I don't believe in instant karma. Why? Because I've had phenomenal amounts of luck all my life, without working particularly hard, or being especially nice. So why the charmed life? Dunno, people have commented that I have too attractive a personality for most people to resist, to which I would say, yes, I am more amusing that 99% of the people on this planet, but is that reason enough to have the Gods smile on me? Fact is, I have always had freebies drop in my lap without sucking up to people. Which is weird.
I know some of you may be thinking, isn't this lady meant to be in Madras? Fact is, I'm not on the plane yet. I keep thinking about what my friend Sanjay said, the guy we're going to visit in Madras, who is getting married (just a small wedding, 1200 guests).
We are flying today, on Qatar Airways, and we change in Doha, where we will be stuck for three hours. So Sanjay says to me, "Whatever you do don't use the toilets in Doha."
I said, "Why?" but he wouldn't elaborate. Now, I will definitely be using the toilets there because I have the weakest bladder on the planet. Frankly, I'm not scared of the toilets in Doha airport. I have pissed in a shit encrusted hole in Morocco with the best of them.
But back to my run of good luck. Yes, it's struck again. My husband John is going to be sort of Sanjay's best man, which is great, fantastic. But what I don't understand is why Sanjay's dad is putting myself and John up in a five star hotel for the duration of our stay. To me, that is simply like winning the lottery. It is mind blowing! It does, of course, have a downside, which is that I won't be able to complain about the shabby hotel, cockroaches on the floor etc.
My experiences of travelling are simply this: it is absolutely great if you can stay in five star hotels and have people to visit who live in the country who will show you around. Otherwise it is quite simply a very smelly tedious experience.
I have done it all in terms of travelling adventures. I have slept on a beach in Spain. That was a very odd experience. Very windy with sand flying all over the place. Really quite disturbing.
Also, a friend and I, aged eighteen, stayed in the house of a very good looking Moroccan man who put us up for the night. I was quite up for a bit of slap and tickle with him, until I realized he was a psychopath. He said that he loved me and didn't want me to leave the country and locked me in his house. No fear, my friend and I escaped out of the window in the middle of the night! Sheer good luck, no?
The rest of my experiences in youth hostels and cheap hotels are pedestrian. Very smelly and stinky, apart fom one in Byron Bay, Australia, which was clean and lovely.
But one of the countless times I got really lucky was when, aged twenty, the parents of a rich friend paid for me to go with them for a two week holiday to Kenya and Tanzania.
We were on the beach in Mombasa with the richest families on earth, plus we went on safari. But I was an ungrateful bitch in those days. Because even when you're driving on the roads in Kenya, you see tons of zebras and other animals running all over the road. You see lions all over the shop. So I couldn't even see the point of going on a safari and was pretty disinterested. Anyway, the point is, it was luxury holiday and I didn't even appreciate it.
So, this time on the trip to Madras I am going to appreciate it. Sanjay's bride to be is going to get me a sari and getting me hennaed up. Oh yes, the day has dawned when I need to stop being an ungrateful cow or instant karma may get me.
So, if I don't post soon, I may have fallen down a hole in Doha airport.
You can also catch me scribbling at Scrivel here.
Monday, January 28, 2008
Thursday, January 24, 2008
I got an email today which said my blog had not been silly enough recently and could I lower the bar a little. Fair point, and since I aim to please, I'm going to do a section on minority porn. This is sectors of porn that are of interest to a very small demographic and consequently do not even have their own sites. Enjoy.
And now, alas, I must bid you all au revoir as I jet off to Madras for a vacation, (without the kids). This time next week I will be taking a tour of a coconut grove. Please don't hate me! See you all soon. Be good.
And now, alas, I must bid you all au revoir as I jet off to Madras for a vacation, (without the kids). This time next week I will be taking a tour of a coconut grove. Please don't hate me! See you all soon. Be good.
Wednesday, January 23, 2008
I was shocked by an article I just read in The Daily Mail about a goth guy called Dani, who enjoys leading his girlfriend Tasha around on a leash, who was chucked off a bus by the driver who said, "We don't let freaks and dogs like you on."
No I'm not shocked so much because the bus driver was rude to this besotted couple who go everywhere together joined at the leash. No, it was more the shock of, goodness me, are Goths still going?
Me as a psychobilly (not really) - but I did have a quiff for a while
They were definitely not a London thing when I was growing up. You had to dress like a rockabilly (we called ourselves psychobillies) when I was fourteen, then I went through a parka wearing mod phase, and after that I passed into a kind of Frankie Says Relax vortex of black and white tight skirts and pastel makeup until a hippie phase and finally baggy jeans and aaaacccciiiidd! When I first encountered clusters of goths at university they seemed to me like an alien race, reminding me rather of potatoes left in the dark to sprout. How can white makeup and eyeliner ever be sexy on a man? Can someone please enlighten me? And why are goths either super skinny or fat as hell?
