybe ten minutes or so to spare at the moment, I cannot even begin to give a proper update on my Xmas and New Year's Eve adventures! So, will just ramble about whatever is at the front of my head at the moment and give you more information and pictures and musings when I get more time :

* My kidney infection is back. Almost as painful as before, and almost as fevered. No hospital yet, though back on very strong antiobiotics and then more tests once the infection has cleared as doctor a bit freaked as to why I have a kidney infection without showing any signs of an urinary tract infection.

* Bad Dog is on the 14th of this month and I want to go. Yes, it clashes with Gurlesque but sometimes you just can't keep doing the same old same old. Here is what the BD crew say about their Summer Sports Karnival:

'Grrr, mangy mutts and pissy poodles lace up your Volleys, slide into your polyester sports shorts and get ready to hump your house colour for Bad Dog ‘Summer Sports Karnival’. Assemble in the quadrangle under your house colour at 3pm on Sunday January 14th 2007 at our rockin’ new venue ‘The Jets Sports Club’ Holbeach Ave, Tempe.

Green: Tripping Terriers and Stoner Labs
Red: Bulging Bulldogs and Crisco-ed Cocker Spaniels who like to play rough
Yellow: Moist Mongrels who refuse to be house-trained
Blue: Perverted Porno Puppies and Surfy Scrags with attitude.

Karnival Kennel Mistress, Miss Frost, and her staff will be wielding their starter pistols and megaphones for a day of all-out canine war on the sports field.
Cheating is encouraged and all losers will be winners just for one day.
For mutts with notes from their parents exempting them from participation you will remain under the shade on the dancefloor, strictly supervised by Kranky Kev’s awesome sound system.

Your Karnival House Captains are: (Green) Steve “Spike your opponent” Sonius (Red) Annabelle “Trip ‘em at the finishing line” Gaspar (Yellow) Ben “No I don’t run” Drayton & (Blue) Bill “I’ll sue you if you win” Cotsis.

Showing their true Karnival house spirit with crepe paper poms-poms and stunning visuals are Jade-star & Vandal. Locker room monitor is Trash Vaudeville.

Tickets available at $35 pre-sale from So Music (Newtown) and Spank & Machine Musik (Darlo) or $40 on the door cause you were sent home for inappropriate footwear. See ya there with your legs in the air – grrr! '

* Went to the Spurs For Jesus Christmas Eve gig at the Annandale (on my own due to disorganised, undedicated and trashbag mates all bailing out) and am utterly addicted to the fucked-up hybrid cow-punk renditions of everything from Kenny Rogers to the Boys Next Door's 'Shivers'. They have a residency at the Hopetoun Hotel every Sunday in January it seems. Just gotta buy me a cowboy hat and dust off my cuban heels and I'll be set! First is this Sunday from 6pm, entry free. Any takers? You just have to see them at least once in your time on this planet!