Sexpo and the City

A very tame photograph but I was so caught up in the event that it wasn't until the last few minutes before I had to hoof it across town for my bus that I realised I hadn't taken any photos. Cameras weren't permitted anyway but we were allowed to use our mobile phone cameras 'sensibly' ha!

The above photo shows a couple of boys from some male entertainment group. I saw their show on Thursday when I was at Sexpo to help out at The Australian Sex Party stall. Sexpo was pretty quiet that day so I had plenty of time to walk around. I saw a couple of shows that day. This all male performance though was a bit of a let-down. There were about 10 men in the show and they were all dressed in suits and they came out on stage with some kind of big black fake guns and started into a routine that seemed to be pretty violent to me. I was not aroused or should I say amused. Eventually a few of them ripped their shirts open and I thought things would get going. There were a few hot dance moves choreographed in there but mostly it was a shoot 'em up flop. Then they all stood in a line facing the crowd and the announcer said that if we wanted to see more flesh then we would have to scream for it. Well, the performers seemed to think the audience was lack-lustre and they basically turned on their dance heels and stormed off the stage in what looked to me very much like a bunch of spoiled 2-year olds having a sulk. 

When I visited Sexpo again on Sunday to help out at the SLUTwalk stall I caught this same show again just before I headed home. The Sunday crowd was muuuuch bigger and the performers responded by ripping their shirts open earlier and then ripping them off altogether and really getting into the show. They even hung around on stage longer flexing their muscles before exiting in a much more exuberant manner. 

Compare this behaviour to the female performances. I sat down for the pole-dancing show and each girl came onto the stage already in g-string, bra and heels and got right down to business making sweet love to the pole. It was great! I entered a competition for free pole-dancing lessons then and there! 

There were also video loops on big screens of earlier shows that I had missed and there was pa-lenty to see if you like female flesh. We're talking round surgically enhanced boobs and shaven vaginas sometimes artistically layered on top of each other! There was nothing left to the imagination. 

There were also plenty of women handing out flyers around the venue dressed in lingerie or little 'skirts' with more bum poking out than what was covered. I even had the pleasure of tattooing (temporary tats) to a number of breasts and one lovely behind. The tooshie belonged to a girl who was only wearing a g-string, the rest of her body was artistically painted, no nipple shield! Now, I thought all of this was fabulous. I soon felt quite comfortable around all of these scantily clad women.  

The male action consisted of a few men getting around with their shirts off most of whom were dressed in some kind of officer type outfit, e.g. FBI or SWAT team, guns and all. Whilst I appreciated the view it did kind of reek of a real macho arrogance... because the men also seemed a lot less approachable than the women and if the male performers were anything to go by they seemed to expect the women to fall to their knees in adoration whereas the female performers just got right to it and delivered every time!

Anyway, that's my little take on what I saw going on around me. I've got lots to tell you about the SLUTwalk stall but I'll save that for another day.  On my way home I was 'chaperoned' by a very friendly and drunken group of country folk 

who convinced me to pose as a planker in their series of planking attempts. I had been a little intimidated about hiking across the city by myself at night but I soon discovered that the city has many secrets and friendly havens. I bought myself a drink at a quaint English pub on the way to the station and congratulated myself for being out on my own soaking up the magic of the city.  

Update on Resignation (or have they already Ex'd me on the quiet?)

Shortly after posting this I was introduced to a secret facebook group where people are gathering to resign en masse. Their (our) Mission Statement:


Resign8: For those who believe they should leave the church because of the LDS's association with Prop8, who have been instrumental in funding the campaign to take away the rights of gay and lesbian couples in California. This group is also for those who may have already resigned and want to support those who may be considering leaving the church over this issue and for those who are NOT LDS but want to support those leaving the church. WHY ARE WE DOING THIS? The mission of the group is to rally as many members together and send the LDS our resignations EN MASS on the day the Supreme Court rules. Because the LDS church raised over $15 million dollars for YES on PROP 8 and requested that all church members "do all they can" to pass the measure. We believe this is wrong and are resigning *EN MASS* to dis-associate ourselves from the LDS church for commiting, endorsing and supporting this act of hate. Please contact the source of our mission statement for access to the Resign8 and stand with us!


Buuuut it's a secret group so to get the word out Josh Reynolds has created another group, a 'holding tank' if you will, for people to join on facebook. With a really short name for you to remember...


"Resignate: Mormon mass resign for Prop 8 pending supreme court ruling." 


So copy and paste that title into the search engine on facebook and you'll be able to click on the 'ask to join group' button. 


The reason for this extra step and the secrecy is that there are members of the group who have not revealed to their family and/or friends their disaffection from the church and/or their sexual orientation. 


So that is what I am now doing. And if the Morg decides to excommunicate me before then (or if they already have, cheeky buggers) then I really won't GAF because I'll still add my name to the mass resignation anyway. 


