Friday, March 19, 2010
New Chapter
A new header ^^^^^^
A new profile picture >>>>>>>
A new attitude and direction.
Had a new date tonight. A yummy, yummy pilot. Sexy mother fucker. Articulate. Sexy. Funny. Smart. Handsome. And the man can eat a pussy! I cannot wait to fuck this man. After the flirting at the bar, the kissing at the bar and the groping at the bar…I could hardly contain myself. Check please! But I needed to get going…because I have shit-loads to do tomorrow AND I wanted to make him wait. I know. I’m a swinger. Making them wait doesn’t really matter…but it does. This guy can dig a seduction.
We get into the truck and start kissing…one thing leads to another and my pants are down by my ankles and his face is firmly planted in my crotch. He enjoyed smelling, tasting and feeling my pussy. I love a man who can enjoy the, true, scent of a woman. I was totally turned on. But I had to go and he had been up since 4 a.m., working…it was time to go. But with the distinct promise to get together again, VERY SOON. Yum.
AND I have a new date on Saturday night! Well, I’ve met this couple before and Saturday night is our first intimate date. Their names are Nancy and Frank. Nancy and I went shopping last week…and tried on lingerie together.
I’m really looking forward to our supper and our dessert. “Yes, I’d like the cute couple with chocolate sauce on the side – for dipping!”
Naturally, there will be details…
Wednesday, March 17, 2010
The Main Course
you think i want you for my lover?
that would be nice, don’t get me wrong, that would be… nice.
but really i would only be softening you up
for the main course
i would only be marinating you to be served at God’s table.
you see, i want your freedom
more than anything
more than your hands on my body
more than your breath inside me
more than your warm, deep kisses
you thought you could come to Kali’s house
and play with fire
without getting burned up
on the cremation grounds?
what were you thinking?
the Mother is dancing, naked, laughing,
bathed in ashes, grieving your death
while you are still here breathing.
She is celebrating your death,
while you are still clinging desperately
to all your ideas of who you are.
and you still think I want you for my lover.
Stupid! I want to mesmerize you with bliss
until you drop your guard for just a moment
until you slip for just a moment
into surrender
into surrender
for just a moment
and then I’ll pour what’s left of you
into God’s mouth
like the finest red wine
to wash down the meal
and you and God will be so happy then
like two lovers after hours and hours of love
punctuated by a perfect feast
prepared by the Chefs of Heaven
with warm tummys
resting entwined
engulfed devoured
happily exhausted
breathing together
like the waves
of the ocean
yes, you and God will be so happy then
that it will not matter what I did to get you there
you’ll forgive me,
laughing and crying all at once
for how I tricked you
you’ll forgive me for tricking you
into believing
i was just a woman who wanted you
for my lover
and you’ll know it’s true then–
i could never only want that
i could never only want that
because once you see
once you know
once you feel the bliss of God
you’ll know, that really,
all this human lovemaking is just…
well… it’s just for practice.
–Murshida VA
Monday, March 15, 2010
Look! Lady GaGa's Naked And We STILL Think She's A Man....
The whole Lady Gaga penis/hermaphrodite rumour has been going on since the pop tart popped out of her dress at a festival appearance last month, and whilst she might have hoped her latest music video might have quashed those rumours, she isn’t really so lucky.
At the start of her new nine minute music video with new BFF Beyonce, GaGa hauls herself onto the prison bars with her legs open for everyone to see, before a guard comments “I told you she didn’t have a dick.”
Now to folks watching, that might seem like the end of that debate and a new start for Lady GaGa being classed as an actual Lady; but look again, even though we see GaG’s getting up off the bed onto the bars, the body we see with splayed legs Doesn’t actually have a head… so how do we know it’s GaGa?
Presumably she made this video so that people like me would notice the obvious head omission and give her some more publicity, great – after all, GaGa doesn’t seem to care what people say, providing she get’s some newsprint… so TaDaa.
