Hi guys,
All these blogs are old and out of order. My website crashed recently and all the back ups were corrupted, so these are the few blog posts that I was able to pull out of the aether.
I'd reorganize them, but honestly, I'm only vaguely aware of when I posted them and what order they were in...and honestly, I have better things to do than puzzle over old blog entries. But. I hope you enjoy them and I hope you check out my awesome new site Isobelwren.com for more in the future.
Thursday, August 6, 2009
Women lies
So. Women are incredibly complicated. The boobs and all those labia and fantastic indoor plumbing were all created by these horrific hormones that make us do wacky things. All of my male friends have, at one point or another, interacted with a woman in a manner so dense that I had to wonder if my friends were taking stupid pills. After a few years it occurred to me that men are not particularly stupid or slow, just different and unused to how incredibly complicated women can be. Now I'm not going to say anything a moronic and sexist as, "Men are from Mars, women are from Venus" *gag* but the sexes are at least from totally different cultures. As someone who kinda gets both sides I get to be a girl interpreter. So here it is, Isobel's guide to girls, part one. Maybe I'll call this A Slut's Guide to NOT FUCKING UP WITH WOMEN.
Lesson number one: Ladies Lies or, "I want my boyfriend to always tell me the truth"
So chicks are always saying that they want you to be honest with them all the time. They don't. No one wants their partner to be honest with them all the time. The standard rule of coupledom applies here like everywhere else. Your partner wants her idealized version of you to be honest with her idealized version of herself. The idealized version of herself is generally the one that doesn't fart, weighs 10 lbs less, is sexually adventurous, and looks good in puce. The idealized version of you has eyes for no one but her, has never done anything sexually "weird" and never scratches your nuts and then touches her face (why do you DO that? It is so gross).
This next part is tough, because it sounds like I'm saying women are weak and we are really anything but. A good woman can be just as good and just as strong as a good man, we have different areas of strength, but we are strong. Here it is though, ego is not the strong point of any human being, ever, anywhere. Women can be particularly touchy when their egos are hit and women can also hold irrational grudges for absolutely ever! This is difficult where truth-telling comes in. No one is going to be on the light side of the force 100% of the time (even Jesus was a bastard once or twice, or a few times according to the Gnostics) and when you have to tell her that she's on the dark side of the force she's going to go Vader on you....and that's not going to be cool.
In other words, she says she wants you to be honest with her all of the time, but she doesn't really mean it and she probably knows it. For God's sake man, don't be "brutally honest" with her. This doesn't mean, however, that you should "sugar coat" the truth or tell her that she looks great in that outfit if she doesn't. I know, I know, "Isobel, what the fuck are you talking about?!" I'm saying that truth and telling the truth, like anything else humans have made up, is subjective and conditional.
No one is a mind reader, nor should anyone have to be so here are some situations I've made up as sort of guidelines for when to tell what version of the truth. Here's a warning though, this is a lot like those Maxim advice columns. Only douchebags take advice about women from a men's magazine totally seriously. People who write advice rarely know what they're talking about and you should read it, interpret it and then apply it selectively to your situation. In douchebagese: If you get caught lying to your hot girlfriend and she dumps your ass, don't tell her I told you to do it. If you fuck this one up, you're on your own Kemosabe.
1)"Is there spinach in my teeth?" or other things that are going to make her look stupid. Don't lie. You could lie, and you'd think you were saving her ego so you'd be inclined to lie, but don't do it. She'll find out later because someone else will notice and tell her. Then she'll be mad at you because she will have been walking around however long in the interim with her ass hanging out of her dress. This one applies to physical embarrassments like run pantyhose and emotional faux pas like your other girlfriend. If you are dating two women at once you don't have to tell them about each other if you're not serious but don't tell either one of them that she's the only one. First, this won't work if they have common friends. Second, she's going to feel like an idiot when all the people she's talked to about you know that she's misinformed and you'd better believe she'll take that out on you.
2)"Was she prettier than me?" or things that are going to make someone you were close to look better, faster, stronger than her. Lie. Please man, think of the children! Think about this one for a second. Do you want to know that her ex had a 8 inch cock and fucked her so good that she passed out a few times? No you do not. Likewise, she doesn't want to know that your ex had great boobs, could eat anything she wanted and not gain a pound or was a tiger in the sack.
Don't be an idiot about this one though. Girls can sense a placation and it's your own damn fault if you're outed for lying with a simple placation.
I dated a guy whose ex was a Japanese girl of supermodel proportions. I know this because I am a girl and we are dumb so I looked for her on myspace. See, we women are champion drama seekers. Once I found her I was convinced that I could never be as good as her and that my boyfriend would always somehow carry a torch for her. So of course I had to tell him I saw her online. I dug my toe around in the ground and did my best little pitiful girl (ah yes, the "I am so vulnerable" bait and switch) whimper.
"Baby...I saw pictures of her and...she's reeeeeeally pretty" Ah, I admitted she's pretty first, you may think that this is permission for you to acknowledge her prettiness. It isn't.
Boyfriend (who is so good at Girl) responded, "Her? You have no idea HOW photoshopped those photos are." Excellent job boyfriend! Imply that she's actually ugly, never pick out anything concrete b/c that shows you paid attention. I won't believe you no matter what though so I will counter with,
"But honey! She. She sounded so smart!"
He shrugged, "You could never prove it by me. She could act pretty damn stupid." Another excellent blow! Don't just give it a "no no baby, you're better" that's too easy. Partially acknowledge and then slam her in a similar, yet different way. I am a girl though, so I will still go for the clincher,
"Did...did you like her better than you like me?" (or possibly, "would you ever get back together with her?")
The boyfriend gave me a look like I was smoking stupid and this was a game he was tiring of. OOOOH, and boyfriend wins! Don't even dignify it with a response unless she really pushes it. Just let her know you know she's playing a stupid game. If she pushes it you COULD tell her the truth because at this point she fucking deserves it if the truth is "yes" but if you still want to have sex with her think of a good mild insult for the ex, "Did I like that nutcase better than I like you? No." If you're pretty sure she's not PMSing you could try your luck with something that a boyfriend told me once, "I liked the person I thought she was."
3)"Does this make me look fat" or something where you must critique her appearance. Oh you are so screwed. Dude, I'm so sorry. Rules for 1 apply here, if she looks really stupid and you say she looks good she's going to be pissed later when she gets the photos back. On the other hand, is Great Aunt Mabel really going to care that your girlfriend looks like a rodeo clown?
First, gauge body language. Is she puffing up her cheeks at her reflection? She thinks she looks fat. Is she shimmying towards you and smiling? She thinks she's sexy and playful. If you can judge how she's feeling from her body language, you stand a good chance of being able to figure this out. Go with her mood unless whatever you're going to say is right and better than what she's going to say.
If you suck at body language, defer her question whenever possible.
"Does this dress make me look washed out?"
"Gee honey, I always think you look beautiful. I don't know. Didn't you say your sister knows about that stuff? Why don't you ask her?"
At worst, you will be branded totally useless for garment critiques and she won't ask you anymore.
Unless you're tired of having a girlfriend the answer to, "Do these pants make my ass look fat?" is never, "No. Your fat ass makes your ass look fat." As funny as that was in National Lampoon or whatever it was, it is never the right answer.
Those are three basic lady lies and corresponding possible answers. I hope that's at least been interesting to read. Remember, if you use this advice and you get yourself in trouble it isn't my fault.
Lesson number one: Ladies Lies or, "I want my boyfriend to always tell me the truth"
So chicks are always saying that they want you to be honest with them all the time. They don't. No one wants their partner to be honest with them all the time. The standard rule of coupledom applies here like everywhere else. Your partner wants her idealized version of you to be honest with her idealized version of herself. The idealized version of herself is generally the one that doesn't fart, weighs 10 lbs less, is sexually adventurous, and looks good in puce. The idealized version of you has eyes for no one but her, has never done anything sexually "weird" and never scratches your nuts and then touches her face (why do you DO that? It is so gross).
This next part is tough, because it sounds like I'm saying women are weak and we are really anything but. A good woman can be just as good and just as strong as a good man, we have different areas of strength, but we are strong. Here it is though, ego is not the strong point of any human being, ever, anywhere. Women can be particularly touchy when their egos are hit and women can also hold irrational grudges for absolutely ever! This is difficult where truth-telling comes in. No one is going to be on the light side of the force 100% of the time (even Jesus was a bastard once or twice, or a few times according to the Gnostics) and when you have to tell her that she's on the dark side of the force she's going to go Vader on you....and that's not going to be cool.
In other words, she says she wants you to be honest with her all of the time, but she doesn't really mean it and she probably knows it. For God's sake man, don't be "brutally honest" with her. This doesn't mean, however, that you should "sugar coat" the truth or tell her that she looks great in that outfit if she doesn't. I know, I know, "Isobel, what the fuck are you talking about?!" I'm saying that truth and telling the truth, like anything else humans have made up, is subjective and conditional.
No one is a mind reader, nor should anyone have to be so here are some situations I've made up as sort of guidelines for when to tell what version of the truth. Here's a warning though, this is a lot like those Maxim advice columns. Only douchebags take advice about women from a men's magazine totally seriously. People who write advice rarely know what they're talking about and you should read it, interpret it and then apply it selectively to your situation. In douchebagese: If you get caught lying to your hot girlfriend and she dumps your ass, don't tell her I told you to do it. If you fuck this one up, you're on your own Kemosabe.
1)"Is there spinach in my teeth?" or other things that are going to make her look stupid. Don't lie. You could lie, and you'd think you were saving her ego so you'd be inclined to lie, but don't do it. She'll find out later because someone else will notice and tell her. Then she'll be mad at you because she will have been walking around however long in the interim with her ass hanging out of her dress. This one applies to physical embarrassments like run pantyhose and emotional faux pas like your other girlfriend. If you are dating two women at once you don't have to tell them about each other if you're not serious but don't tell either one of them that she's the only one. First, this won't work if they have common friends. Second, she's going to feel like an idiot when all the people she's talked to about you know that she's misinformed and you'd better believe she'll take that out on you.
2)"Was she prettier than me?" or things that are going to make someone you were close to look better, faster, stronger than her. Lie. Please man, think of the children! Think about this one for a second. Do you want to know that her ex had a 8 inch cock and fucked her so good that she passed out a few times? No you do not. Likewise, she doesn't want to know that your ex had great boobs, could eat anything she wanted and not gain a pound or was a tiger in the sack.
Don't be an idiot about this one though. Girls can sense a placation and it's your own damn fault if you're outed for lying with a simple placation.
I dated a guy whose ex was a Japanese girl of supermodel proportions. I know this because I am a girl and we are dumb so I looked for her on myspace. See, we women are champion drama seekers. Once I found her I was convinced that I could never be as good as her and that my boyfriend would always somehow carry a torch for her. So of course I had to tell him I saw her online. I dug my toe around in the ground and did my best little pitiful girl (ah yes, the "I am so vulnerable" bait and switch) whimper.
"Baby...I saw pictures of her and...she's reeeeeeally pretty" Ah, I admitted she's pretty first, you may think that this is permission for you to acknowledge her prettiness. It isn't.
Boyfriend (who is so good at Girl) responded, "Her? You have no idea HOW photoshopped those photos are." Excellent job boyfriend! Imply that she's actually ugly, never pick out anything concrete b/c that shows you paid attention. I won't believe you no matter what though so I will counter with,
"But honey! She. She sounded so smart!"