Okay, so Tasha and Dani may have a case, they complained to the bus company of being "victimised" and now their complaint is being "looked into."
Yes, to some degree I am sympathetic, but I also want to say, look love, don't blame bus drivers for taking the piss if you're wearing a fashion that went out in the early nineties.
"It is definitely discrimination, almost like a hate crime," 19-year-old Tasha said yesterday. "I am a pet, I generally act animal like and I lead a really easy life. I don't cook or clean and I don't go anywhere without Dani. It might seem strange but it makes us both happy. It's my culture and my choice. It isn't hurting anyone."
A word to the wise Tasha, your crime isn't being walked on a leash by your boyfriend, it is a crime against fashion. Look at any youth fashion and it has so much more going than the goth look.
Punks were stylish in their day:
As were mods:
So, yes I would have a lot more sympathy for their dog like adoration and being kicked off the bus if they'd been say, wearing skinny jeans and mullets or whatever the kids are wearing these days.
That aside, I don't really fancy being taken anywhere on a leash myself. I wouldn't mind having a sexy guy on a leash though....like maybe this guy, if he ever puts his mixing spoon down (no of course he isn't gay):
What about you, who would you like to put on a long chain and drag around?
Monday, January 21, 2008
Today, my daughter Scarlett handed me a note which said, ‘I want more chores.’ Not wanting to deprive her of this pleasure, I gave her one of those spray cleaners and a scrubbing sponge and let her start cleaning the toilet, then the bathroom. Funnily enough, her sister Sausage and two friends who were visiting got jealous and wanted to clean too. So I designated one girl as Spray Girl, and they sprayed and scrubbed the kitchen, which was in a pretty bad state, while I ‘supervised.’
Later I showed Scarlett a rather silly book I was reading called ‘What Makes Woman Happy?’ by Fay Weldon and Scarlett replied, “Cleaning!” proof, if proof is needed that a passion for cleaning is born not made, since I am not a person who is neat, tidy or especially houseproud. But it was good to get into cleaning – or rather to let the Under Sevens' Cleaning Crew tackle my house – seeing as my in-laws arrive on Friday (they will look after the kids while we are in Madras) and it is embarrassing in front of my mother in law to look like a total slob.
Sometimes I enjoy looking at properties in the U.K. and seeing what I could afford. Imagine my glee, then, on discovering this exquisite property for only £30,000!!
It's advantages are manifold:
1. Cozy studio apartment. Would suit person with overactive bladder.
2. In the midst of a bustling city environment.
3. Includes a fully working toilet.
4. Easy access to public transport.
And yes, it may be a toilet cubicle at the Maybury Roundabout, Edinburgh....
but it is still a bargain! A spokesman for estate agents Graham and Sibbald, attempting to be funny no doubt, admitted: "We hope to be bogged down with inquiries."
My opinion is that this is a cozy but bijou property and if I don't end up snapping it up, I'd like to suggest that it would make a great holiday home for Gordon Brown?
Thursday, January 17, 2008
How will you die? Or how would you like to die? Not that you can choose, of course, but the way you die says something about your life. When you trip down the stairs and bash your head, pass out and lie in a dark house for three days. When the police have to knock down your door to find you, it says something about your life. It says you were essentially alone, in the dark all your life. Or at least that’s what it says about my dad.
I suppose you could say that the friend who alerted the police was concerned about him. But it was more likely that my dad hadn’t been paying for rounds in the local pub as usual and that’s why he was missed.
He had a girlfriend who he didn’t live with, Pamela, who resented me although she’d never met me. He had recently been diagnosed with diabetes, I suppose, because he led a ridiculously unhealthy lifestyle, drank too much, smoked too much, ate too much. You can’t keep that up forever. He was fifty-nine when the police found him, yesterday.
My granddad phoned me to tell me and I have to say I wasn’t surprised. He was frequently pissed and I am not surprised he tripped. And his whole life story has always been for me, there but for the grace of God go I. Because in the kind of weird dysfunctional story of my childhood,the odd thing is that although I really hardly ever saw him, we are very similar in personality and have a tendency towards degenerate behavior.
