A Fashionable Firing.

Je suis désolé for my silence ya’ll, I have been slightly preoccupied with horrible assignments, environments and people acupunctur-ing me with their dark clouds of insecurity (otherwise known as See you Next Tuesdays).

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As we all know though, haters are always gonna hate, and I aint’ got the time to occupy a seat on that train.

Whilst trying to dodge bullets and rise above like the Mother Theresa/ free loving, care free- cool cat that I (barely) am, I have also been debating my views over the Bruce Jenner saga.

I have to take my hat off the her/him for choosing the ideal time to change his identity and turn his families world upside down. With the outburst of activism occurring everywhere, I guess it’s acceptable.

…stick with me!

Of course things needs to change. Of course white privilege is fucked, as is gender inequality and the stigma associated with ‘alternate’ sexualities. I talk about this stuff daily. I work with marginalised peoples because it’s where my passion lies.

But I’m only human. And if I were Kris Jenner, I wouldn’t be on Bruce’s praise train.

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If I had been married to a man and had his babies, I absolutely would not be happy if he grew boobs!

Kris was filmed crying, saying she felt as though her relationship with Bruce was a lie— a horrendous, heart breaking experience. And the masses responded by taking the piss; deeming her selfish, uncaring etc etc.

Political correctness is clearly fashionable. And like all trends, it has its flaws.

In my opinion, there is nothing uglier than speaking to someone differently, altering what we do or do not discuss, or holding back from being our authentic selves, because of someones skin colour, sexuality, choice of shoes or religion.

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I am lucky to be surrounded by friends of all colours and ‘subcultures’, because we have crossed paths, NOT because of their token ‘alternativeness’.

One of my cultured pals hails from Mumbai and attends mass weekly. We have been friends for six years and read each others minds… So much so that I can see just how hurt she gets when people filter the topics and language they use in her presence, to ensure they don’t ‘offend anyone’.

That, in my opinion, is way more offensive then joking about scrotums. THAT in my opinion, is discrimination.

Whilst awareness and open mindfulness is mandatory, unless I have Indigenous blood running through my veins, I do NOT fully understand everything my Indigenous students experience.

But, do you know what unites us? humour. innapropriate-ness. love. stress. shit. LIFE! The human experience… and most importantly, our honesty and ability to hold different opinions and still respect each other.

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Another political debacle is the discussion associated with the execution of the two criminals who smuggled illicit drugs into Indonesia, and were caught.

On the one hand, the way in which the case was managed was flawed. On the other, the men committed a crime and suffered the consequences. Whilst I think that there are other people more deserving of a firing squad, drugs do ruin peoples lives.

In other words, my opinion swims between that of a good citizen and devil child.

Now, I am not for one second categorising criminals with gay people, or suggesting that I am sickened by gender reassignment. I am for happiness, and most importantly, authenticity. 

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Because of this, I am very happy for Bruce, and the community of people ‘they’ have inspired. I also hope Kris can (in time) learn to accept what she cannot change.

I’m just getting over the ridiculous attempts at being perfect humans. Because no one is perfect, no one is God.

There is no such thing as ‘normal’. Therefore being ‘different’ is also an illusion. We are all individuals on the one planet. Lets cut the shit and be real; Make mistakes, ask questions and most of all love, cry, yell and LIVE without fearing hell.

In the mean time, Imma’ continue to shake off my own firing squad with as much whit, sarcasm and dirtiness as I want.

Happy Sunday! 

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Boy- Blaming is as Stupid as Kale ‘Chips’!

After spending extensive time with man haters lately I felt this was fitting!!

Alternative Thoughts

I was not born politically correct. As hard as my parents, friends parents and teachers tried, I failed to accept the status quo, instead asking a shit-load of WHY questions (and swearing a lot). Rules are not my friend, nor are institutions or religions that demand we act and think in a particular way (particularly when used to justify disgusting behaviour).

Because we don’t really know how we will respond to a situation until we experience it first hand, I like to let the present moment determine what the hell I do.

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I am quite a conflicted cookie in my views, and while I aspire to be a special petal whose views are NEVER racist, sexist or discriminatory, selfish or materialistic,  I am a sinful sista who isn’t necessarily seeking forgiveness. Being a perfect person can be hard, defining ‘perfect’ is even harder.

On my days off spent down-ward dogging &…

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Whips, Dicks and Doctors

Fifty shades of fucking grey. Who knew a film about sex, whips, power imbalances and emotional instability could cause such a fiery debate and controversy in 2015? While some of us were underwhelmed, it seems others were deeply angered and disgusted by the apparent abusive nature of Christian and Anastasia’s ‘interactions’.

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I don’t really feel like adding another review to the exhausted list, but I do want to explore to reasons why my gal pal and I experienced a sense of appreciation for our viewing experience a few Tuesdays ago.