He shrugged, "You could never prove it by me. She could act pretty damn stupid." Another excellent blow! Don't just give it a "no no baby, you're better" that's too easy. Partially acknowledge and then slam her in a similar, yet different way. I am a girl though, so I will still go for the clincher,
"Did...did you like her better than you like me?" (or possibly, "would you ever get back together with her?")
The boyfriend gave me a look like I was smoking stupid and this was a game he was tiring of. OOOOH, and boyfriend wins! Don't even dignify it with a response unless she really pushes it. Just let her know you know she's playing a stupid game. If she pushes it you COULD tell her the truth because at this point she fucking deserves it if the truth is "yes" but if you still want to have sex with her think of a good mild insult for the ex, "Did I like that nutcase better than I like you? No." If you're pretty sure she's not PMSing you could try your luck with something that a boyfriend told me once, "I liked the person I thought she was."
3)"Does this make me look fat" or something where you must critique her appearance. Oh you are so screwed. Dude, I'm so sorry. Rules for 1 apply here, if she looks really stupid and you say she looks good she's going to be pissed later when she gets the photos back. On the other hand, is Great Aunt Mabel really going to care that your girlfriend looks like a rodeo clown?
First, gauge body language. Is she puffing up her cheeks at her reflection? She thinks she looks fat. Is she shimmying towards you and smiling? She thinks she's sexy and playful. If you can judge how she's feeling from her body language, you stand a good chance of being able to figure this out. Go with her mood unless whatever you're going to say is right and better than what she's going to say.
If you suck at body language, defer her question whenever possible.
"Does this dress make me look washed out?"
"Gee honey, I always think you look beautiful. I don't know. Didn't you say your sister knows about that stuff? Why don't you ask her?"
At worst, you will be branded totally useless for garment critiques and she won't ask you anymore.
Unless you're tired of having a girlfriend the answer to, "Do these pants make my ass look fat?" is never, "No. Your fat ass makes your ass look fat." As funny as that was in National Lampoon or whatever it was, it is never the right answer.
Those are three basic lady lies and corresponding possible answers. I hope that's at least been interesting to read. Remember, if you use this advice and you get yourself in trouble it isn't my fault.
Voyeur shoot
I've always known I've liked the idea of someone watching me, but I never had a chance to put it into practice and see if I really do like someone watching me until a recent photoshoot.
I found a casting on Craigslist for a model to show off for a voyeur style shoot. There were a few things that sounded strange in the interaction back and forth between the photographer and I so, being a nasty and sneaky model, I asked The Boy to drive me to the shoot. He obliged and helped me cary my things upstairs.
"I hope you don't mind that he's here." I said to the photographer, dismissively.
"No, uh, actually I don't." He said, "Actually, since he's here. Do you mind changing the type of shoot we have planned?"
TB and I paused and looked at each other. "What kiiiind of shoot?" we asked
The photographer, who looked a lot what I imagine the love child of Elvis Costello and Ryan Stiles would look like, shyly responded, "Well, this is all about voyeurism. It would be like you two went on a date and hit it off really well and have gone home together. You're sort of showing her off to me. I'd pay you both."
This was acceptable to TB who only stated, "but I don't want to do porn, we can do it all implied, right?"
The photographer agreed, I did my makeup, we selected an outfit that looked properly "datey" and began shooting.
It is sort of hard for two people who have known each other for years to pretend like they're on a first date. You tend to move with familiarity when you know someone. However, sex with a stranger that I actually know is one of my fantasies (I'll tell you about it later) so I was really into it.
What TB got really into was showing me off. He grabbed me and posed me for the camera in every single photo until I turned around and distracted him by grabbing him. He let me touch him for a moment before snatching me up and turning me to the camera again. I tell you, the man has willpower of iron. Iron. I got so worked up that if he'd let me I would have filmed the first ever Isobel Wren porn that day! Well, in stills...and probably would have regretted it later!
The shoot went really quickly and the Boy kept to his hard limit of keeping everything implied. I tried not to push him but it turned me on so much to have someone there watching! Before I knew it the shoot was over. I was a soaking horny mess. I put my clothes back on very slowly and absolutely dragged ass over the release. No one suggested anything cool and I, a shy girl at heart, couldn't think of a diplomatic way to suggest I take my clothing off again.
As we were walking back to the car I said to TB, "You know, I would have been totally into it if he'd put the camera down and just watched while we kept going."
The Boy sighed his long suffering sigh, "I know you would have."
I perked, "Do you think we could start doing live sex shows?! That would be great!"
"Not my style baby. Just not my style."
"Phooey. I never get to have any fun."
"Bella, you can have all the fun you want...just that one, not with me!"
But now I know that I don't just like the idea of someone watching me, I actually like someone watching me! Now I've just got to find a fellow exhibitionist to play with. I have a feeling that voyeurs won't be hard to come by...pun intended. *grin*
I found a casting on Craigslist for a model to show off for a voyeur style shoot. There were a few things that sounded strange in the interaction back and forth between the photographer and I so, being a nasty and sneaky model, I asked The Boy to drive me to the shoot. He obliged and helped me cary my things upstairs.
"I hope you don't mind that he's here." I said to the photographer, dismissively.
"No, uh, actually I don't." He said, "Actually, since he's here. Do you mind changing the type of shoot we have planned?"
TB and I paused and looked at each other. "What kiiiind of shoot?" we asked
The photographer, who looked a lot what I imagine the love child of Elvis Costello and Ryan Stiles would look like, shyly responded, "Well, this is all about voyeurism. It would be like you two went on a date and hit it off really well and have gone home together. You're sort of showing her off to me. I'd pay you both."
This was acceptable to TB who only stated, "but I don't want to do porn, we can do it all implied, right?"
The photographer agreed, I did my makeup, we selected an outfit that looked properly "datey" and began shooting.
It is sort of hard for two people who have known each other for years to pretend like they're on a first date. You tend to move with familiarity when you know someone. However, sex with a stranger that I actually know is one of my fantasies (I'll tell you about it later) so I was really into it.
What TB got really into was showing me off. He grabbed me and posed me for the camera in every single photo until I turned around and distracted him by grabbing him. He let me touch him for a moment before snatching me up and turning me to the camera again. I tell you, the man has willpower of iron. Iron. I got so worked up that if he'd let me I would have filmed the first ever Isobel Wren porn that day! Well, in stills...and probably would have regretted it later!
The shoot went really quickly and the Boy kept to his hard limit of keeping everything implied. I tried not to push him but it turned me on so much to have someone there watching! Before I knew it the shoot was over. I was a soaking horny mess. I put my clothes back on very slowly and absolutely dragged ass over the release. No one suggested anything cool and I, a shy girl at heart, couldn't think of a diplomatic way to suggest I take my clothing off again.
As we were walking back to the car I said to TB, "You know, I would have been totally into it if he'd put the camera down and just watched while we kept going."
The Boy sighed his long suffering sigh, "I know you would have."
I perked, "Do you think we could start doing live sex shows?! That would be great!"
"Not my style baby. Just not my style."
"Phooey. I never get to have any fun."
"Bella, you can have all the fun you want...just that one, not with me!"
But now I know that I don't just like the idea of someone watching me, I actually like someone watching me! Now I've just got to find a fellow exhibitionist to play with. I have a feeling that voyeurs won't be hard to come by...pun intended. *grin*
Vote plz Fetishcon 2008
Very early this morning, while I was still asleep I got a text, "you're on the vote for fan guest of honor at fetishcon! " I think I thought it was a really nice dream until I woke up and read the email, "Hey, we put you on as a choice for fan guest of honor at Fetishcon! " HOLY SHIT! HOW FUCKING COOL IS THAT!?
Okay, so guys, you now have two things that I'm vote whoring for.
* Please vote for me as model in The Bondage Awards
* Please, please, please pleasssssse vote for me as fan guest of honor at Fetishcon!!!!!
If you want to be able to see me in the flesh at Fetishcon you need to make me a guest of honor. Normally I'm running all over the place shooting 24/7 at the convention and you won't get a chance to see me. If I win GoH, I'll be chained to my booth (literally, if you're into that) and you'll be able to hang out with me any time the convention floor is open.
If I make GoH I will have special presents for fans who voted for me at my booth at the con!
You should vote for me at the bondage awards as well, for every new tier of voting I make it to, I'll put up a new free photoset on the site. If I win the bondage awards I'll give away three free memberships to the site!
If you REALLY want me to win the fetishcon slot and the bondage model awards, spread the links out, ask people to vote for me. Email me screenshots of you doing this and I'll send you a special present for spreading the gospel of Isobel! My email is isobelwren at gmail dot com.
Oh, and if you're worried about what these voting pages look like, don't be. They're totally safe and not scary. No loud music, no pop ups or banner ads. Voting for me on the fetishcon site does send an email, so make sure you're not logged in to your work email! If you're gonna get into trouble because of me it had better be the sexy kind of trouble.
Thank you so much for voting for me, you guys know how appreciative I can be and I fully plan on showing all my...appreciation :)
Here's me votewhoring, Please vote. I really appreciate it
Okay, so guys, you now have two things that I'm vote whoring for.
* Please vote for me as model in The Bondage Awards
* Please, please, please pleasssssse vote for me as fan guest of honor at Fetishcon!!!!!
If you want to be able to see me in the flesh at Fetishcon you need to make me a guest of honor. Normally I'm running all over the place shooting 24/7 at the convention and you won't get a chance to see me. If I win GoH, I'll be chained to my booth (literally, if you're into that) and you'll be able to hang out with me any time the convention floor is open.
If I make GoH I will have special presents for fans who voted for me at my booth at the con!
You should vote for me at the bondage awards as well, for every new tier of voting I make it to, I'll put up a new free photoset on the site. If I win the bondage awards I'll give away three free memberships to the site!
If you REALLY want me to win the fetishcon slot and the bondage model awards, spread the links out, ask people to vote for me. Email me screenshots of you doing this and I'll send you a special present for spreading the gospel of Isobel! My email is isobelwren at gmail dot com.
Oh, and if you're worried about what these voting pages look like, don't be. They're totally safe and not scary. No loud music, no pop ups or banner ads. Voting for me on the fetishcon site does send an email, so make sure you're not logged in to your work email! If you're gonna get into trouble because of me it had better be the sexy kind of trouble.
Thank you so much for voting for me, you guys know how appreciative I can be and I fully plan on showing all my...appreciation :)
Here's me votewhoring, Please vote. I really appreciate it
Vote for Isobel as your favorite model in The Bondage Awards
Make Isobel an fan guest of honor at Fetishcon!
Stolen Porn
Traveling to San Diego I was given a copy of Penthouse magazine (YESSSS! Porn!) by my traveling companion. I was really excited about it because, besides its obvious awesomeness in being packed full of airbrushed photos of naked women, it had guidelines on how to apply to model for Penthouse (which I totally want to do, anyone got any ins? I'll love you forever!).
I read it on the late night flight and stuffed it on top of my cary-on under the seat in front of me when I was done. It slipped a little forward to the point where it must have been pressing on the achilles tendons of the woman in front of me. I couldn't reach it to pull it back. I could only see the back of her head, covered in long brown hair cut in the kind of no nonsense hockey pageboy you only see on guys in 80s movies and uptight women who have ceased caring what they look like. She was sleeping, so I didn't want to wake her to say, "Excuse me, could you pass me my smutty magazine?" I decided to wait until the end of the flight.