So a call out to all ex-Mo's, 'inactive' Mo's, never Mo's, transitioning Mo's come and join our resignation celebration if you feel like making a stand. 


Say NO to H8 and Yes to LOVE! 

Thanks to Laura Bergells for the free download of her happy heart chakra :) 

Embracing the Ugly

Prologue:


Freedom has become like a drug to me. The more I taste it the more I want it, need it. FREEDOM!
I wonder what I will do next to get another rush of new-found freedom?


...........................


Ugly:


I've seen the tired, sad puffy red eyes. no make-up. late night. early morning. All with NO hair or crap stubbly black hair looking like Jim Carey from Me, Myself and Irene. 


Choosing photos for fb or blackbikini I pick the flattering ones. I'm not brave enough to show reality. I like to talk about reality but to show it??


Yet I like to see my head. It feels like I can see me more. Even if it's not that way for other people and my daughter would prefer I had my hair back. I need to see me. I feel as though I freed myself when I cut off my hair and I think I am afraid to grow it back. I love how my head is just there! Nothing hiding its shape, its reality. My head exists. How strange that this knowledge means so much to me. That to see my head brings me some odd comfort!!! I think that within that comfort is a sense of defiance. It is bold and bare and real and definite. I cannot change it to suit other people, or even to suit myself. It is what it is. You can't change bald!

Of course, eventually it will grow but for now people (and I) have to face up to my hair and there isn't a damned thing anyone can do about it.

This may seem very melodramatic for HAIR! but I have been waiting for some emotional turmoil from the exercise and now I have been there. (It seems I just needed to wait for a round of pms to kick in and challenge the beauty myth!).

One friend had a strong reaction when they first saw me. They had not been prepared at all, hadn't seen any photos or read any status updates. They were shocked. Someone then asked them "But do you like it?"... I cringed, feeling the meaning of 'like'. As I thought about that moment later on I realised that it was/is not the point whether someone likes it or not. In fact I want at least some people to dislike it. I didn't shave my head to improve my attractiveness or to feel better about my exterior shell. I shaved my head in protest to all the bullshit that weighs people down. I did not/do not want to be held hostage to other peoples expectations.


Then there is the 'problem' of still being pretty. Like someone said to me today "You can't erase your face". I haven't always thought I was pretty but I have come to agree with my admirers; I have a pretty face. So no, I couldn't get truly into the world of ugly but I sure did try and I sure did feel ugly. And it was a struggle to see my own inner beauty but that was the point. I'd prefer to continue with this challenge for a while longer. I want to live without my hair and see where it takes me.


...



p.s. I promise not to mention my hair in my next blog post. Yes, I am also sick of reading/talking/thinking about my hair. Next post - SLUTwalk!!!


“Be excellent to each other.” -Bill and Ted’s Excellent Adventure

Baldness, Burlesque and Badges

The Hawk is gone and there is nowhere to hide. We used a number 1 guard on the clippers. I thought about shaving all the way but, well, NO. 

I took my shaven head out to the GenderFuck Ball. (Actually I still had my Hawk when we went) I felt unusually comfortable there.   I received some admiring looks and looked out admiringly in turn. There were some gorgeous dresses and hair and makeup...next time I'm dressing up!       

           

I wore a tie, pin-striped pants, lots of black eye makeup and a shirt that showed off my ample bosoms, .. a lovely mix of my masculine and feminine sides if I do say so myself. 

As you can see the lovely sexologist Claire graced us with her burlesque skillz. I think she had a dancers name but I can't recall it. We were also lucky enough to have [a]Prince perform a song for us... something about wanting our extra time and our KISS. 

For my next adventure I am off to Sexpo. First time for me. I'll be applying fake tattoos and handing out flyers for The Australian Sex Party with Daniel from Good Reason. Wish me luck. 

p.s. anyone want to be my 50th 'follower' ??? check it out up in the top right hand corner xoxo

I am (Part Two)

A bit of background as to why... and
some thoughts on being a walking freak.

I think I first considered it a possibility when I saw AngryBaker do it. Then of course there was Natalie Portman!

I had gone short before and loved the feeling. A friend posted an old photo of me on fb that I had not seen before and I loved the look (well, not the butterfly clips so much but the colour, the length).

But those were just ideas, encouragements. The real impetus?

I became aware recently that I have an innocent and vulnerable look. I speak with a smile and I have a mild lisp. I blush easily and am naturally (?) shy.  When I started going out again to pubs and clubs I soon became aware of just how vulnerable I appear. It was a little scary; as well as annoying. I know that I have moxy and I really wanted other people to see it, not just after getting to know me but straight away.