Now we’re really confused as to what to think, is GaGa trying her best t prove she’s not a man, or is she quite happy to let people make their own assumptions about her? It looks as though the question over whether she’s a Martha or Arthur remains to be answered…
Ruth. xx
Wednesday, March 10, 2010
Sexually provocative music videos should be banned until after 9pm...
I am not a fan of the politically correct, do-gooder, outcrying, NIMBY type of parents who tend to think the government, telly, schools, big corporations and other institutions should raise their kids for them. However, this is not a post about them. This is a post about the group of
Click here to read the original article.
Click here to see a video of Justine Roberts, founder of Mumsnet.
Direct link to the Mumsnet campaign.
Oh, Cosmo.
When grocery shopping it is inevitable to find yourself at the checkout line — unless you’re a thief that gets in and out with the quickness. At said checkout line, you are bombarded with magazines: tabloids, health, cooking and other. I group magazines like People and Disney Adventures in “other” because they don’t interest me. But every once in awhile, there is that one magazine that glows like a beacon, willing you to stare at it and take in its utter stupidity.
Ladies and gentlemen, I give you:
"How to Touch a Naked Man": Step 1: Get man naked. Step 2: Touch his penis. Step 3: THE END.
Cosmopolitan is adult version of Tiger Beat, if Tiger Beat focused on brow-beating women into having even lower self-esteem. From their airbrushed cover models (nothing new in the biz, as I just coined the magazine business) to the fluffy articles on makeup, interpersonal relationships and MEN!, Cosmo is the Carlos Mencia of pandering interchangeable creaky stereotypes to make you likable — damn that whole having a unique personality thing.
Anywho, the cover above makes me laugh for the same reasons that people somehow enjoy Jay Leno’s vacant brand of comedy. If you need a vapid magazine to teach you how to touch a naked man — and speaking for myself, I’m pretty easy — that you have somehow found yourself in his presence (I won’t ask on the account of any pending lawsuits you might have), perhaps you can find other resources to stare blankly at: books, friends, the internet, the local meter maid.
I don’t know who else could be buying these every month, but maybe they can give me 50 reasons why they want to have THE MOST MIND-BLOWING ORGASMS – IN BED!
Friday, March 5, 2010
Monday, March 1, 2010
The Way They Were: Egon and Wally
Yesterday I was reminded that I had a bunch of these “Way They Were” entries planned and had only followed through on one (Jayne and Mickey). That’s cowardly. I’m going to try to motor through more in the coming months.
“Sitzende Frau mit hochgezogenem Knie”/”Seated woman with bent knee”, 1917.
Although artist Egon Schiele had been separated from Valerie “Wally” Neuzil and married to Edith Harms for two years by the date of this painting, most everyone agrees this is from an earlier study of Wally. It looks too much like her not to be, and he uses the colors that are associated with the Wally work. It’s my favorite work by him. It was on the cover of the Schiele book that my husband, who is a painter, had at our house in Portland, and was the entire reason I found myself opening and reading the book one day. I was interested in Schiele’s work, which is provocative and weird and has many shockingly modern features, all things I like, but, because his life was tragically cut short by disease, his career arc is brief. Coming away from the slim book about his life and art, I felt that his work was dominated by the chief feature of his life, which is to say in a nutshell his time with the real love of his life, which he royally fucked up, and it was the story of that, of Egon’s eventually jacked-beyond-repair relationship with Wally Neuzil that really sucked me in.
“Das Modell Wally Neuzil”/”The model Wally Neuzil.” 1912.