I got up to go to the restroom and returned to my seat. My magazine was gone. It must have fallen totally out of my space and been sucked into her footwell. We all know I'm not a shy person, but I knew that I could be reduced to mortification if the woman were to turn around at the end of the flight, -expecting me to be someone that I imagined a woman with that haircut would picture a reader of Penthouse to be- sneering while holding the magazine out to me. Upon seeing me, her face contorting from disgust to shock. "I believe this is... yours?" She'd say.
I would want to reply with a flip, "Hey thanks! Of course it's mine. Porn is cool! Get with the times lady!" (with requisite toss of the head and gum snap) but I would probably blush crimson and take the magazine while muttering, "thanks"
Clearly, the only way to cope with certain mortification was the way I always do and cut it off at the pass. As soon as she woke up and began to gather her belongings I would lean forward between the seats and -discretely, so as not to embarrass HER (yeah, right)- I would murmur, "Excuse me ma'am. I seem to have dropped my Penthouse. Could you hand it back to me?"
She would blush, her eyes would widen and her gaze would fall, but I would be the one setting the tone for this conversational exchange so she would comply. Though the would probably gossip to her friends about it later she would demurely reach to her footwell and hand me the offending magazine.
That then, was the way to handle this....unless, as her squat stature, man's button down shirt and ugly haircut suggested, she was a narrow minded, anti-porn, "feminist" dyke. In that case, any conversational exchange we might have was destined to turn into nasty looks, snide remarks and anger.
As the plane landed I pondered this while complaining bitterly to my traveling companion over the lost magazine. I turned my attention to packing up my things while my Schrodinger's anti porn feminist woke. I saw the back of my target's head move as she packed her things. Surely she must have discovered the magazine by now. She made no indication that she had. Most excellent news for me!
The plane parked at the gate and I still hadn't summoned the courage to ask for my magazine. The person in front of me stood up, and cast a furtive gaze at me. My "anti porn feminist" was a man! The woman I had worried so much over was a very small, quiet, bookish-looking man who now had the ass end of a Penthouse magazine stuffed inconspicuously in the outside pocket of his satchel.
I frowned, focusing my eyes on the shiny pages beckoning from his caryon. Surely that was my magazine. I looked at him. Though he was facing me, he refused to meet my eyes. My frown deepened until I'm sure it was a dead ringer for a child's petulant stare. He met my eyes briefly, his eyes moistening and color rising over his ears. This man had stolen my magazine! The magazine that I wanted enough to embarrass myself in front of a random stranger for, the magazine whose existence had forced me to spend the last 20 minutes obsessing over ways to ask for it! He was going to quietly walk away with my present because I couldn't think of a way to ask this poor, sad, meek man to return my porn to me when he so obviously wanted to keep it for himself.
I spent the next few hours feeling both magnanimous for "donating" my magazine to a man who was much too shy to purchase one for himself and feeling angry for being so easily swayed by a silent plea from a weak man with puppy dog eyes. My weakness was bought by a man who was no weaker than myself. Perhaps our weakness were one and the same.
I read it on the late night flight and stuffed it on top of my cary-on under the seat in front of me when I was done. It slipped a little forward to the point where it must have been pressing on the achilles tendons of the woman in front of me. I couldn't reach it to pull it back. I could only see the back of her head, covered in long brown hair cut in the kind of no nonsense hockey pageboy you only see on guys in 80s movies and uptight women who have ceased caring what they look like. She was sleeping, so I didn't want to wake her to say, "Excuse me, could you pass me my smutty magazine?" I decided to wait until the end of the flight.
I got up to go to the restroom and returned to my seat. My magazine was gone. It must have fallen totally out of my space and been sucked into her footwell. We all know I'm not a shy person, but I knew that I could be reduced to mortification if the woman were to turn around at the end of the flight, -expecting me to be someone that I imagined a woman with that haircut would picture a reader of Penthouse to be- sneering while holding the magazine out to me. Upon seeing me, her face contorting from disgust to shock. "I believe this is... yours?" She'd say.
I would want to reply with a flip, "Hey thanks! Of course it's mine. Porn is cool! Get with the times lady!" (with requisite toss of the head and gum snap) but I would probably blush crimson and take the magazine while muttering, "thanks"
Clearly, the only way to cope with certain mortification was the way I always do and cut it off at the pass. As soon as she woke up and began to gather her belongings I would lean forward between the seats and -discretely, so as not to embarrass HER (yeah, right)- I would murmur, "Excuse me ma'am. I seem to have dropped my Penthouse. Could you hand it back to me?"
She would blush, her eyes would widen and her gaze would fall, but I would be the one setting the tone for this conversational exchange so she would comply. Though the would probably gossip to her friends about it later she would demurely reach to her footwell and hand me the offending magazine.
That then, was the way to handle this....unless, as her squat stature, man's button down shirt and ugly haircut suggested, she was a narrow minded, anti-porn, "feminist" dyke. In that case, any conversational exchange we might have was destined to turn into nasty looks, snide remarks and anger.
As the plane landed I pondered this while complaining bitterly to my traveling companion over the lost magazine. I turned my attention to packing up my things while my Schrodinger's anti porn feminist woke. I saw the back of my target's head move as she packed her things. Surely she must have discovered the magazine by now. She made no indication that she had. Most excellent news for me!
The plane parked at the gate and I still hadn't summoned the courage to ask for my magazine. The person in front of me stood up, and cast a furtive gaze at me. My "anti porn feminist" was a man! The woman I had worried so much over was a very small, quiet, bookish-looking man who now had the ass end of a Penthouse magazine stuffed inconspicuously in the outside pocket of his satchel.
I frowned, focusing my eyes on the shiny pages beckoning from his caryon. Surely that was my magazine. I looked at him. Though he was facing me, he refused to meet my eyes. My frown deepened until I'm sure it was a dead ringer for a child's petulant stare. He met my eyes briefly, his eyes moistening and color rising over his ears. This man had stolen my magazine! The magazine that I wanted enough to embarrass myself in front of a random stranger for, the magazine whose existence had forced me to spend the last 20 minutes obsessing over ways to ask for it! He was going to quietly walk away with my present because I couldn't think of a way to ask this poor, sad, meek man to return my porn to me when he so obviously wanted to keep it for himself.
I spent the next few hours feeling both magnanimous for "donating" my magazine to a man who was much too shy to purchase one for himself and feeling angry for being so easily swayed by a silent plea from a weak man with puppy dog eyes. My weakness was bought by a man who was no weaker than myself. Perhaps our weakness were one and the same.
How to talk to my vagina
How to talk to my vagina. A recent event made me think over the terms for the vaginal area that I like and dislike. I'll get into that in a bit. Here are the terms for a woman's nether regions, ranked least favorite to most favorite.
I don't want to hear or say anything that makes it sound like it's wet or smelly or makes gross noises. Poontang makes it sound like it both has a taste and an unpleasant smell. Plus that kind of sounds like a rapper. I picture "Poontang the asian rapper" someone from a country that doesn't have "poontang" as a slang for snatch. He just heard it from someone's American cousin and thought it sounded cool. Similarly Punani is out. That's Poontang's female counterpart. Perhaps she's lead female vocals on his album, perhaps she simply takes care of his kids. That's right, soak that one in for a minute. Yeah, I said it. His Pu-nanny. Get it?! Oh I crack myself up.
...Cootchie and Pudenda hang out in Poontang's entourage. They are the annoying lame ones that the roadies don't like and the band manager counsels to shut up when press comes around.
Gash, "axe wound" and words similar to them piss me off because that makes me sound incomplete or injured. I have a gash, someone cut me, I hope that it heals. Well that's no good. "Gash of madness" (a la something positive the comic) is right out. Slit and slot sort of teeter on the edge here. I won't say either of them unless I'm trying to be vulgar or someone asks me if I take payment by credit card. "No, I'm sorry. I tried to run them up my slot but I just got bruises!"
Love Hole and baby maker are other disfavored terms. A hole is a large, cold place that is dark and dank. I will have none of that between my legs. Calling it a "love" hole or a baby maker implies that it's not for my pleasure but for the pleasure of the person "using" it or simply for production of offspring. Hearing these terms a lot makes me want to raise my hand and say, "Excuse me? The woman attached to these reproductive organs would like to claim them as her own again!"
"Cunt" is cool, but a little to vagina monologues for me. Plus, it sounds angry. It's a CUNT. It's slobbery and hairy and red and nasty and mean. Say cunt and I picture someone who is angry. An angry vagina monster....*shudders* now there's a terrifying concept. What would an angry vagina monster even do? It kind of sounds like some kind of encounter you'd have in Final Fantasy.
*Badly dubbed voice* Watch out Kenjiko! We're in cunt territory! *encounter music plays* *cut screen of this ugly, hairy, hot-dog-bun-on-crack looking thing coming out of a bush with a huge red tongueish thing coming out of the middle licking all around it and throwing huge drops of smelly slobber out. It's got teeth up the middle and it walks on those tiny little feet wind up teeth toys have.
I don't even want to know what the standard attacks of the cunt monster are.
Vagina bothers me because it's not even the right term. That's just a part of it, not the whole thing. Don't even think about calling it a "va-jay-jay" That's just stupid. Plus, it will make me think of the "Vajapocalypse" on the Soup http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aN9bqYhNLDs
It's not all bad though. There are a few terms that I just smile at. Using the word "sex" to describe it makes me think of old romance novels. "And his hand traveled slowly down to her sex, caressing the tufts of her downy mound and making her moisten in anticipation." It's old fashioned and clinical at the same time. We used the term "sex" to describe the genitals in animals and plants we dissected in college. Sex. A neutral term.
Pussy is okay because, well, everyone uses it. It's neutral and cute and there ARE some similarities between a cat and a cunt. Both are occasionally furry, both are soft and petting them makes women very happy. Pet mine and I purr *she says coquettishly*
...although there are great disparities between a wet cat and a wet pussy. Something to muse on.
The inspiration for this entire entry came from reading my friend Candy Poses' blog , Feminism without Clothes (http://candyposes.com/blog.html/) again.
I read a few pages back and remembered why I have just the hugest girl-crush ever on her. She used the word "snatch" in relating to her hairy crotch which is my favorite crotch word ever. The first time I ever heard someone use the slang was in high school. This really beautiful girl named Ester who I had somehow conned into being my best friend just casually tossed the word out.
I don't even remember what she was saying now, just something about "my snatch" but I do remember being absolutely floored. She threw the word out there with a wave of her hand and a casual toss of the head (okay probably not that, but it's how I remember it) and just kept on talking. Until that point it had been a rude word that I'd get slapped for saying at home. The way arty, beautiful chicks like Ester and Candy say it make it powerful, vulgar, sexy and special, much like they themselves are.
Snatch. The dictionary says that it means to seize something in a rude or eager way. In addition it can mean to quickly secure or obtain or to eagerly take or accept. Lastly, it can mean to hastily or ineffectually attempt to seize. I put that definition through the mental mix master and applied it to my nether regions. Eager to seize, eager to accept or to take, rude by definition but an attempt to seize it would be ineffectual. I like that word being used for the warm, wet space between my legs. It's a powerful word for powerful women. I think I'll keep it.