I can’t help but question why the construction of Mr Grey: A sexy man with the emotional intelligence of a gold-fish; a damaging/ abusive childhood and a resulting host of insecurities with women, sex and control, was so disturbing to many.

While the mans inability to court Miss Steele in the traditional way (as promised by Hollywood romcoms) was clearly lacking, he tried his best to be the guy he believed the girl he loved, deserved.

Yes it was fucked up. I could never see myself settling for a contract involving but plugs and separate bedrooms, but I wouldn’t say no to a helicopter chaperone or new computer. The wine also looked delicious.

My point however, is that being the complicated creatures that we are, with our perceptions and relationship styles so heavily imbedded in our experiences and interactions; a little bit of dysfunction, (sometimes a lot) is healthy and natural. Why? because it’s real– it means we are being ourselves.

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I liked the authenticity. I also appreciated the vulnerability shown by Anastasia, particularly as a virgin. The fact that the consenting intercourse was deemed as violent I thought was uncalled for, however regardless of our positions, the fact that FSOG sparked debate over the topic of sexual/domestic abuse is bloody grand.

In Australia, one women dies weekly at the hands of a past or present partner. From 2002 – 2012, more women were killed by DM in America that everyone killed in 9/11, Afghanistan and Iraq. This shit is horrific and real and needs to be addressed for so many reasons on different levels, including the shame victims feel.

It’s the kind of shame and inferiority that should not, but definitely does exist (on a not so illegal level) in many different forums where dominant and submissive roles are defs present.

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Power is used and abused in politics (dah) the class room (why can’t we call teachers by their first names?) and by doctors and specialists allll of the time, as experienced by many friends, and myself.

From the time my age deemed me capable of making a baby I have been invasively quizzed; with a shit load of unnecessary judgement and intimidation.

Those who know me well are aware that I’m a rather confident person, and I am not easily affected by other people’s positions. [Peas do get degrees after all!]

However I dread visiting doctors and their surgery and here’s why;

[Problem: Anything shitty]

Doctor: “Isabelle?” (my name is IsabellA. A . AAAAAA)

“Come through.” (turn their back, march in front of me, then guides me to their clinical, smelly, fluorescent white room featuring awkward dusty family photos I don’t care about).

Doctor: (without making eye contact, directs me to take a seat while they search my private file).

“Lets have a look here. When was your last pap smear Isabelle? I see here that you’ve been prescribed __ form of contraception. Are you still using that?

Me: “Nope.”

Doctor: (swiftly swivels to stare at me as though I’ve told them I am half dog.) Have you had un- protected sex? If so are you in a loving relationship? (WHY AREN’T YOU MARRIED YOU SLUT?)

Me: “Umm…”

Doctor: (provides a seriously un comforting and disapproving raised eye brow glance and waits for me to guide myself to some idealistic solution to my unruly ways).

—————————————————–

Doctor: “So what can I help you with today?”

Me: “well I have been feeling……..”

Doctor: “Mmm, I think you’re probably stressed and it is viral. It will go away with a lot of paracetamol.

Me: “I am allergic to that.”

Doctor: “How do you know that? I can’t find the evidence.”

Me: “Mate, I’m 23, I think I know my body by now” (said in a submissive, naughty school kid manner).

Doctor: “You need to get tested for every type of sexually contracted disease and take better responsibility of your life. Bye.” (said in a professional manner).

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11015839_10155311594580182_1632157548_nREGARDLESS of the reasons for my visit I seem to have similar experiences, no matter what surgery, no matter the age, gender or ‘niceness’ of the GP.

And it seems I’m not alone. One my good friends is a very knowledgable nurse in a committed relationship with a man she lives with. She often leaves the docs feeling humiliated and belittled, she recent left her usual doc crying.

There seems to be a major power imbalance that I can’t help associate with my given genitalia.

While I am yet to hear of similar experiences from males, I’m sure there are some negatives ones had- my own father refuses to visit the GP after all.

However, considering it is International Women’s Day today, I would like to acknowledge the power imbalance and sexism we (ladies) experience all the time.

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As much as we try to avoid the uncomfy, gross environments or men who feel permitted to touch our bodies when it’s not wanted; provide unwanted comments about our bodies (including gross wolf whistles and tooting), and be bigger than sexism, it’s still alive and kicking.

The gender pay gap its an absolute insult and needs to CHANGE. Women everywhere on this planet, regardless of what we wear, say, do or do not do, deserve to be respected and not objectified. unless we ask OR FULLY CONSENT to sex, we are NOT PERMITTED TO ENGAGE IN IT.