Artist Egon Schiele and his model, Valerie “Wally” Neuzil, were together from 1911 to 1915. He met her in Vienna when she was seventeen and he was twenty-one. Supposedly they were introduced by Gustav Klimt. Supposedly she had been Klimt’s mistress before she got together with Schiele. These things are all conjecture because everyone involved is dead, and they happened before the Great War, which so influenced the German-speaking art world in the years just following it that anything which contributed to or influenced an artist’s work before the War kind of fell by the wayside until later generations resumed their scholarship of turn of the century artists. That’s fair. Such radical changes happened during and after the War that I imagine it seemed crazy, outdated, and irrelevant to really consider too deeply the little emotional outbursts and criminal trials that came before the dramatic political events of the 1910’s and 20’s that literally reshaped the landscape.
“Rothaarige hockende Frau mit grünen Strümpfen (Valerie Neuzil)”/”Crouching figure with green stockings” (Valerie Neuzil).” 1913.
Egon and Wally left Vienna because they considered it too oppressive. They sought an inspirational, romantic, and bucolic lifestyle of freedom in the countryside, moving to Krumia — which also had the more practical benefit of much cheaper rent than Vienna — where, though Schiele’s mother was born there, they were summarily run out of town not too long after for being a little too inspirational, romantic, and bucolic: they’d been using the town’s teenagers as “models”. There’s a Schiele museum there now, so I guess that, like cream cheese, their hearts eventually softened to a spreadable cracker topping. That analogy got out of control in a hurry. It’s almost time for me to grab lunch, sorry.
“Wally in roter Blouse mit erhobenen Knien”/”Wally in red blouse with raised knees.” 1913.
Essentially fleeing the angry mob in Krumia, Egon and Wally moved again, this time north to Nuelengbach, where it was apparently same shit, different day, as they were not there even six months and Schiele was arrested for seducing a minor. Once in custody, they dropped that charge (apparently the young lady changed her tune when the absinthe wore off?) and an abduction charge the parents had insisted be levied originally, and instead tried and found him guilty of displaying inappropriate art in a place where minors could see it. He was released from prison after serving twenty-four days in April 1912 — are you getting the idea of what an awesome prince he was? such the lucky girl, that Wally — and they moved back to the Vienna area.
“Auf einem blauen Polster Liegende mit goldblondem Haar (Wally Neuzil)”/”Reclining female figure with gold blonde hair on a blue pillow (Wally Neuzil).” 1913.
Settled with Wally in Heitzing, a Viennese suburb, Schiele wrote to a friend in early 1915 that he was going to marry one of the Harms sisters, two locksmith’s daughters named Edith and Adele who lived across the street from his studio, for money. I guess running around for three years painting erotic pictures and pissing people off while sleeping with teenagers and doing jail time had not turned out to be the lucrative life of luxury he’d anticipated; the cash flow was getting low, and, despite that he considered Wally his partner and soulmate, marrying for money was Schiele’s timeless solution to their financial woes. He followed through on this, marrying the older of the daughters, Edith, on June 17, 1915, exactly 91 years before my own wedding day.
“Frau in Unterwäsche und Strümpfen (Valerie Neuzil)”/”Woman in underwear and stockings (Valerie Neuzil).” 1913.
A few days after his wedding, Schiele was called to the war, but managed to always serve in Austria, so he was able to continue with his art and stay close to his ties in Vienna. Wally had broken up with him when he told her he was getting married. Schiele wrote to friends expressing shock and grief: he’d actually expected her to understand and stay with him. He wrote a letter to Wally asking her to meet him at a billiards parlor that he liked to go to. There he gave her another letter, proposing that every year they go on an extended holiday, without his wife. She did not write back or respond positively to this. Instead, she left him and never saw him again.
“Frau mit schwarzen Strümpfen – Valerie Neuzil”/”Woman with black stockings – Valerie Neuzel.” 1913.