I don't want to hear or say anything that makes it sound like it's wet or smelly or makes gross noises. Poontang makes it sound like it both has a taste and an unpleasant smell. Plus that kind of sounds like a rapper. I picture "Poontang the asian rapper" someone from a country that doesn't have "poontang" as a slang for snatch. He just heard it from someone's American cousin and thought it sounded cool. Similarly Punani is out. That's Poontang's female counterpart. Perhaps she's lead female vocals on his album, perhaps she simply takes care of his kids. That's right, soak that one in for a minute. Yeah, I said it. His Pu-nanny. Get it?! Oh I crack myself up.
...Cootchie and Pudenda hang out in Poontang's entourage. They are the annoying lame ones that the roadies don't like and the band manager counsels to shut up when press comes around.
Gash, "axe wound" and words similar to them piss me off because that makes me sound incomplete or injured. I have a gash, someone cut me, I hope that it heals. Well that's no good. "Gash of madness" (a la something positive the comic) is right out. Slit and slot sort of teeter on the edge here. I won't say either of them unless I'm trying to be vulgar or someone asks me if I take payment by credit card. "No, I'm sorry. I tried to run them up my slot but I just got bruises!"
Love Hole and baby maker are other disfavored terms. A hole is a large, cold place that is dark and dank. I will have none of that between my legs. Calling it a "love" hole or a baby maker implies that it's not for my pleasure but for the pleasure of the person "using" it or simply for production of offspring. Hearing these terms a lot makes me want to raise my hand and say, "Excuse me? The woman attached to these reproductive organs would like to claim them as her own again!"
"Cunt" is cool, but a little to vagina monologues for me. Plus, it sounds angry. It's a CUNT. It's slobbery and hairy and red and nasty and mean. Say cunt and I picture someone who is angry. An angry vagina monster....*shudders* now there's a terrifying concept. What would an angry vagina monster even do? It kind of sounds like some kind of encounter you'd have in Final Fantasy.
*Badly dubbed voice* Watch out Kenjiko! We're in cunt territory! *encounter music plays* *cut screen of this ugly, hairy, hot-dog-bun-on-crack looking thing coming out of a bush with a huge red tongueish thing coming out of the middle licking all around it and throwing huge drops of smelly slobber out. It's got teeth up the middle and it walks on those tiny little feet wind up teeth toys have.
I don't even want to know what the standard attacks of the cunt monster are.
Vagina bothers me because it's not even the right term. That's just a part of it, not the whole thing. Don't even think about calling it a "va-jay-jay" That's just stupid. Plus, it will make me think of the "Vajapocalypse" on the Soup http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aN9bqYhNLDs
It's not all bad though. There are a few terms that I just smile at. Using the word "sex" to describe it makes me think of old romance novels. "And his hand traveled slowly down to her sex, caressing the tufts of her downy mound and making her moisten in anticipation." It's old fashioned and clinical at the same time. We used the term "sex" to describe the genitals in animals and plants we dissected in college. Sex. A neutral term.
Pussy is okay because, well, everyone uses it. It's neutral and cute and there ARE some similarities between a cat and a cunt. Both are occasionally furry, both are soft and petting them makes women very happy. Pet mine and I purr *she says coquettishly*
...although there are great disparities between a wet cat and a wet pussy. Something to muse on.
The inspiration for this entire entry came from reading my friend Candy Poses' blog , Feminism without Clothes (http://candyposes.com/blog.html/) again.
I read a few pages back and remembered why I have just the hugest girl-crush ever on her. She used the word "snatch" in relating to her hairy crotch which is my favorite crotch word ever. The first time I ever heard someone use the slang was in high school. This really beautiful girl named Ester who I had somehow conned into being my best friend just casually tossed the word out.
I don't even remember what she was saying now, just something about "my snatch" but I do remember being absolutely floored. She threw the word out there with a wave of her hand and a casual toss of the head (okay probably not that, but it's how I remember it) and just kept on talking. Until that point it had been a rude word that I'd get slapped for saying at home. The way arty, beautiful chicks like Ester and Candy say it make it powerful, vulgar, sexy and special, much like they themselves are.
Snatch. The dictionary says that it means to seize something in a rude or eager way. In addition it can mean to quickly secure or obtain or to eagerly take or accept. Lastly, it can mean to hastily or ineffectually attempt to seize. I put that definition through the mental mix master and applied it to my nether regions. Eager to seize, eager to accept or to take, rude by definition but an attempt to seize it would be ineffectual. I like that word being used for the warm, wet space between my legs. It's a powerful word for powerful women. I think I'll keep it.
Hormones
As the surge of new hormones floods through my body from the new implant (okay seriously? How many times am I going to mention that I'm a cyborg now? I love it.) I find myself running hot and cold. I am easily irritated but insanely horny. In totally unrelated news I've installed google analytics on my site and it's the coolest thing ever. I'm really enjoying finding out where people are coming from, what they're looking at the most and where they're going to. People spend a long time looking at each blog page, which theoretically means that they're actually reading what I have to say. SWEET! Thanks!
That reminds me, now that I have your attention, site news.
-Please, please, please go vote for me on the bondage awards. You can go vote once every 12 hours. It's especially important that you go vote now because if I don't get at least ten votes in this round I won't be able to progress to the next round, where I will beg you to go vote for me again.
-I have learned how to webcam (thanks RP!), will now have to install it. Once I do, members can look forward to live webcam shows where they can instruct me through chat and watch me obey to their every desire (well, almost every). I'm getting wet just thinking about it.
-R K Milholland of Something Positive has started drawing Isobel Wren comics! When those are complete I'll put them up on the site.
Anyway, back to what I was saying. Wouldn't it be super cool if we could put psychic spyware into own own brains? In my supersaturated horny state I find myself thinking something sexual about almost every attractive person I meet. I want to see the roman nose of the nerdy guy at the coffee shop buried in my snatch, I want to suck the ample breasts of a hot asian girl minding her own business waiting in line. I want to unzip the starched pants of the police officer guarding the toll bridge, pull out his cock and suck it while commuters zoom past us on the Mass Pike. If these people had sex analytics in their brains they would know instantly that someone just thought an unpure thought at them. Then, perhaps they would track me by my brain IP and ask me if I cared to share my thoughts. That police officer would pull me over for something much more fun than a broken tail light.
Oh, and who else totally ponders offering the nice officer some fellatio to get out of what is sure to be a totally brutal ticket? I do. I totally, totally do. Only unattractive cops ever pull me over though. And what's to stop him from simply writing up the ticket anyway after you blew him? I would be so pissed. Knowing my luck, he'd be a patrolman in those fancy new cars with the cameras and I'd end up on one of those, "crazy police videos" shows on Spike tv The announcer would be all, "This crazy nympho thought she could get out of a ticket by blowing the officer, but he turned her down cold! Next! On 'Stupid Sluts, Caught on Tape!'"
I have this really comfortable tank top given to me by Richard Cheese. It says, "I heart DICK" on it, so I really only wear it to bed or as an undershirt. Today, I did both. I meant to take it off and put another shirt on after I showered, but I got a late start and had to skip the shower. I slipped a bra under it and a sweater over it and headed to the airport. The weather was warmer than I thought it was though, so I soon stripped the sweater off, forgetting what my shirt said. I wondered why men were so nice to me and women gave me dirty looks until the young rapper-looking clerk at the ticket counter said, "You love dick, huh?" with a big grin on his face.
I had to explain that Richard Cheese is a lounge singer who is particularly awesome in his lounge-ification of popular songs. The other young male clerk walked up and chucked his chin at my shirt. "I can get down with that." he grinned.
"Naw dude. It's a lounge singer." replied the first
"Yeah." replied the second, with a puzzled look, "I heard her. I love lounge music. What'd you think I was talking about?"
The first blushed, "Aw man. I thought you was talkin' about her shirt. You down with her and what it says."
"I am!" the second insisted, blundering innocently on, "I love that guy! He's hilarious!"
The first guy just shook his head and handed me my ticket. I put my sweater back on. In a classic example of why my family thinks I'm "like this" on purpose, I promptly forgot what my shirt said and took the sweater off as soon as I got hot again. This garment version of wax on, wax off continued all day as I forgot, garnered stares, pondered the stares, remembered and put the sweater back on. I bet you my sex analytics brainware would have been logging record hits today.
That reminds me, now that I have your attention, site news.
-Please, please, please go vote for me on the bondage awards. You can go vote once every 12 hours. It's especially important that you go vote now because if I don't get at least ten votes in this round I won't be able to progress to the next round, where I will beg you to go vote for me again.
-I have learned how to webcam (thanks RP!), will now have to install it. Once I do, members can look forward to live webcam shows where they can instruct me through chat and watch me obey to their every desire (well, almost every). I'm getting wet just thinking about it.
-R K Milholland of Something Positive has started drawing Isobel Wren comics! When those are complete I'll put them up on the site.
Anyway, back to what I was saying. Wouldn't it be super cool if we could put psychic spyware into own own brains? In my supersaturated horny state I find myself thinking something sexual about almost every attractive person I meet. I want to see the roman nose of the nerdy guy at the coffee shop buried in my snatch, I want to suck the ample breasts of a hot asian girl minding her own business waiting in line. I want to unzip the starched pants of the police officer guarding the toll bridge, pull out his cock and suck it while commuters zoom past us on the Mass Pike. If these people had sex analytics in their brains they would know instantly that someone just thought an unpure thought at them. Then, perhaps they would track me by my brain IP and ask me if I cared to share my thoughts. That police officer would pull me over for something much more fun than a broken tail light.
Oh, and who else totally ponders offering the nice officer some fellatio to get out of what is sure to be a totally brutal ticket? I do. I totally, totally do. Only unattractive cops ever pull me over though. And what's to stop him from simply writing up the ticket anyway after you blew him? I would be so pissed. Knowing my luck, he'd be a patrolman in those fancy new cars with the cameras and I'd end up on one of those, "crazy police videos" shows on Spike tv The announcer would be all, "This crazy nympho thought she could get out of a ticket by blowing the officer, but he turned her down cold! Next! On 'Stupid Sluts, Caught on Tape!'"
I have this really comfortable tank top given to me by Richard Cheese. It says, "I heart DICK" on it, so I really only wear it to bed or as an undershirt. Today, I did both. I meant to take it off and put another shirt on after I showered, but I got a late start and had to skip the shower. I slipped a bra under it and a sweater over it and headed to the airport. The weather was warmer than I thought it was though, so I soon stripped the sweater off, forgetting what my shirt said. I wondered why men were so nice to me and women gave me dirty looks until the young rapper-looking clerk at the ticket counter said, "You love dick, huh?" with a big grin on his face.
I had to explain that Richard Cheese is a lounge singer who is particularly awesome in his lounge-ification of popular songs. The other young male clerk walked up and chucked his chin at my shirt. "I can get down with that." he grinned.
"Naw dude. It's a lounge singer." replied the first
"Yeah." replied the second, with a puzzled look, "I heard her. I love lounge music. What'd you think I was talking about?"
The first blushed, "Aw man. I thought you was talkin' about her shirt. You down with her and what it says."
"I am!" the second insisted, blundering innocently on, "I love that guy! He's hilarious!"
The first guy just shook his head and handed me my ticket. I put my sweater back on. In a classic example of why my family thinks I'm "like this" on purpose, I promptly forgot what my shirt said and took the sweater off as soon as I got hot again. This garment version of wax on, wax off continued all day as I forgot, garnered stares, pondered the stares, remembered and put the sweater back on. I bet you my sex analytics brainware would have been logging record hits today.