So just now, I phoned the solicitor dealing with my dad’s will. Dad lived in a big house in Highgate and I had stored some of my stuff in his basement before I left for Baltimore. I know Pamela had told him to get rid of the stuff because, I suppose, she wanted to erase me from his life. I phoned the solicitor because I could already see this Pamela, in my mind, a crazed woman, throwing all my stuff into a skip. So I told the solicitor I would either come over to London at some point and get my stuff or I’d arrange for it to be shipped here.
I could tell you a lot of weird stuff about my dad, but I won’t, because they say don’t speak ill of the dead. He was someone who was cut off from his emotions, he had a childhood that just fucked him up so totally that I don’t think he could function. And how people who are degenerates survive all that time is simply that he had money and could get away with it. If he’d been poor he would have ended up homeless, destitute and dead years ago.
Somewhat predictably, my thoughts have turned to the will. Whether I will just end up with a collection of odds and sods or whether I will clean up. I don’t know if I will go to London for the funeral. Maybe I should. It’s in a month’s time. I will think about it while I am vacationing in Chennai (formerly Madras. I leave for ten days next week). Also, it will be interesting to see what the autopsy uncovers.
Monday, January 14, 2008
In my opinion Michael Jackson gives a very biased view of criminal life. It's not all moonwalking and crotch grabbing.
I'm beginning to think I must have led a sheltered life. What I mean is, I always thought there was something special about criminals. They always seem so smart in movies don't they? Plotting away and not getting caught by the police (apart from in the car chase at the end). But since I have become addicted to watching a program called Cops (last night's episode was called Tased and Confused) where cops go out on the beat and tase the life out of, then arrest various ne'er do wells, I have come to the conclusion that your basic street criminal is simply a person of such extraordinary stupidity that he doesn't ever think beyond the idea of doing the crime and is always surprised and a little put out when the police catch him, say, with a sawn off shot gun in his back pocket. The replies given as to where he got the illegal item is very predictable and is usually along the lines of, "I don't know, someone must have put the gun down my trouser leg," or "this isn't my car and I have no idea why the trunk is full of cocaine."
For goodness sake, I want to shriek, don't you care about going to prison? I, for one would rather have sex with the Hoff than do time.
I myself am a very moral citizen for two reasons. One, I am too lazy to be a criminal. In some ways I do admire your average criminal/drug dealer. For instance, I used to work in a homeless shelter where many of them were heroin addicts. And there was this one guy who looked like a skeleton, who had no more veins left to inject into and who looked like he was about to keel over any day, but he had a strong work ethic and was making five hundred pounds a day by standing outside bookstores and asking people about to go in what book they wanted. They'd give him half of what the book was worth and then he'd go in and nick it for them. He'd do that all day. That's hard work, especially when all you're going to get at the end of it is a lousy shot of heroin!
The second reason I could not be a criminal is that I couldn't go to prison because I am far too neurotic. In fact, I am a bit like Paris Hilton, agraphobic when confronted with prison cells. Now, I don't know the ins and outs of what exactly the fixtures and fittings are like in prisons, but I'm pretty sure than unless you're a serial killer (they get all the perks) you are not going to be put in a cell on your own. (Actually, I saw a program about a serial killer the other day who was put in a cell with another man and his cellmate kept bragging how he'd killed his mom and laughing about it. The serial killer couldn't bear his cellmate's 'disrespect towards women' so he tore up a sheet, wrapped it around his cellmate's neck and effectively had the last laugh. After that, the serial killer was in solitary confinement, because the other guy was dead).
But I digress. Where was I? Ah yes, why I could never go to prison. I don't care that Martha Stewart tried to glamorize it. I am pretty sure I'd have to share a toilet with another inmate. And I don't want to. And I don't want to think about the food. I can't share a room with anyone for more than a day and in prison sometimes you have to share for years.
But your average criminal simply doesn't care about going to prison, which is a shame. If criminals were more like me and valued a fresh toilet bowl, crime figures would plummet.
Stupid criminals give the criminal game a bad name. I really think that if you can't cut it, you should get out of the game. For example, those who can't play a guitar content themselves with playing air guitar and those that are terrible in bed take part in air sex competitions (see below). In the same vein, those who haven't got the wherewithal to not get caught by the police should simply do air crimes, enacting crimes in a theatrical fashion (maybe the Japs could start a competition for this too).
Wednesday, January 09, 2008
Q: What is the Toronto Trim?
No it's not a new type of pubic hairstyle, it's actually a new cosmetic procedure where you clip off bits of your labia. Toronto Doc Robert H. Stubbs pioneered the technique. Apparently, for the past 12 years, women have come to him from all over North America to have their labia minora -- the flaps of skin that form the lips of a woman's genitalia and surround the clitoris and vaginal opening -- reduced.