I was furious when I read this. I still remember sitting in my little house in Portland and my jaw dropping, and my blood boiling, all this anger and resentment simmering in me, directed at people I never met who’d been dead nearly a century, but I couldn’t help it. I hate him for marrying someone else, I hate him and I hate the story of how they were because it reveals that through all that time they spent together, Schiele must have considered Wally lower than him, and though she stood by him , asshole though he could be, he thought her to be the unimportant one, expendable and suppressable, and he literally threw her away like garbage even though she was the best thing that had happened to him; his drawings of her are the best things he did. But that is how some stories are, and I deserve to feel angry because I need to accept that, I have to work through my sadness about the fact that nothing and no one has ever been perfect not even for a day or an hour or a moment, every joyful thing is secretly riddled through with the knowledge that this is so good now because there will be pain later and every lucky penny has a tail side of the coin, and if I have to search my soul and see if there is any gold in the dross of this love story that I in my infantile understanding of human nature found so devastating than I guess I must say that I do love that Schiele really loved Wally in an incredibly broken way, and had that time with her in which there must surely have been good moments.
Photograph of Wally and Egon from the Schiele Museum online.
Schiele died only three years after his breakup with Wally, on Halloween 1918, in an influenza epidemic which had several days earlier killed Edith and their unborn child. He passed away completely unaware that Wally Neuzil had herself succumbed to death from disease around Christmas of the previous year. She’d become a nurse for the Red Cross and, stationed at Split in Dalmatia, she caught scarlet fever from one of her patients and died in the same hospital at which she’d been working for over a year.
Friday, February 26, 2010
Valentine Vixen -- Pamela Anderson, Miss February 1990
Very, very special Valentine Vixen. The lovely and talented, and in my book unendingly wonderful with so much more to her than the surface by which she is constantly judged, Pamela Anderson was Miss February 1990. Pammy was only 23 years old, she had just moved to Los Angeles after living most of her life in tiny Comox, B.C, Canada, and her interview will just about break your heart.
Photographed by Arny Freytag.
She was discovered by accident while being her gorgeous and naturally attention-grabbing self at a simple sporting event.Pamela took in a B.C. Lions football game in Vancouver and made a national spectacle of herself. Duded up in blue, the signature color of Labatt’s Beer, she caught the eye of a national-TV cameraman. Football fans all over Canada called the network to inquire about the sideline stunner at the Lions game. Next thing she knew, Pamela was a Labatt’s poster girl. (“B.C. Beauty.” Playboy, February 1990.)
To keep her wits about her, she kept a journal in which she recorded her experiences. “This is the beginning of a new life for me,” she wrote. She worked as a model and studied airline routes in her spare time. She got her certification as a travel agent, just in case her plans for an even bigger move didn’t work out. (Ibid.)
She kept up the journaling and also expanded to other writing, too. She used to be a regular contributor to Jane magazine back when I subscribed because I was, like, sooooo counterculture and didn’t need any typical beauty magazines (Jane is now owned by Glamour so in my face) to tell my oh-so-over-it ass how to catch boys and flutter my eyelashes, thank you very much, and Pam’s editorials cracked me up. She can be wickedly sarcastic, and turned most of her wit on herself, totally willing to mock the image but then turn around and reveal this sweet and sensitive side, too. Very cool.
She now studies scripts the way she once pored over airline schedules, and more than one casting director has told her she is sure to go far. This, though, is her first big break. (Ibid.)
“Hollywood people are dreamers. Always grabbing for something big. I’m a dreamer, too, so I guess I belong here.” (Ibid.)
Damn. “I’m a dreamer, too, so I guess I belong here.” Think about all the total shit she has been through, the complete Hollywood wringer that has spun her around and wrung her out again and again since she said that in 1990.
Dating abusive and disease-ridden scummy cads, overindulging in the sea of substances that surrounded her rock and roll lifestyle, getting out and keeping her kids clean, being lambasted left and right for her body, judged solely on her looks; having her every move under scrutiny and criticized constantly as if she is some empty-headed set of shellacked boobs and nothing more, when really she is this sensitive and hilarious writer with a huge soft spot for animals and abused children, it’s like — the crux of injustice. Man. Excuse me, I … I have some dust in my eye.