Friends/Vaginas
I forget about my friends. This is another thing that makes me a bad person. I forget about my friends until someone reminds me that they're there, that I have friends. I had this great idea to get my nude model friends with blogs or paysites together and have a vlog-off like fiveawesomegirls and this reminded me that Candy Poses (http://candyposes.com/drupal/) is my friend so I had to go read her blog, Feminism without Clothes (http://candyposes.com/blog.html/) again.
I read a few pages back and remembered why I have just the hugest girl-crush ever on her. Also, she used the word "snatch" in relating to her hairy crotch which is my favorite crotch word ever. The first time I ever heard someone use the slang was in high school. This really beautiful girl named Ester who I had somehow conned into being my best friend just casually tossed the word out.
I don't even remember what she was saying now, just something about "my snatch" but I do remember being absolutely floored. She threw the word out there with a wave of her hand and a casual toss of the head (okay probably not that, but it's how I remember it) and just kept on talking. The way she said it and the person she is just made me convinced that snatch was the word powerful, beautiful, artistic women used to describe their holiest of holies. I've since decided that "snatch" is possibly the most powerful word for a woman to use when referring to her crotchal regions.
Not to discount other slangs for the vaginal area. I mean "cunt" is cool too, but that's a little to vagina monologues for me. Plus, it sounds angry. It's a CUNT. It's slobbery and hairy and red and nasty and mean. Say cunt and I picture someone who is angry. An angry vagina monster....*shudders* now there's a terrifying concept. What would an angry vagina monster even do? It kind of sounds like some kind of encounter you'd have in Final Fantasy.
*Badly dubbed voice* Watch out Kenjiko! We're in cunt territory! *encounter music plays* *cut screen of this ugly, hairy, hot-dog-bun-on-crack looking thing coming out of a bush with a huge red tongueish thing coming out of the middle licking all around it and throwing huge drops of smelly slobber out. It's got teeth up the middle and it walks on those tiny little feet wind up teeth toys have.
I don't even want to know what the standard attacks of the cunt monster are.
Vagina bothers me because it's not even the right term. That's just a part of it, not the whole thing.
I don't want to hear or say anything that makes it sound like it's wet or smelly or makes gross noises. Poontang makes it sound like it both has a taste and an unpleasant smell. Plus that kind of sounds like a rapper. I picture "Poontang the asian rapper" someone from a country that doesn't have "poontang" as a slang for snatch. He just heard it from someone's American cousin and thought it sounded cool. Similarly Punani is out. That's Poontang's female counterpart. Perhaps she's lead female vocals on his album, perhaps she simply takes care of his kids. That's right, soak that one in for a minute. Yeah, I said it. His Pu-nanny. Get it?! Oh I crack myself up.
...Cootchie and Pudenda hang out in Poontang's entourage. They are the annoying lame ones that the roadies don't like and the band manager counsels to shut up when press comes around.
Gash, "axe wound" and words similar to them piss me off because that makes me sound incomplete or injured. I have a gash, someone cut me, I hope that it heals. Well that's no good. "Gash of madness" (a la something positive the comic) is right out. Slit and slot sort of teeter on the edge here. I won't say either of them unless I'm trying to be vulgar or someone asks me if I take payment by credit card. "No, I'm sorry. I tried to run them up my slot but I just got bruises!"
Love Hole and baby maker are other disfavored terms. A hole is a large, cold place that is dark and dank. I will have none of that between my legs. Calling it a "love" hole or a baby maker implies that it's not for my pleasure but for the pleasure of the person "using" it or simply for production of offspring. Hearing these terms a lot makes me want to raise my hand and say, "Excuse me? The woman attached to these reproductive organs would like to claim them as her own again!"
It's not all bad though. There are a few terms that I just smile at. Using the word "sex" to describe it makes me think of old romance novels. "And his hand traveled slowly down to her sex, caressing the tufts of her downy mound and making her moisten in anticipation." It's old fashioned and clinical at the same time. We used the term "sex" to describe the genitals in animals and plants we dissected in college. Sex. A neutral term.
Pussy is okay because, well, everyone uses it. It's neutral and cute and there ARE some similarities between a cat and a cunt. Both are occasionally furry,
sex
pussy
I read a few pages back and remembered why I have just the hugest girl-crush ever on her. Also, she used the word "snatch" in relating to her hairy crotch which is my favorite crotch word ever. The first time I ever heard someone use the slang was in high school. This really beautiful girl named Ester who I had somehow conned into being my best friend just casually tossed the word out.
I don't even remember what she was saying now, just something about "my snatch" but I do remember being absolutely floored. She threw the word out there with a wave of her hand and a casual toss of the head (okay probably not that, but it's how I remember it) and just kept on talking. The way she said it and the person she is just made me convinced that snatch was the word powerful, beautiful, artistic women used to describe their holiest of holies. I've since decided that "snatch" is possibly the most powerful word for a woman to use when referring to her crotchal regions.
Not to discount other slangs for the vaginal area. I mean "cunt" is cool too, but that's a little to vagina monologues for me. Plus, it sounds angry. It's a CUNT. It's slobbery and hairy and red and nasty and mean. Say cunt and I picture someone who is angry. An angry vagina monster....*shudders* now there's a terrifying concept. What would an angry vagina monster even do? It kind of sounds like some kind of encounter you'd have in Final Fantasy.
*Badly dubbed voice* Watch out Kenjiko! We're in cunt territory! *encounter music plays* *cut screen of this ugly, hairy, hot-dog-bun-on-crack looking thing coming out of a bush with a huge red tongueish thing coming out of the middle licking all around it and throwing huge drops of smelly slobber out. It's got teeth up the middle and it walks on those tiny little feet wind up teeth toys have.
I don't even want to know what the standard attacks of the cunt monster are.
Vagina bothers me because it's not even the right term. That's just a part of it, not the whole thing.
I don't want to hear or say anything that makes it sound like it's wet or smelly or makes gross noises. Poontang makes it sound like it both has a taste and an unpleasant smell. Plus that kind of sounds like a rapper. I picture "Poontang the asian rapper" someone from a country that doesn't have "poontang" as a slang for snatch. He just heard it from someone's American cousin and thought it sounded cool. Similarly Punani is out. That's Poontang's female counterpart. Perhaps she's lead female vocals on his album, perhaps she simply takes care of his kids. That's right, soak that one in for a minute. Yeah, I said it. His Pu-nanny. Get it?! Oh I crack myself up.
...Cootchie and Pudenda hang out in Poontang's entourage. They are the annoying lame ones that the roadies don't like and the band manager counsels to shut up when press comes around.
Gash, "axe wound" and words similar to them piss me off because that makes me sound incomplete or injured. I have a gash, someone cut me, I hope that it heals. Well that's no good. "Gash of madness" (a la something positive the comic) is right out. Slit and slot sort of teeter on the edge here. I won't say either of them unless I'm trying to be vulgar or someone asks me if I take payment by credit card. "No, I'm sorry. I tried to run them up my slot but I just got bruises!"
Love Hole and baby maker are other disfavored terms. A hole is a large, cold place that is dark and dank. I will have none of that between my legs. Calling it a "love" hole or a baby maker implies that it's not for my pleasure but for the pleasure of the person "using" it or simply for production of offspring. Hearing these terms a lot makes me want to raise my hand and say, "Excuse me? The woman attached to these reproductive organs would like to claim them as her own again!"
It's not all bad though. There are a few terms that I just smile at. Using the word "sex" to describe it makes me think of old romance novels. "And his hand traveled slowly down to her sex, caressing the tufts of her downy mound and making her moisten in anticipation." It's old fashioned and clinical at the same time. We used the term "sex" to describe the genitals in animals and plants we dissected in college. Sex. A neutral term.
Pussy is okay because, well, everyone uses it. It's neutral and cute and there ARE some similarities between a cat and a cunt. Both are occasionally furry,
sex
pussy
Career Faire
I attended a career fair the other day so as not to continue wasting my degree. Not that I've tired of modeling, just that I like to see what options are open to one who has a degree in the environmental sciences. I like to see what people are hiring for. Professional curiousity I guess. Anyway, it got me thinking about what people wanted to be when they were kids and how it turned out.
When I was a kid I wanted to be lots of things. Depending on how I felt I wanted to be any of a myriad of careers. I wanted to be a veterinarian for years, from when I was 13 to 17 or so (when I discovered not only do I hate poop and vomit and all that, but that veterinarians have more school to go to than doctors and much of that school involves vivisection...on cute puppies, no less). No one talks about my longest running career ambition though. They talk about my shortest. What I wanted to be one ill fated career day in kindergarten.
We had career day. A few parents came in and talked about what it was like to work in their jobs. We had the usual staples, I don't remember now. A firefighter or police officer, probably a doctor maybe a nurse (women's lib and all, you know). When they were done speaking they sat at the front of the classroom in those little uncomfortable chairs and smiled while we all drew pictures of what we wanted to be when we grew up.
Misses Shapiro collected our pictures and showed each one to the class and the clapping parents, editorializing on each one.
"And Jimmy wants to be....a doctor!"
*clap clap clap*
"And Becca wants to be....a ballerina!"
*clap clap clap*
"And Wren wants to be...." she frowned at my drawing and paused an extra long time, trying to work it out before she concluded, "a rockstar!"
*clap cl-
"NO!"
I stood up, five year old fists clenched in fury at my sides.
"I don't wanna be a rockstar! I wanna be a PROSTITUTE!"
The parents gasped, Misses Shapiro's face twisted in horror.
In mere minutes I found myself in the principals office with my mother being called and a concerned social worker asking me to tell her if anyone ever touched me in my no no spot. She demonstrated with anatomically correct dolls.
"Did anyone ever touch you HERE?"
Nope
"How about heeeere?" She lowered her fingers
Nope
"Not here?" She queried, moving her hands
Still more no. This was starting to feel like a really strange game of Where's Waldo (though I'm pretty sure that hadn't been invented yet) and I was beginning to feel compelled to make something up to please this saccharine sweet lady when she was called out of the room. My mother had arrived, still wearing her nurse's scrubs, nametag still on the front pocket.
They figured that the only way a little kid as young as I was would know what a hooker was would be if that child had been abused or prostituted herself, or had a close relative or family friend who was a prostitute, so I'm sure that my mom received more scrutiny than was fair. In any case, they called me out in a few moments and I -who didn't know what I'd done, simply that I'd done something bad enough that they had to call mom- slouched in the big green naugahide chair, trying mightily to avoid meeting my mom's eyes when the social worker finally lost her cool.
"Miss-ses WREN!" She barked shrilly, "Do youuu know what your daughter said she wants to be when she grows up?"
My mom, irritated at being called from work and totally used to me doing embarrassing and stupid things by now, rubbed her eyebrows and replied with a bored, "I don't know. A dinosaur?"
Upset that no one was taking her seriously the social worker shrieked, "She wanted to be a prostitute!" taking a deep breath she leveled and accusatory eye at mom, "Now whyyyyy. Would she say that?"
Mom squinted at this ***easily irritated*** woman who had interrupted her breadwinning. "Did you ask her?"
The social worker straightened. Asking the child had obviously never occurred to her.
She walked over to me and did that thing that adults do when they're trying to convince a child they're serious. She squatted and took both my hands in hers, meeting me on my eye level and staring searchingly into my eyes.