I also wanted to know how I would handle being out in the world with no hair. I have hidden behind a beautiful mass of curls for so long; have received endless comments as to its attractiveness. But I want people to see me. If I 'uglify' myself how would people respond to that? I don't want to be my hair or my breasts or my face or my ass!

People certainly see me now.  I have been getting very good service at stores etc. People fucking pay attention! Yes, people liked my long hair but they can't help but look at my mohawk and then (possibly out of guilt over staring) address me and attend to my requests straight away. I like that very much. I was starting to feel a bit invisible and now you can't help but see me. Awesome.

The sun is reallllly warm on my head. The wind is reallllly cold. The breeze on my head feels so refreshing. I feel so clean and new. For me it is an outward way of saying how I feel inside. Clean and new :)

I don't have to worry about anyone or anything messing up my hair; it simply cannot be messed up! I noticed this when I was hanging out the washing just now and my head brushed against some clothes and I backed away instinctively to protect 'the do' and then remembered that there was no 'do' to protect. Oh, and trying clothes on in the store, no need to worry about messing the hair up there either!

I have been reaching back to run my hands through my hair forgetting that it's all gone and this morning on the way to the shower I automatically reached back to take my hair thing out. As for showers, they are now a synch. No endless struggles to untangle the mass or even to just get all that hair actually saturated enough to wash!

Plus I am pretty sure that I am making up for all of that teenage rebellion that never came out. In many ways I feel like leaving my religion and accepting the unlikelihood that God exists was the moment I stopped being a child. Except that it wasn't a moment. It did take about a year. And now I see things that I am saying and doing and would describe myself a bit like an adolescent (some people would say it more strongly than that I'm sure!).

Most of all I wanted a tangible way to represent the shedding of so much emotional baggage over the last year or so. It was a way for me to physically feel a sense of release and freedom. This time not from the constraints of a religion but from my own emotional turmoil during the process of leaving. I feel that I have grown a lot in the last year. I feel ready to start reclaiming peace in my life and to begin letting go of the anger that I have felt towards the church.

...

Finally, it was like a dare I gave myself. Could I, would I fucking do it? Yes I fucking would (for explanation of sudden bursts of profanity please see the paragraph above).

I wonder if the world is secretly thinking that a 30-something year old going through adolescence is a little bit sad. So far I think that people are feeling positive about it. The instructor teaching Body Jam before my class today said my hair rocked and that everyone in the UK is doing it... So then, maybe I am just getting back to my pommy roots?!  

Hmm, today I was at a shopping centre ('Mall' in American) and had a moment where I thought - "fuck! everyone has hair!"

Then I got over it.

I am (Part One)

Each cut felt like a release. The thick matt of hair that had been growing for 7 years now lay in a heap on the floor. All those curls! It was like I was looking at a part of my body that had just been removed. I was so used to seeing those curls on me and now they were all the way down there, on the floor, not attached to me. How would they survive?

My head felt lighter. Detached. Free. 

The clippers wouldn't go through my thick gunk-covered frizz of a head so I had to wash away the weeks(!) of product and skin (euphemism for dandruff). It felt amazing to scrub away with a foaming chemical mass of shampoo and not have to fight against a tangle of wanna-be dreads. I couldn't stop. Eventually my moderately patient barber (Rockstar) said it was time. 

The rub down aka pampering time! The barber dried my hair with a towel. I must admit I hadn't thought about all of these extras. I was thinking yeah 10 minutes and it'll be done. Nope. But I liked this part very much. I suddenly realised that this experience might actually be very enjoyable, if I wanted it to be. 

This time the clippers hit their mark. My head has never been shaved before and I had a sudden panic that my head would be cut and and spew forth blood (to be fair, the last time Rockstar cut my hair he did snip my neck and leave a mark!). My barber assured me that clippers don't do that and I chose to believe him. The vibrations were soothing at first, it was relatively easy for me to close my eyes and drift off into the meditative state that I have practiced so often. I put my trust in the hands behind me and just let go. At times the vibrations became too much but a few deep breaths soon sorted that out. 

It was time to reveal. Such white skin. Was that a man? or still a woman? There was my face, staring back at me with nothing to hide behind. And my head! it has bumps and a shape of its own. 

It even has a story to tell. I have 3 scars on my head and I don't know where they came from. I will have to ask mum and dad, I remember a story about me being dropped on my head as a baby?? 

I might shave the mohawk off; it feels pretty butch. I had to try it though. 

My son loves it and wants the same cut. He keeps coming up to me and running his hand over the smooth mohawk and the rough sides. My daughter says I looked prettier before. 

Lamanite!!!

I like it. I feel like a boy though. Sometimes I look in the mirror and still see my femininity but mostly I just see that head! Luckily it is a nice shaped head. I am glad that I could set my head free and symbolically shed the weight of oppression.  I'm looking forward to the stares. I hope I don't blush too much; it really would stuff up the tough bruiser look that I've got going.