So, hears to my irrational, hormonal, dramatic, moody, needy, dependent, demanding, slutty, whiny, frigid, crazy, smart, caring, loving, giving, independent bitches everywhere– lets fight this shit like the warriors we are. NO ONE knows better than we do- in relation to our bodies, our intuition and our value.

That’s enough preaching for one day. I’m over this power shit. If we want chains and whips, then SnM we will do! and if we don’t, then that’s A-OK too.

Happy Sunday!

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5 Sexy Talks Worth Watching

In the spirit of valentines day… a look at how and why the porn industry needs a makeover. watch the talks!

TED Blog

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You might not think TED has anything to do with Fifty Shades of Grey. We didn’t either. Until we woke up this morning to find ourselves called out in The New Yorker’s scathing review of the movie: “You get dirtier talk in most action movies, and more genitalia in a TED talk on Renaissance sculpture.”

So just for fun, we thought we’d see how racy our talks can get. And it turns out, VERY.

Here, our favorite TED and TEDx Talks with more frank talk than the watered-down movie version of Fifty Shades of Grey:

1. What we didn’t know about penis anatomy. A scientist explains how guys get it up — biologically speaking. It’s graphic enough to make you blush, and you’ll hear two words that should never go together: penis and cross-section.

2. The birds and the bees are just the beginning. A parade…

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Swim Suit Sabotage

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Last Saturday my friend and I went shopping. Considering summer is rapidly approaching, bathers were silently placed at the top of the list.

I say silently because, between us, the particular time of the month we visited, pizza and vino consumption from the night before, lack of waxing and a full time job/ disgusting university assignments deemed us less than cover shoot ready. According to ourselves anyway.

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Doubt surrounding whether we were beach ready was quickly forgotten however, when we entered the Seafolly haven of bright colours, barely- there brazillian style genital cages, mixed in with fuller briefs and one pieces that seem to be missing parts. All in the name of farrrsharn, right?

Despite the scary thought of being caught in a rip in the majority of pieces, I was rather impressed with the brands latest range. It was not until I had both arms stacked with varying styles in a cloud of optimism and exotic island fantasy, when I heard a lovely, down to earth, very approachable shop assistant say, (in an empathetic tone, while frantically clipping the high pile of change room returns) “Nobody is ever happy. Every day I hear about the body parts women dream of nipping and tucking…”.

Remaining on my delusional planet, I brushed off the comment with a “poor girls, fuck society” thought, while rolling my eyes at the model on the wall. It wasn’t until someone FINALLY freed up a change room (departing in a huff) that I could join my pal in the neighbouring box. And then BOOM. My plane landed so suddenly on the tar mat, that I hit my head.

Well that is what it felt like, as the wave of self-doubt and ridicule set in. That poor little gluten-free pizza was copping a lot of blame for the mirror image staring back at me… apparently the hips don’t lie. (What purpose have all the kale juices served? maybe I should have given up sugar after all!)

img-thingNow, I’ve never been one to shy away from water environments, and I love the free feeling of floating around in my kini’ poolside, particularly with a coconut or mojito in hand.  I usually do so after devouring some form of carbs, I’m married to pasta after all. Simply put, I consider myself a comfortable bikini wearer.

Maybe it was hormones, the confined space in which I assessed ever angle of myself in, or the ‘pressure‘ from the poor souls offering constant support to silent customers. Or maybe it was the images I had been swamped with in the catalogue, on social media, or in my head. Ridiculous expectations once again, had dropped a hot (bird like) shit on my head.

Luckily, my wonderful gal pal came to the rescue, slipping into my changing hot box and sorting me out (just as she has, time and time again, throughout Europe and over lotsa vino and antipasto). Thanks to our backpacking experiences, my gal is well and truly familiar with my body shape and proved that, she does actually know what suits me, better than I do. Funnily, I was able to do the same for her, just not myself.

After re- evaluating my priorities, self-development and whether or not all those meditation classes had actually been worth the silence and ass numbing, I went on my phone, and saw the back lash the latest Victoria Secret campaign has received world-wide.

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And then I realised: ohhh that’s right, I’m just another gal, who has fallen victim to the UNREALISTIC expectations created by the media, once again.

  • This might be why we are never happy
  • This might be why eating disorders, depression and anxiety rates are on the rise
  • This might be why women bitch about each other and themselves all the time
  • This may have something to do with the beauty industry
  • This may be why so many fad diets exist
  • This DEFINITELY is a major issue.

THERE IS HOPE THOUGH!

In response To the Victoria Secret campaign, lingerie brand JD Williams has launched a #PerfectlyImperfect campaign to promote body confidence for all women, of all ages, sizes and shapes.

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The campaign includes the above image which features models size 10-16.

The brand hopes that the #FavouriteFlaw hashtag on social media platforms will inspire women to share the things they love about themselves and encourage others to look at their own bodies in a positive light – in a celebration of real beauty.