"Sweetie." She asked, "Why do you want to be a prostitute?"
I shook my head and rolled my eyes, was THAT what all this was about? Sheesh, that was easy!
We lived in a rough neighborhood outside of DC and every night after mom put me to bed I'd stare out my windows at the hookers on the corner. I wanted to do what they did, which was everything I couldn't. They got to stay up late, dress up pretty and take rides in cars with men.
I thought that they were some kind of driving companion. I'd heard about commuting, perhaps that's what they did, helped people commute. I figured they got paychecks like my parents did.
I explained this all and kept my parents out of big trouble. I, however, was not so lucky when I got home.
When I was a kid I wanted to be lots of things. Depending on how I felt I wanted to be any of a myriad of careers. I wanted to be a veterinarian for years, from when I was 13 to 17 or so (when I discovered not only do I hate poop and vomit and all that, but that veterinarians have more school to go to than doctors and much of that school involves vivisection...on cute puppies, no less). No one talks about my longest running career ambition though. They talk about my shortest. What I wanted to be one ill fated career day in kindergarten.
We had career day. A few parents came in and talked about what it was like to work in their jobs. We had the usual staples, I don't remember now. A firefighter or police officer, probably a doctor maybe a nurse (women's lib and all, you know). When they were done speaking they sat at the front of the classroom in those little uncomfortable chairs and smiled while we all drew pictures of what we wanted to be when we grew up.
Misses Shapiro collected our pictures and showed each one to the class and the clapping parents, editorializing on each one.
"And Jimmy wants to be....a doctor!"
*clap clap clap*
"And Becca wants to be....a ballerina!"
*clap clap clap*
"And Wren wants to be...." she frowned at my drawing and paused an extra long time, trying to work it out before she concluded, "a rockstar!"
*clap cl-
"NO!"
I stood up, five year old fists clenched in fury at my sides.
"I don't wanna be a rockstar! I wanna be a PROSTITUTE!"
The parents gasped, Misses Shapiro's face twisted in horror.
In mere minutes I found myself in the principals office with my mother being called and a concerned social worker asking me to tell her if anyone ever touched me in my no no spot. She demonstrated with anatomically correct dolls.
"Did anyone ever touch you HERE?"
Nope
"How about heeeere?" She lowered her fingers
Nope
"Not here?" She queried, moving her hands
Still more no. This was starting to feel like a really strange game of Where's Waldo (though I'm pretty sure that hadn't been invented yet) and I was beginning to feel compelled to make something up to please this saccharine sweet lady when she was called out of the room. My mother had arrived, still wearing her nurse's scrubs, nametag still on the front pocket.
They figured that the only way a little kid as young as I was would know what a hooker was would be if that child had been abused or prostituted herself, or had a close relative or family friend who was a prostitute, so I'm sure that my mom received more scrutiny than was fair. In any case, they called me out in a few moments and I -who didn't know what I'd done, simply that I'd done something bad enough that they had to call mom- slouched in the big green naugahide chair, trying mightily to avoid meeting my mom's eyes when the social worker finally lost her cool.
"Miss-ses WREN!" She barked shrilly, "Do youuu know what your daughter said she wants to be when she grows up?"
My mom, irritated at being called from work and totally used to me doing embarrassing and stupid things by now, rubbed her eyebrows and replied with a bored, "I don't know. A dinosaur?"
Upset that no one was taking her seriously the social worker shrieked, "She wanted to be a prostitute!" taking a deep breath she leveled and accusatory eye at mom, "Now whyyyyy. Would she say that?"
Mom squinted at this ***easily irritated*** woman who had interrupted her breadwinning. "Did you ask her?"
The social worker straightened. Asking the child had obviously never occurred to her.
She walked over to me and did that thing that adults do when they're trying to convince a child they're serious. She squatted and took both my hands in hers, meeting me on my eye level and staring searchingly into my eyes.
"Sweetie." She asked, "Why do you want to be a prostitute?"
I shook my head and rolled my eyes, was THAT what all this was about? Sheesh, that was easy!
We lived in a rough neighborhood outside of DC and every night after mom put me to bed I'd stare out my windows at the hookers on the corner. I wanted to do what they did, which was everything I couldn't. They got to stay up late, dress up pretty and take rides in cars with men.
I thought that they were some kind of driving companion. I'd heard about commuting, perhaps that's what they did, helped people commute. I figured they got paychecks like my parents did.
I explained this all and kept my parents out of big trouble. I, however, was not so lucky when I got home.
AVN 2008
I'm in Las Vegas! I can't believe it! This is the city that I've seen so much of in films and tv and I've never been here, but here I am. You know what? I am not only in Las Vegas, but I am in Las Vegas at the AVN Expo. How cool is that?! I feel like a little kid every time I say "how cool is that?!" and it feels a little strange to have child-like joy about "the porno convention" but I am just that thrilled. The adult entertainment expo is just that kind of exciting to me. Sex is so basic, so beautiful, so thrilling that being here at the expo is a gleeful experience. I was walking down the main convention center hallway in my businesswoman outfit (you know, the vertiginous pumps, the thigh high stockings, the pinstripe skirt that just barely covers my ass and the pinstripe jacket with only a bra under it) and heads were turning, people were staring and taking pictures, one guy walked into a column. I was grinning my face off, living in attention whore's paradise. This is what I want to do. This is what I love to do. This is what I was made to do.
Oh yeah, sure, I CAN do more than what I feel I was made to do. I have done more and I will continue to do more. I COULD take my clothes off for a living for the rest of my life but I assure you that it wouldn't be pretty. I will move on and achieve more than just what my body was made to want. Right now though, I'm happy. Being here at AEE is surreal and (right now at least) reinforcing to me that this is what I am good at and love doing. Dear everyone, you still continue to have my permission to masturbate to me. Sincerely, Isobel
Want to see me while I'm here? I'm in the Killer Bea Media booth, that's 5102. If I'm not there I'm either being tied up at the Dungeon Corps booth (which is on the right hand side near the firetruck) or the PAW booth....or I'm wandering around because there's a whole bunch of nearly naked chicks here and I'm an ogler. I told RP that it's going to be hard to keep me at the booth b/c of this and he says to tell y'all that he'll have me tied to the booth at regular intervals to keep me there.
Vegas Things:
-Zumanity is a super cool show. Seeing Cirque du Solei in person is a totally amazing experience and a million times better than seeing it on tape, like I have been.
-My overriding thought while being here is, "good God I'm glad I don't have a gambling addiction."
-Food here is either stupid cheap or stupid expensive.
-Advertisements are all over NYC, everywhere, on every available surface. They are NOT everywhere here, they are "tastefully" placed, but created in such a way that they instantly grab and hold your attention. It's amazing. I'm astounded by the planning that went into making this a money machine.
Oh yeah, sure, I CAN do more than what I feel I was made to do. I have done more and I will continue to do more. I COULD take my clothes off for a living for the rest of my life but I assure you that it wouldn't be pretty. I will move on and achieve more than just what my body was made to want. Right now though, I'm happy. Being here at AEE is surreal and (right now at least) reinforcing to me that this is what I am good at and love doing. Dear everyone, you still continue to have my permission to masturbate to me. Sincerely, Isobel
Want to see me while I'm here? I'm in the Killer Bea Media booth, that's 5102. If I'm not there I'm either being tied up at the Dungeon Corps booth (which is on the right hand side near the firetruck) or the PAW booth....or I'm wandering around because there's a whole bunch of nearly naked chicks here and I'm an ogler. I told RP that it's going to be hard to keep me at the booth b/c of this and he says to tell y'all that he'll have me tied to the booth at regular intervals to keep me there.
Vegas Things:
-Zumanity is a super cool show. Seeing Cirque du Solei in person is a totally amazing experience and a million times better than seeing it on tape, like I have been.
-My overriding thought while being here is, "good God I'm glad I don't have a gambling addiction."
-Food here is either stupid cheap or stupid expensive.
-Advertisements are all over NYC, everywhere, on every available surface. They are NOT everywhere here, they are "tastefully" placed, but created in such a way that they instantly grab and hold your attention. It's amazing. I'm astounded by the planning that went into making this a money machine.
My first time
So here's my first entry in my new site. So let's make this a post all about firsts. What firsts do you want to know about?
The first time I had an orgasm I was 18. I'd been masturbating for years but it was frustrating and boring since nothing ever happened. I listened to Lovelines every night and girls like me always asked, "how will I know when I've had an orgasm?" to which Adam and Dr. Drew would always respond, "Oh you'll know when you've had an orgasm! It's the best thing in the world! Earth shattering! You'll know!"
One day I was cleaning out a closet and found this old back massager that my dad bought for the family. It had been fun for a while but it was quickly forgotten and packed away. I'm sure the lightbulb above my head was so intense it was actually visible. No one would miss this massager since they'd forgotten it anyway. I wasn't old enough to purchase a vibrator but I'd have bet you this thing would do just fine.
That night I plugged it in and pulled it out once I'd used my fingers to work myself up a bit. It felt great! I used it at least once a night for the next week straight. Masturbating was WAY better with a vibrator! So THIS is why people do this.
I was still a little bothered that I hadn't discovered the elusive orgasm. If just masturbating felt that good I could imagine how awesome an orgasm was going to feel. The next afternoon I pulled out the massager before the rest of my family got home and wore myself out with some very nice mental fanfic about Nightcrawler. After I was done I lay back on the pillows and reveled in how worn out I felt.
Slowly it began to dawn on me. There had been a heightening of pleasure followed by a moment when it felt really good and then I was tired and happy. HOLY SHIT! That must have been an orgasm. I had had an orgasm. I had BEEN having orgasms for the past week! Son of a BITCH! I had been coming for a week without knowing it. I was so pissed at Lovelines for building me up like that. It wasn't until I dated a man who was into BDSM that I understood how an orgasm could really be an earth shattering experience...but that's a story for another time.
The first time I had an orgasm I was 18. I'd been masturbating for years but it was frustrating and boring since nothing ever happened. I listened to Lovelines every night and girls like me always asked, "how will I know when I've had an orgasm?" to which Adam and Dr. Drew would always respond, "Oh you'll know when you've had an orgasm! It's the best thing in the world! Earth shattering! You'll know!"
One day I was cleaning out a closet and found this old back massager that my dad bought for the family. It had been fun for a while but it was quickly forgotten and packed away. I'm sure the lightbulb above my head was so intense it was actually visible. No one would miss this massager since they'd forgotten it anyway. I wasn't old enough to purchase a vibrator but I'd have bet you this thing would do just fine.
That night I plugged it in and pulled it out once I'd used my fingers to work myself up a bit. It felt great! I used it at least once a night for the next week straight. Masturbating was WAY better with a vibrator! So THIS is why people do this.
I was still a little bothered that I hadn't discovered the elusive orgasm. If just masturbating felt that good I could imagine how awesome an orgasm was going to feel. The next afternoon I pulled out the massager before the rest of my family got home and wore myself out with some very nice mental fanfic about Nightcrawler. After I was done I lay back on the pillows and reveled in how worn out I felt.
Slowly it began to dawn on me. There had been a heightening of pleasure followed by a moment when it felt really good and then I was tired and happy. HOLY SHIT! That must have been an orgasm. I had had an orgasm. I had BEEN having orgasms for the past week! Son of a BITCH! I had been coming for a week without knowing it. I was so pissed at Lovelines for building me up like that. It wasn't until I dated a man who was into BDSM that I understood how an orgasm could really be an earth shattering experience...but that's a story for another time.