It's not a cosmetic alteration that ranks up there in popularity with breast augmentation, but recently Dr. Stubbs has been performing the surgery more than ever -- as often as once a month.
A recent issue of Cosmopolitan magazine declared that "sexual-enhancement" surgery such as labiaplasty and vaginal tightening (which Dr. Stubbs also performs) is the hottest trend in plastic surgery.
Dr. Stubbs chalks up interest in labiaplasty to a prevailing hyperaesthetic: after all the benchmarks of beauty have been obtained -- Barbie Doll breasts, youthful face, sporty thighs -- it appears that for a certain segment of female society, tidy genitals are worth the $1,500 to $2,500 price tag. If the labia are oversized, asymetrical, too loose or triangular, they don't measure up to the ideal and are a candidate for cutting.
But aesthetic motives are only half the story, according to Jane (not her real name), who called from somewhere in the United States and wouldn't say where.
The 37-year-old athletic professional said she recently flew to Toronto and had the operation for reasons that were 50% aesthetic and 50% physical.
Oversized labia are uncomfortable, Jane said. "I experienced physical discomfort during sex. And I would feel pinching while riding a bike or a horse."
After this I read some crazy plastic surgeon justify his work by saying: "the major reason women consider this operation (labiaplasty) is discomfort in clothing. When labia minorae get really large, they hurt in underwear and can give the appearance of a "package" in gym clothing."
What?? Has anyone ever seen a woman with a package in her lycra?
Okay, my take on this is that it is wrong, it is SO WRONG. I mean, fine, have your internal vagina tightened if it's been stretched out by childbirth, because there's actually a medical point to that, but having your labia retooled to some bizarre porn aesthetic is just plain wacko. What happens, you take a pic of a porn mag in and say: I want a labia just like this (I believe many porn stars have this stuff done). Also some people have a hoodectomy where the clitoral hood is removed for the purpose of increasing sexual stimulation and satisfaction. I'm afraid I had to cross my legs when I read about that. Again, crazy!
And what about all those liberals who scream about how wrong female circumcision in Africa is? I don't think there's much difference between a labiaplasty and female circumcision in Africa, especially since I've read that sensation is reduced with any kind of vaginal surgery.
This issue aside, I don't really know where I stand on plastic surgery generally. The reality is that women, especially, are judged by their looks and I do think if you are genuinely ugly you should have plastic surgery if you can afford it. I know that is a controversial view but if you watch things like Extreme Makeover really ugly people with acne who have never had a boyfriend in their lives really do look so much better after having the acne removed with laser surgery, nose job, eye lift etc. Unfortunately ugly women who have spent their whole lives being wall flowers will undoubtedly not be psychologically ready to deal with all the leches and creeps that will start following them around after they have been transformed (in shows like Extreme Makeoever you also get a pair of basketball tits thrown in too).
But as for cosmetic surgery just because you are pretty and want to look better, in many ways it is just weird and almost a psychological disorder.
I was thinking actually, about the labiaplasties. Maybe the guys who do the penis extensions could work next door to a labiaplasty place and then take the offcuts from the women and insert them into the men. Do you think I should patent this idea?
Monday, January 07, 2008
Hillary Clinton isn’t exactly known as a raunchy lady, so it was quite fun to see her letting loose and being shafted by a black man the other day in Iowa. Apparently, she enjoyed it, because she’s going to meet him in New Hampshire to receive another pounding tomorrow, the dirty little minx!
Yes indeed, although I am usually apathetic at best about politics, seven years of the dreadful Dubya in office has made even a cynic like me start getting excited as the horses gallop out onto the paddock in this electoral race. If I was going to vote, I’d be looking for brains plus charisma plus vision (or at the very least, as Meatloaf once sang, “two out of three ain’t bad.”)
Yes, someone who has a rousing vision of a new and better society could make even me rush to the ballot box and cast my vote (had I the right to vote, which I don’t). Charisma makes people root for you and brains are what you need so that you actually know what you are talking about when you read your prepared speech. Right now, my vote would go to John Edwards, not saucy Hillary. I want to like Hillary because she’s not a bad sort, but she’s strictly Charisma 0, and yes, she has brains, but she has those tedious dry legal brains that make you tune out when she talks. There’s no vision there, no imagination. And a voice as irritating as nails scraping down a blackboard. In the Iowa Caucus (where she came third), mostly over sixty fives voted for her, and I reckon that was just little old ladies who were like, “Let’s vote for this woman because it’s about time a woman had a go and we might be dead before the next election!” Which is not a good enough reason to vote for her, in my opinion.