Pamela Anderson has been for many years a highly visible spokesperson for PETA, People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals. Yes, I know PETA is not perfect. No, I don’t need to hear about it, because, like I just said, I know. Many nonprofits run in to choppy waters when they are closely investigated and PETA, because its beneficiaries cannot speak for themselves, comes under close scrutiny and is found lacking very often in public forums. Got it. But can we at least agree that it is really cool that Pam Anderson took on the mantle of ambassador to animals years ago and has stuck with it through thick and thin, both in her career and her cup size? I think that is admirable and demonstrative of her sensitivity and persistence.
Bardot and Pammy. Many similarities. Strong, opinionated blonde sex symbols under whose famously nice racks beat determined hearts of gold.
Since two legendary blonde bombshells and all ’round inconic sex goddesses are better than one, Brigitte Bardot and Pamela Anderson have now united to call for an immediate end to the Canadian seal hunt. (“Pamela Anderson and Brigitte Bardot Unite: ‘Love Seals, Don’t Club Them!’” 13 Feb 2008. PETA2 Daily Blog.)
This afternoon while visiting the Brigitte Bardot Foundation in Paris, Pamela filled in for Mme Bardot (who is ill and can’t travel at the moment) and held a press conference publicly condeming the seal hunt and everyone who wears or designs fur. (Ibid.)
The seal hunt, which runs from November through May, really is fucking gross and awful. If you live in one of the five remaining geographical areas that still have it, I don’t want to tell you how to live your life, but holy hell, write a letter or something, would you? That shit is purely against God’s will, I’m almost positive. It’s got me all kinds of cussing in disgust over here.
The final quote from the interview with Playboy is really heartbreaking.
“I hope that when people see me in Playboy,” she says, “they’ll see more than the surface. I hope they’ll see a Comox girl reaching for a dream.” (“B.C. Beauty.”)
That is just exactly the way of it, you guys. So maybe the next time you are in a group of people and someone makes an allusion to Pamela analogizing her to trash or implying she is some blonde bimbo, perhaps you will remember that she is a sweet, poetic soul from a small town who has never meant anyone harm a day in her life, and you can step up like a gentleman hero and tell that hater to shut their ignorant piehole.
Wednesday, February 24, 2010
Valentine Vixen -- Cherie Witter, Miss February 1985
The lovely and talented Cherie Witter was a seasoned model by the time she posed for Playboy as Miss February 1985, and I’m happy to report she was born in the same neck of the deep dark crick gypsy needleleaf rainforest as myself!
Photographed by Richard Fegley and Arny Freytag.
Modeling takes, as Cherie would say, “a major amount” of dedication. Especially in an area that’s somewhat off the beaten track for the fashion industry. The towns where Cherie grew up — Marysville, Everett, Edmonds, Bellevue — appear only on fairly detailed maps of the hilly farm and forest land, lakes and seashores surrounding Seattle. (“Cherie On Top,” Playboy, February 1985.)
Although it’s a picturesque area, it hasn’t been a center of fashion since the boom days of the Klondike gold rush. Of course, few people today wear miners’ boots. And with the gold all but played out, people in Seattle have been forced to build ships and planes, catch fish and harvest timber. (Ibid.)
Erm, that’s a fairly inaccurate depiction of the history of the Pacific Northwest (did they seriously leave out Lewis and Clark? and how on earth was any part of the Klondike Gold Rush to do with fashion? it was dudes in flannel and gumboots, my friend, and whores in eight layers of clothes against the cold — read Call of the Wild, dumbasses), but I’ll take it.
The rest of my family being born where our deep roots lay, in Northeastern Washington and the very far north woods of Idaho, makes me very smug and proprietary about the Puget Sound — I believe only my cousin Richie shares the coast of Washington as our birthplace, among the, like seventy of us cousins and our kids. Rich was born in Marysville and I was born in Bremerton.