Puppy Video
This week I've been filming my second puppy video. I think you'll like it when it's done. People often ask me if I really get turned on while I film or shoot. I'm not sure what the "right" answer is but the real answer is sometimes. Like anything else one enjoys, if you make a job out of it some of it is going to turn into a routine and that's going to be boring and job-like. Sometimes I'm not totally comfortable with the person I'm shooting with, sometimes I'm tired and sometimes the setting isn't conducive to getting turned on. In the set where I'm being force fed honey by Ester Amoral I guarantee you that the only thing I was thinking was "eeeeeeeee! I'm so stickeeeeyyyy!"
Of course, when I looked at the pictures I said, "Oh damn who are those sexy bitches?! Where is my vibrator?!" but when we shot it, sex was a much lower priority than say, a shower. A long. Hot. Shower....which is sad, because I would totally fuck Ester Amoral.
In any case, sometimes I DO get turned on by a shoot, and the second puppy video has definitely been one of those times. I'll give you a bit of a spoiler.
This video, the second Isobel's Puppy Adventure video, is about Isobel the puppy being examined and trained. Evil doctor RP uses his scary instruments to test me for depth and width in my pussy and mouth. *Digression* Upon entering RP's studio a few years ago I goggled at the amount of scary objects of ambiguous origin and purpose that he had in his possession.
"Where....where did you GET all these things?"
Unwittingly, he laughed a very good evil genius laugh and grinned at me, "Ebay."
He turned back to setting up the shoot and I wandered around touching things (we models do this, it's a horrible habit. Most photographers hate it). After 15 minutes of trying to figure out what something that looked vaguely like a milking machine on crack was supposed to do I decided -against what should be my better judgement- to ask, "What does any of this stuff DO?!"
He looked up, trying to pick out WHICH "stuff" I was motioning to. He shrugged, "Oh fuck, I don't know. It looks pretty horrific though, doesn't it?" He grinned, "Isn't it great?!"
I have since learned that RP is an ebaying fool. I have never learned, however, what it is that he types into the ebay search engine to end up with his scary things. I mean, if he doesn't have a concrete thing to search for -such as a frequent term of mine "size 8 pumps 5 inch heel"- what does he have type so that a small chrome engine with what looks like tanks and syringes and odd valves attached comes up in the results?! I'm not sure that I want to know.
End of digression. So in the video RP is testing me for depth and such with a clear purple double headed dildo. At this point we'd been shooting for quite some time. He'd been thowing me around and testing different parts of me with different types of instruments, I'd masturbated for a short time until I was "caught". The script called for him to catch me masturbating, take the measuing dldo from me, smack me around a little and continue with the examination.
He stuffed the dildo in deep and rough as per the shoot plan. My poor pussy couldn't take it any longer. I cried out and practically jumped off the table trying to push back against the dildo. My reaction surprised the both of us. The scene was supposed to be over after he measured me but I begged him not to stop. *smirk* Gamely, he obliged. Rough life for RP huh? At that point I wasn't paying attention to things like camera angles and body positioning, I just fucked the hell out of that dildo until I came. I hope the video turned out okay. *evil grin*
Hot Chick of the day
Welcome 93X listeners! I'm the hot chick of the day ! W00T!
I got up this morning and checked the logs and thought, "now how the HELL do I have 45 guests looking at my site?" and then I remembered that the lovely folks over at 93X accepted my application. Hello Minnesota! Welcome, from Boston Ma on the east coast! I'm sorry that the site isn't exactly functioning top notch right now, I'm still new to this whole, "making the internet" thing and some stuff is broken. My business partner is helping me, but he's a busy guy and there's only so much time he can devote to THIS naked chick.
Wow, Minnesota. Cool! I've never been there, but apparently there are at least 45 folks who like hot chicks there and think that I'm one.
If your Isobel fix isn't satisfied just yet feel free to come check me out at my yahoo group , or add me to your friends list on myspace. If you're feeling really into it and you'd like to see more pictures and possibly see me in print, go to:
and download some new, special photos of me and vote for me as an Ultra Vixen. If I get the most votes for the year, I get the cover of the magazine and you'd better believe I'll be showing all the folks who helped me get there some very special love. ;)
Thanks for watching,
Isobel
Figure modeling
So I worked a figure modeling gig for a local college the other day. Figure modeling is kind of fun even though it's not as glam as photographic modeling. No one does your makeup or your hair, but then again, you don't have to shave your legs because no one is going to bother drawing leg hair.
I got really used to modeling for advanced classes and artists' practice so it was unusual for me to do shorter poses. I'm used to doing 90 second gestures* for ten minutes and then picking a pose to hold for 45 minutes at once for five hours in total. It was super strange to do five and two minute gestures and 20 and 30 minute poses.
My best friend Ester went to art school. She told this really great story about her two best/worst subjects. Both were men, one was this big fat homeless guy. The fact that they hire homeless people to art model makes me feel less great about myself as an art model.
You know? It's like when you're dating someone and you're feeling pretty good about yourself for landing this great catch and then you meet a few of their exes and they're all total hose beasts. You kind of wonder what part of you is beastly enough to attract your sig to you and now you kind of view the whole situation differently.
Anyway, so this homeless art model, according to Ester, was a little smelly and sort of wove back and forth if he had to sit up straight. He would always pick spread legged poses to display his junk better and if he caught you looking at it to draw it he'd make eyebrows at you and then during the break he'd walk over to you and execute one of my favorite "annoying man tricks". A nude (or nearly so) man walks over to a woman who is sitting with her eyes at his groin level and then does a lower back stretch to shove his genitals in her face. "Ohhhhh, don't mind me... Ahhhh, my back is soooo tight. Could uuuuuuuse a good massage."
Ester tells me it was particularly offensive when this guy did it because he always smelled of old ball sweat.
The other guy is nowhere near as generally appalling, just kind of strange. He would get an erection if you tried to draw his penis. She would tell me that you'd start to draw and he'd catch you looking and his dick would start twitching. It is, by the way, impossible to draw a twitching member (yeah duh). She would drop her pencil and look at his face with a look withering look that said, "seriously. Cut it out. I'm trying to draw here." which would make him more embarrassed, he'd blush crimson and his erection would get worse.
In the beginning the professor would ask the model to excuse himself until he, "calmed down" but apparently this happened so many times a class that if the model excused himself every time he got hard there would be no more drawing time left. Ester's sketch book of this class is pretty funny. It starts as guys with missing crotches and then guys with half drawn flaccid penises and then guys with huge raging hard ons. It looks like someone is trying to tell a story about male sexuality. I picture people in the future finding her sketch book in the ruins of a town and it being the next cave paintings, "You see how our ancestors' grasp on sexuality changed over the ages...these at the last appear to be some kind of ancient fertility gods."
I don't understand why the guy didn't just stare at the ceiling like I do. In a modeling class I get very well acquainted with the students shoes and the water spots on the ceiling. Everyone in this last class was wearing sneakers, by the way. Except the professor, who was wearing loafers...they always are.
Here are some things I think about while standing still for three hours;
-What would happen if I just broke out into an impromptu dance for like, 20 seconds and then went back to my pose like nothing ever happened?
-What would happen if I just got up and walked out, naked, didn't pick up my clothing or anything?
-I should just stare at this one person. That would be really funny. To just stare an inch or so beyond his head, I bet that would make him really uncomfortable. I bet he'd move.
-I wonder if there has ever been a super stinky model who figure modeled. I bet you they didn't work with that person again.
-What would the professor do if their figure model showed up and had palsy?
-What if I just cut a really loud fart right now? Would people laugh?
-Why do people react so negatively if their art model talks to them while they're drawing? I guess it gets in the way of the objectification.
I also think of other things like what I need to do for the rest of the week and how I would want to look if I were black (I have always wanted to have "nappy" hair) and what I would do to the world if I were God (thing 5.7b is making a birth control pill for men) but I just listed the things specific to figure modeling and not say, a long trip on the bus....or a flight when the person in front of me reclines their seat so far that I can't use my laptop.
I purposefully pick the shitty seats in the back of the plane b/c they generally have fewer degrees of seat pitch. Seriously, if I wanted a fellow passenger's head in my lap during the whole trip I'm sure I could ask someone and have it achieved in a much more interesting manner. And no one ever asks you if they can recline before they hit the lever. Most people don't even look back. I've had that little tray latch hit the top of my laptop with such force that I thought it would break my screen.
Guilty confession? Once, in the middle of a particularly stressful cross country flight (why does everyone bring their babies on the red eye?!) a little old -well, okay, not so little- a morbidly obese old Texan lady just dropped her seat back into my lap with such force that the seat latch closed my laptop on my hands. Startled and angry I shouted -honestly, I shouted, in the middle of a crowded plane at like, midnight- "Woah! Eat less cake lady!"
*laughs and blushes*
Everyone looked up. EVERYONE. I woke people up. They had NO idea why I was shouting. The old lady was startled and offended because she didn't know that she'd almost broken my laptop. She just knew she'd reclined and I'd yelled that she was fat. I didn't feel like explaining why I'd yelled. I was embarrassed, she was embarrassed, the other passengers thought I was a douche...some people laughed though. I think I mumbled, "you shut my laptop, it startled me." She eyed me, wounded, through the seats, cranked her seat up, and went back to sleep.
Yep. that's what I've got to say today.
Thanks for watching,
Isobel
*gesture - a quick, dynamic pose where the artist merely works on capturing the form of the model in as few lines as possible. The viewer of the finished gesture piece should be able to "fill in" the figure with their eyes and be left with a sense of movement in the drawing, hence gesture.
I got really used to modeling for advanced classes and artists' practice so it was unusual for me to do shorter poses. I'm used to doing 90 second gestures* for ten minutes and then picking a pose to hold for 45 minutes at once for five hours in total. It was super strange to do five and two minute gestures and 20 and 30 minute poses.
My best friend Ester went to art school. She told this really great story about her two best/worst subjects. Both were men, one was this big fat homeless guy. The fact that they hire homeless people to art model makes me feel less great about myself as an art model.
You know? It's like when you're dating someone and you're feeling pretty good about yourself for landing this great catch and then you meet a few of their exes and they're all total hose beasts. You kind of wonder what part of you is beastly enough to attract your sig to you and now you kind of view the whole situation differently.
Anyway, so this homeless art model, according to Ester, was a little smelly and sort of wove back and forth if he had to sit up straight. He would always pick spread legged poses to display his junk better and if he caught you looking at it to draw it he'd make eyebrows at you and then during the break he'd walk over to you and execute one of my favorite "annoying man tricks". A nude (or nearly so) man walks over to a woman who is sitting with her eyes at his groin level and then does a lower back stretch to shove his genitals in her face. "Ohhhhh, don't mind me... Ahhhh, my back is soooo tight. Could uuuuuuuse a good massage."
Ester tells me it was particularly offensive when this guy did it because he always smelled of old ball sweat.
The other guy is nowhere near as generally appalling, just kind of strange. He would get an erection if you tried to draw his penis. She would tell me that you'd start to draw and he'd catch you looking and his dick would start twitching. It is, by the way, impossible to draw a twitching member (yeah duh). She would drop her pencil and look at his face with a look withering look that said, "seriously. Cut it out. I'm trying to draw here." which would make him more embarrassed, he'd blush crimson and his erection would get worse.