In other news, an actress is trying to sue the jewelry company she made this ad for. She wants $5 million because she says it makes her look lewd. She claims she was duped when she was told to ‘act all excited like she would if she was given a particularly nice bit of jewelry’. Evidently she was thinking of a diamond encrusted vibrator during the take. I think this may be one of those cases where the lady did an advert because she was hard up and then saw the advert and thought, “Oh dear, I do look a bit like a third rate porn actress. Maybe I could get this taken off the air and make a few million dollars to boot?” Do you think she has a case?
I think Hillary could still get somewhere if she could get a bit of passion into her speeches by taking a leaf out of the book of that actress. If not, Hillary has pretty much a snowball’s chance in hell of becoming the first female president. What say you?
Wednesday, January 02, 2008
My dear pal Ms. Robinson, has oft commented on why, seeing as I am a mother, I do not write about mothering subjects like how excited I am that my souffle has risen. Well, I'm afraid Ms. R, that that's simply not the way I roll. Mothers are, by and large, extremely dull and worthy individuals and I am, well, not. I have, with a pick axe managed to pick through the heaps of dullards to find mom friends who are nuttier than fruitcakes, although some of them are so mad that they induce toothache, like those gummy raisins that stick between your teeth and are impossible to pick out. To give you a prime example, I will tell you about my mommy friend Tasha.
Now, I went to a party with Tasha on New Year's Eve with her daughter, her boyfriend Max, my kids, my husband etc. For some reason that now escapes me I didn't get drunk and so I just observed everyone around me making fools of themselves. Tasha is a hot little piece, only five foot tall, with a bob, and was wearing a mini dress (with tights).
So, Tasha is getting trashed and her boyfriend Max, is talking to me about how he needs to lose weight and I say, "Well you should try to go to the gym after work," and he says, rather matter of factly "I can't do that, because if I don't get home at five Tasha would be fucking around."
"Oh? What makes you think that?"
"Oh, she's like that. She messed around behind her husband's back in her last marriage."
I wasn't sure what to say after that so I decided to cross the room to seek out my friend Annabelle, who is thirty-six and has just come back for a holiday from Swaziland, where she has started working as a doctor at an AIDS clinic. Now, Daisy, Annabelle's sister, had told me that Annabelle had met a twenty-four year old South African in Swaziland who has raised her spirits considerably. Wow, I think, as soon as I see Annabelle, who looks so happy she looks like she is about to explode.
Now, you may well ask, was the spring in her step caused simply from moving from Manhattan to Swaziland? To which I will reply, poppycock! Before I so much as spoke to her I could tell that this was a very straightforward example of the power of cock. Yes men, 'tis true, cock can do wonders!
The Annabelle saga actually made me have faith in the human race again. Because Annabelle has a rather unfortunate history. She was married to a man who left her for another man. And then on top of that, Annabelle was still living in Manhattan and hanging around with her ex-husband and his boyfriend and going to see opera with them, and wasn't dating anyone for about five years and more or less became agraphobic and bought a cat and her hymen got all covered in cobwebs and we all thought that was it for old Annabelle.
And then she moves to Swaziland and meets this young buck and the power of cock does the business!
Anyway, I'm trying to get over to Annabelle but I get waylaid by Tasha who is staggering about. I say, "I simply don't think I'm drunk enough to ask Annabelle what her new boyfriend is like in the sack."
"What nationality is he?"
"Shit! I slept with a South African once and his penis was literally unbelievably huge, like, as wide as a coke can. You could only get about a third in."
"Holy fuck! You mean you were stuck on the top like on a pogo stick?"
"Yeah. It was really awful."
At this point Annabelle comes over. "Oh Annabelle," I say, "Tasha was just saying she slept with a South African who had a humongous dick. Oh and by the way how's it going with your new boyfriend?"
"Oh it's good! It's wonderful!" she said. "But it's just averagely sized!"
How marvellous, eh, that she was able to throw her spinsterhood in the trash as soon as she was ridden by this young buck. It quite brought tears to my eyes!
At this point my husband and I left the party without the kids. Yes, Tasha had offered to take Sausage to stay at her house (don't worry, Max was driving), and Scarlett was staying at Daisy's house. Which left me free to go to sleep and HAVE A LIE IN UNTIL 11 O'CLOCK the next morning, plus have a leisurely day doing the horizontal tango in bed with John. To top off that heavenly day we had a boozy dinner and then went to pick up the kids. Heaven on earth or what? I have such tremendous friends!
And now, please, raise your glasses to the power of cock!