When I next brave the self sabotage that can be swim suit shopping, I plan to take this image with me, along with perspective in the form of an honest friend, quite like Stephy.

In the mean time, I’ll eat some curry, do some yoga and continue to work towards challenging to dominant views that are eating us up.

FYI- I found two fabulous sets that I plan to rock all summer along.

Happy Summer!

 

Boy- Blaming is as Stupid as Kale ‘Chips’!

I was not born politically correct. As hard as my parents, friends parents and teachers tried, I failed to accept the status quo, instead asking a shit-load of WHY questions (and swearing a lot). Rules are not my friend, nor are institutions or religions that demand we act and think in a particular way (particularly when used to justify disgusting behaviour).

Because we don’t really know how we will respond to a situation until we experience it first hand, I like to let the present moment determine what the hell I do.

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I am quite a conflicted cookie in my views, and while I aspire to be a special petal whose views are NEVER racist, sexist or discriminatory, selfish or materialistic,  I am a sinful sista who isn’t necessarily seeking forgiveness. Being a perfect person can be hard, defining ‘perfect’ is even harder.

On my days off spent down-ward dogging & omm-ing and watching doco’s on the horrible injustices of the world, I’m all for the sharing of tax payers money, aid and support. How could I not be? There is enough wealth in the world for everyone to be equal.

However, I have had my moments, where my patience and perseverance has worn thin after eight gross hours of dealing with dick heads (the public)/ wiping babies bums and boogies (and vom) where I consider an ‘every man for himself ‘ attitude because I work HARD 4 da money (to hell I go!).

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My constant battle between perfection and not giving a fuck includes the jumping between the months I choose to be murdered by hot wax and those I don’t, kale ‘chips‘ (they are NOT chips!) and hotdogs, and make- up over bare- faced beauty. While the sans- bra verses push up dilemma may seem trivial, it is one that is influenced by a cocktail of belief systems, that determine how I am apparently respected and valued as a human being, and as girl.

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Having attended a private girls school for 10 long years of wearing mens shirts & ties and knee-length sacks designed to deflect as much ‘D’ as possible, the  strong-willed, intelligent, healthy, determined, independent profile of #femininity was well and truly drummed into my straw hat sheltered noggin.

Studying social sciences, which involves a constant banging on about the lack of equality in the rights and respect I receive as an objectified female in a patriarchal society, has only highlighted the battle on new levels.

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It would be safe to assume that my apparent free-spirited vibe and well-travelled life, combined with my education, hometown (‘hippy land’) (and past relationships) could possibly equate to a man- hating, system- bashing perspective that does not include razors, plastic surgery or, heaven forbid, loving a sinful, wealthy business man, and I would not DARE be caught dead in a kitchen baking scones, particularly if they are for a man.

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OF COURSE the extent to which the wolves of wall street abuse their power infuriates me. The gender pay gap pisses me off, the thought or rape scares and disgusts me, and if a guy ever demanded sex or a sandwich, his little willy might be chopped right off. I can also recognise that I would born into a country where I don’t experience inhumane violations of rights or gender oppression either.

HOWEVER.. I feel like men can get a pretty bad rap these days, especially in relation to women’s insecurities and independence.

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There are a lot of guys who participate in the same classes as me, who share a frustration with existing inequality and the agenda setters of the propaganda we are subjected to.

My counselling units consist of a cross-section of guys from different disciplines, and you know what? a lot of them are more empathetic and helpful in their practice (and general convo) than the ladies.

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While I may have had my heart hurt, I’ve often run crying to my male pals who have spent hours listening to my dramatic outbursts and provided a lot of love and advice. It is not fair to assume men don’t experience the emotions women do, or to expect them to express them in the ways we do. There are gender differences, and the way I, along with my gal pals, often blame boys for our problems is  pathetic.

One of the things I admire about a particularly friend of mine, is her honesty about her life goals. While she is a smart, pretty, open minded, well- travelled LADY with a business degree, she kinda just wants to marry to the man of her dreams, make some adorable bambinos and cook her Nonna’s lasagna.

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Loving a man does not necessarily strip someone of their independence, especially if they have chosen to. As modern women we can be ‘strong’ and ‘successful’ and still want to be cuddled and reassured. And if we enjoy having the door held or accepting a free drink, then good for us! (Whats so bad about Chivalry?)

All I am saying, is that men are not the only cause of women’s issues, and it’s silly to generalise and put all the blame on them. Not all guys support the pay gap, nor do they only want girls for sex. As a naturally independent person, I am tired of being told that I must be so all the time, and that I shouldn’t wear a tight skirt unless I want to be objectified.

I like my ass, I like guys and I am a strong-minded (obviously), independent woman.

The End.

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