I found a very dicey and suspicious fan tribute page to Ms. Witter on the myspace which looked too scammy for me to link to, but I found her legit facebook and will share only that she now lives in a really gorgeous town further up the Puget Sound called Mukilteo. I’ve been through it only once in my grown-up memory, but it’s beautiful country — a lot of the landscape cinematography and ferry scene stuff for the American film version of The Ring (Gore Verbinski, 2003) was shot around the area.
Knowing the proximity of Mukilteo to Bremerton, up in that there ol’ Sound, I decided to test Google’s ability to use the ferry system in its directions. The Sound consists of dozens and dozens of peninsulas and islands connected by a spotty system of bridges which span the “narrows” —our colloquial term for straits of water slim enough across so you can see one another’s buildings but deep and riptidey enough that if you drove you’d sink and if you swum you’d drown— but it’s often quicker to shoot around on the reasonably efficient ferry transit system.
Also, you can see orca whales. I’m not kidding. It’s amazing. They come right around either side of the boat in good-sized pods and circle and flip and do all kinds of shit. They are kind of show-offs. They scared the heck out of me when I was a kid because of their teeth, though.
So I typed in a query for directions from Mukilteo to Bremerton in Google and … FAIL. Google maps and driving directions, on the first shot out of the gate, told me to drive a crazy-stupid-lengthy route around I-5S to 16-W, the lonnnng way, from Mukilteo to Bremerton. This is extra stupid, because anyone who lives in the area will tell you Mukilteo is a pretty popular transport hub for the ferries.
If Ms. Witter weren’t so beautiful, this would hecka just look like one of those cheap Glamourshots from the mall, yes?
But I will give the site credit for eventually recommending the way I would’ve instinctively gone, which is to drive down to Lynnwood and Edmonds, take the Kingston-Edmonds ferry, get to the Kitsap Peninsula, then drive 104 to 3 into Bremerton. Duh. (Sarcasm.) Look, I don’t get to be “smarter” than google very often, so give me my moment! Speaking of smart, Ms. Witter had this to say about people’s perceptions of her intelligence based on her looks, an important lesson in not judging, no matter whether the subject of your judgment is, in your estimation “a dork,” or a beautiful idiot:
Oh my saltines, so dang adorable.
“I feel as if, at times in my life, I’ve been fighting what I have on the outside. I feel that, when people meet me, I don’t really have a chance to let them know what I’m about, or to prove that I’m worth knowning. And I don’t like having to prove that to people.
“But a lot of people who meet me are surprised. And they tell me they’re surprised; that’s what’s funny about it — they’re honest. They say, ‘I’m surprised, really surprised that you have not only your looks but you have something upstairs too.’ I like that.” (Ibid.)
What? She has a slicker on. Get off her back. Totally de rigeur apple picking attire. Perfectly normal.
In one of those great little coincidences that somehow abound in the small world of Playboy (the more you investigate the playmates, the more fun connections pop up), here’s a brief cross-pollenation note about the cover of Ms. Witter’s centerfold issue:
Also, please note the interview with then-29-year-old Steve Jobs. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: “the articles are interesting” is more than just a timeworn excuse for ogling titties.
The brain-asplodin’ly cute model posing in the chaps and spurs is the lovely and talented Julie Michelle McCullough, who appeared in the “Girls of Texas” spread in this issue of Playboy and returned a year later to headline her own spread as Miss February 1986. And guess who was on her cover that February issue one year later?
(you have already seen this picture but I’m posting it again for comparison’s sake)
Cherie Witter! I guess they have each other “covered”? Cherry pop tarts, I sure hope for all our sakes that’s the worst pun I make today. But no promises. Anyway, how about that? Pretty great. Stand-up comic and good-time gal Julie is one of my all time faves, so here’s another link to the feisty “funny bunny,” who, just like Ms. Witter and so many of the great playmates I’ve gotten to highlight this month, is walking and talking proof that beauty and brains aren’t mutually exclusive.
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