In the beginning the professor would ask the model to excuse himself until he, "calmed down" but apparently this happened so many times a class that if the model excused himself every time he got hard there would be no more drawing time left. Ester's sketch book of this class is pretty funny. It starts as guys with missing crotches and then guys with half drawn flaccid penises and then guys with huge raging hard ons. It looks like someone is trying to tell a story about male sexuality. I picture people in the future finding her sketch book in the ruins of a town and it being the next cave paintings, "You see how our ancestors' grasp on sexuality changed over the ages...these at the last appear to be some kind of ancient fertility gods."
I don't understand why the guy didn't just stare at the ceiling like I do. In a modeling class I get very well acquainted with the students shoes and the water spots on the ceiling. Everyone in this last class was wearing sneakers, by the way. Except the professor, who was wearing loafers...they always are.
Here are some things I think about while standing still for three hours;
-What would happen if I just broke out into an impromptu dance for like, 20 seconds and then went back to my pose like nothing ever happened?
-What would happen if I just got up and walked out, naked, didn't pick up my clothing or anything?
-I should just stare at this one person. That would be really funny. To just stare an inch or so beyond his head, I bet that would make him really uncomfortable. I bet he'd move.
-I wonder if there has ever been a super stinky model who figure modeled. I bet you they didn't work with that person again.
-What would the professor do if their figure model showed up and had palsy?
-What if I just cut a really loud fart right now? Would people laugh?
-Why do people react so negatively if their art model talks to them while they're drawing? I guess it gets in the way of the objectification.
I also think of other things like what I need to do for the rest of the week and how I would want to look if I were black (I have always wanted to have "nappy" hair) and what I would do to the world if I were God (thing 5.7b is making a birth control pill for men) but I just listed the things specific to figure modeling and not say, a long trip on the bus....or a flight when the person in front of me reclines their seat so far that I can't use my laptop.
I purposefully pick the shitty seats in the back of the plane b/c they generally have fewer degrees of seat pitch. Seriously, if I wanted a fellow passenger's head in my lap during the whole trip I'm sure I could ask someone and have it achieved in a much more interesting manner. And no one ever asks you if they can recline before they hit the lever. Most people don't even look back. I've had that little tray latch hit the top of my laptop with such force that I thought it would break my screen.
Guilty confession? Once, in the middle of a particularly stressful cross country flight (why does everyone bring their babies on the red eye?!) a little old -well, okay, not so little- a morbidly obese old Texan lady just dropped her seat back into my lap with such force that the seat latch closed my laptop on my hands. Startled and angry I shouted -honestly, I shouted, in the middle of a crowded plane at like, midnight- "Woah! Eat less cake lady!"
*laughs and blushes*
Everyone looked up. EVERYONE. I woke people up. They had NO idea why I was shouting. The old lady was startled and offended because she didn't know that she'd almost broken my laptop. She just knew she'd reclined and I'd yelled that she was fat. I didn't feel like explaining why I'd yelled. I was embarrassed, she was embarrassed, the other passengers thought I was a douche...some people laughed though. I think I mumbled, "you shut my laptop, it startled me." She eyed me, wounded, through the seats, cranked her seat up, and went back to sleep.
Yep. that's what I've got to say today.
Thanks for watching,
Isobel
*gesture - a quick, dynamic pose where the artist merely works on capturing the form of the model in as few lines as possible. The viewer of the finished gesture piece should be able to "fill in" the figure with their eyes and be left with a sense of movement in the drawing, hence gesture.
Lists
I keep lists. I have a thing for lists. I thought it was kind of stupid, then I read somewhere that an ancient Japanese lady who was famous for being sexy released a book of lists back in her time and they were a big seller. Now, I'm not sure if her book was a big seller b/c it was good or b/c she was famous for being sexy but it encouraged me to keep writing my lists. I thought I might share some.
Things that give me a thrill
-Taking off in an airplane
-Seeing an airplane's shadow on the ground
-Finding a cool rock
-Finding money
-Seeing my name in an article
-A sudden graphic flash of sex in my mind
Things I am afraid of
Anything that represents loss of self, like dementia or zombies
Ghosts
Crawly things with too many legs that move in waves, like centipedes
Being lost in space
Being unable to see the bottom in a large body of water
Movies that always make me cry
-Mystic River; the part where Sean Penn has to identify his daughter. (Oh Goddamn. No one should ever have to be on either side of that window)
-Old Yeller; shut up, the dog dies, it's fucking sad. (poor puppy. It wasn't his fault!)
-Lilo and Stitch; when they sing the Hawaiian anthem. (I grew up there, I miss it)
-Saving Private Ryan; the D day invasion when everyone's all fucked up and stumbling around and you see that they're all just young men who really really didn't have to die like that. (duh)
-Jarhead; the whole thing, I can't watch it. I'm a fucking mess. (because I think my friends who are in the military must feel like that)
-Roots; "Your name is Toby!" "Kunta-kine!" (because I'm proud of him)
-Big Fish; the denouement (his son finally gets it, they finally make peace)
Things that are hard to define
What humor is
What love is
Translating concept words
And because this is a sexy site:
Things that arouse me
-A good speaking voice
-A commanding voice
-A nice pair of legs in stockings and patent heels (mine or someone else's)
-A woman with nicely shaped breasts
-The bare expanse of someone's back, especially if it is well muscled
-The Iliac crest, especially peeking out of a pair of jeans that are JUST loose enough for me to stick my fingers in
-Riding on a motorcycle
-Wearing latex
-Preparing something in the kitchen with someone I am enamored of
-The particular way I groom my pubic hair, not the act of grooming it but the way it looks and feels. I like having the hair on the front and then it not being on the undercarriage is a sexy surprise.
-Being chased
-Being bound in a sexual situation when I trust the person binding me
-Deep smells, like cinnamon or cardamom or the back of someone's neck
-Having a hood piercing while wearing jeans and crossing my legs or riding a bike
Things that give me a thrill
-Taking off in an airplane
-Seeing an airplane's shadow on the ground
-Finding a cool rock
-Finding money
-Seeing my name in an article
-A sudden graphic flash of sex in my mind
Things I am afraid of
Anything that represents loss of self, like dementia or zombies
Ghosts
Crawly things with too many legs that move in waves, like centipedes
Being lost in space
Being unable to see the bottom in a large body of water
Movies that always make me cry
-Mystic River; the part where Sean Penn has to identify his daughter. (Oh Goddamn. No one should ever have to be on either side of that window)
-Old Yeller; shut up, the dog dies, it's fucking sad. (poor puppy. It wasn't his fault!)
-Lilo and Stitch; when they sing the Hawaiian anthem. (I grew up there, I miss it)
-Saving Private Ryan; the D day invasion when everyone's all fucked up and stumbling around and you see that they're all just young men who really really didn't have to die like that. (duh)
-Jarhead; the whole thing, I can't watch it. I'm a fucking mess. (because I think my friends who are in the military must feel like that)
-Roots; "Your name is Toby!" "Kunta-kine!" (because I'm proud of him)
-Big Fish; the denouement (his son finally gets it, they finally make peace)
Things that are hard to define
What humor is
What love is
Translating concept words
And because this is a sexy site:
Things that arouse me
-A good speaking voice
-A commanding voice
-A nice pair of legs in stockings and patent heels (mine or someone else's)
-A woman with nicely shaped breasts
-The bare expanse of someone's back, especially if it is well muscled
-The Iliac crest, especially peeking out of a pair of jeans that are JUST loose enough for me to stick my fingers in
-Riding on a motorcycle
-Wearing latex
-Preparing something in the kitchen with someone I am enamored of
-The particular way I groom my pubic hair, not the act of grooming it but the way it looks and feels. I like having the hair on the front and then it not being on the undercarriage is a sexy surprise.
-Being chased
-Being bound in a sexual situation when I trust the person binding me
-Deep smells, like cinnamon or cardamom or the back of someone's neck
-Having a hood piercing while wearing jeans and crossing my legs or riding a bike
Vagina
Vagina Having a vagina is very useful. It's a great place to store things if they're pretty small and you don't mind them getting gooey, it fits in a pair of panties much more handily than external genitalia and putting things in it lends an instant "edge" to photos.
Seriously, I'm not kidding. I can't tell you how many times I've put up an art photo of me with something unusual stuffed in me to have it yield an instant flurry of, "How edgy!" comments
Once a photographer knows that you'll put something in you for a photo that's all you'll hear about. I have one photo that gets a lot of press by Aeric Meredith-Goujon where I've got a whole bunch of rubber tubing in there. I get comments like, "she's a bug with her guts coming out", "good Lord! He's turned you into a Play-Doh machine!", and "I'll never look at Twizzlers the same again."
I guarantee you that those photos will be the first thing I'll hear about when a photographer tells me he's seen my work and, "wants to do something erotic and edgy". I figure it must be an unwritten rule of photography, "If you find a model who will stick something up her you've got to ask her to stick something up her for you." I'm usually up for it if I think the shot has artistic merit and I like the photographer. Yes, I'm like that. I have to be comfortable with a person to put an object in my holiest of holies in front of them.
So anyway, at this point the fun things that I've stuck up my hooter in a non sexy way include; a mass of rubber tubing, a mirror (the photographer is shaving in it in the photo), a pacifier, a whole bunch of tiny robotic arms, a largeish steel sex toy that looked more like sculpture, a vaguely phallic sculpture in blown glass (here's what I was thinking, "please don't break, please don't break, please don't break") a soft pack, a barbie doll and the heel of a patent leather stiletto.
That photo of the stiletto is now in an erotic art gallery in Paris. Know why? Because it was edgy. I would never have gotten into that gallery if I hadn't put a shoe up me. So a vagina is super useful to have, it's my favorite place on my body to store things, although I'll never get the smell out of my coin purse.
Seriously, I'm not kidding. I can't tell you how many times I've put up an art photo of me with something unusual stuffed in me to have it yield an instant flurry of, "How edgy!" comments
Once a photographer knows that you'll put something in you for a photo that's all you'll hear about. I have one photo that gets a lot of press by Aeric Meredith-Goujon where I've got a whole bunch of rubber tubing in there. I get comments like, "she's a bug with her guts coming out", "good Lord! He's turned you into a Play-Doh machine!", and "I'll never look at Twizzlers the same again."
I guarantee you that those photos will be the first thing I'll hear about when a photographer tells me he's seen my work and, "wants to do something erotic and edgy". I figure it must be an unwritten rule of photography, "If you find a model who will stick something up her you've got to ask her to stick something up her for you." I'm usually up for it if I think the shot has artistic merit and I like the photographer. Yes, I'm like that. I have to be comfortable with a person to put an object in my holiest of holies in front of them.
So anyway, at this point the fun things that I've stuck up my hooter in a non sexy way include; a mass of rubber tubing, a mirror (the photographer is shaving in it in the photo), a pacifier, a whole bunch of tiny robotic arms, a largeish steel sex toy that looked more like sculpture, a vaguely phallic sculpture in blown glass (here's what I was thinking, "please don't break, please don't break, please don't break") a soft pack, a barbie doll and the heel of a patent leather stiletto.
That photo of the stiletto is now in an erotic art gallery in Paris. Know why? Because it was edgy. I would never have gotten into that gallery if I hadn't put a shoe up me. So a vagina is super useful to have, it's my favorite place on my body to store things, although I'll never get the smell out of my coin purse.
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