Daily Prompt – Masks Off

We’re less than a week away from Halloween! If you had to design a costume that channeled your true, innermost self, what would that costume look like? Would you dare to wear it?

I’d go Tick or Treating as Regina George from Mean Girls.

But not dressed as a slut. No, no, I’d go AS Regina George.


Daily Prompt – Fourth Wall

You get to spend a day inside your favorite movie. Tell us which one it is — and what happens to you while you’re there.

I thought about this for a while – it’s hard to pick your favourite movie, when you actually have so many of them.

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2 Sept – Communication

How do you communicate best? Speaking or writing?

For me, it’s definitely writing. I’m much better at writing a scathing email than I am having a go at somebody face-to-face.

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Daily Prompt – Missing Sequels

If you could create a sequel to one favorite (standalone) movie, which would it be? How would it build on the original?

I thought about this for a while, and there’s a couple of terrible iconic movies that are waiting for sequels, but one that stands out moreso…

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Mar 3: Five Things

Tell us five interesting random things about yourself.

I hate these things… I always find it such a struggle to write…

…so I changed it 😉

1. I’m terrible at remembering names…

…but instead I remember countless pop culture references, that, ultimately, are completely pointless:


2. I still don’t know what I want to be when I grow up.

3. I once owned a purple velvet unitard.

except mine was a very dark purple, and it had one sleeve, and it had purple and silver sequins all up the arm, that fanned out across the chest. It was very dramatic, and there are no photos in existence of me wearing it… well, none that I know of. And yes, it was for dancing, and I was about 15 or 16 when I had to wear it. It was for our Contemporary troupe performance.

4. I have a stuffed dog called Rambo. I got him from The Oatmeal. He sits on my desk at work.

5. Pretty much everytime I have a conversation with Crazy Cat Lady at work, it’s gibberish. Mainly noises and quotes from pop-culture references. We’re so loud and disruptive… we complete each other.

Feb 17: Eye Of The Beholder

Do you believe that beauty is in the eye of the beholder? Or do you think there is a basic standard of beauty that everyone agrees upon?

**WARNING: Contains stereotypes and generalisations**

I vaguely remember watching a Comedy Debate a couple of years ago on this exact same topic… I guess it probably would have helped if I had been paying attention more, then I could have relayed the messages from both sides of the debate.

There are so many different ways in which I could address this, so let’s just see how this all unfolds, shall we? I think I’ll break it up into a few different sections.

Is there a basic standard of beauty that everyone agrees upon? Yes and no.

Let’s take this whole concept of beauty back to the most iconic of them all, Barbie.

Barbie has gone through quite a number of changes over the years, but looking at the image above, it’s quite obvious that she’s had a bit of work done. Poor old Babs was stuck with that 50’s-esque body type and some people felt that she needed a bit of a change. So off she went to hospital, had a few ribs removed and come out looking like a brand new bitch.

The problem with Barbie is that although she may be one of the most fashionable ladies in the history of, well, ever, the fact still remains that some view her as a negative role model for young women. Girls all over the world have looked up to Barbie and told themselves that one day, they too will be just like her – blonde and plastic-fantastic. And unfortunately, some make it their life’s mission. Everybody knows somebody like this – the blonde dyed hair, the fake breasts, fake lips, constantly covered in fake tan. And they no doubt have their own version of ‘Ken’ – the tall guy with rippling muscles everywhere that can barely string a sentence together.

This brings me to my first topic:

Beauty and Fitness

Now that it’s the era of the gym bunny – these Ken’s and Barbie’s probably spend their lives at the gym, toning up the rest of their body in the pursuit of what they consider ‘perfection’. But to some people, the ideal of ‘perfection’ doesn’t necessarily equate to ‘beautiful’. Have a look at these lovely ladies and all their, um, fakeness.  Some might consider them to be beautiful. Others, however, might assume that they’re all dancing down at the local Oompa-Loompa strip club for when Willy Wonka’s minions feel like a boys night out and wanna blow a wad (of cash!).

Some of the Barbie’s probably also do something called ‘Bikini Modelling’ which is apparently, a thing now… but basically it’s just these gym bitches parading around in a couple of strips of material which is smothered in diamantes and sequins in order to attempt to cover their pikachu, whilst they parade around in those ‘glass’ hooker heels. to show off all the hard work they’ve put in at the gym – and probably all the food that they haven’t been eating in order to help ‘shred’ those last few pounds.

Oh, I totally forgot – they’re also the type of person who is probably so narcissistic that they feel the need to constantly take selfies and share them on every type of social media account they have… just so other ‘models’ can message them and say ‘OH MY GAWWWWD… OMG GAWD YOU LOOK SOOOOO HAWT…’ and then flick their hair and give a little duck-face.

Let’s face it, she looks like she’s a heartbeat away from pole-dancing lessons.

I’m in two minds about this. Yes, I think it’s great that you’re going to the gym and working on your body etc… but are you actually fit?? Yes, you might spend 3 days a week working on your legs, but can you actually run? I’ve seen far too many people at the gym who look ‘fit’, but are actually quite the opposite. And to be honest, I secretly enjoy it. I love nothing more than going to a high-intensity interval class and seeing some muscled up jock there as well, and then see him struggling during the first track of a 30-min class, only for him to give up by track 2 or 3. Now, I’m not exactly a beacon of health and fitness myself, I’m somewhere in the middle. It just goes to show you that yes, you can spend every spare moment you have, of everyday, in the gym targeting each and every muscle group on your body, so you too can get to a point where you can’t buy regular clothes and you have to walk around holding invisible briefcases, but when tubbly ol’ me goes into a class with you, you’re expected to be able to wipe the floor with the rest of us, because you look the way you do. Nobody is anticipating on seeing you, not even half-way through the class, collapsed on your bench wondering if you’re about to have a coronary.

Like I said earlier, we associate muscle with fitness, when really it’s just strength, not actual fitness. Next time you’re at the gym, just take a moment and look at the people who are in a group fitness class. Look at their body types. They may be sweating and grunting and have their ugly concentration face on, but do you consider them beautiful? Now go for a wander down to the free-weights area and check out the people there and their bodies. It’s okay, I’m giving you permission to perve. Do you consider this group more beautiful simply because of their dedication to muscle definition? If you just said yes, don’t you think that sounds a bit shallow?

And don’t get it twisted, this is NOT what I mean by ‘cardio’.

There’s also a couple of different types of bodies that people consider fit. For example, the ripped guy who’s trying to look like The Hulk… some view him as fit. The triathlete / runner / cyclist etc. Some view them as fit whilst others just think their skinny. Yet, those who are simply swimmers, are a different body type all together. ‘Fitness’ (and I use the term loosely) comes in all shapes and sizes, and all are considered beautiful to all different types of people. To these people, the athletes, their bodies are treated like machines. They are all about the biomechanics of how their body works, how it needs to perform and how they can improve that performance. It’s no longer considered a body, it’s a machine. And to be an athlete is something that requires pure dedication, which in turn, becomes a thing of beauty (especially if it’s on film and being shown in slo-mo… moreso if it’s a hot guy without his top on hehehe).

An ex-boyfriend of mine was once part of the Victorian Institute of Sport, and I remember him telling me stories about some of the people who live there, and how much dedication they put towards what they do. Specific sleeping, eating and training patterns that would seem ridiculous to the average person, but is considered normal to those at VIS. He would tell me stories about the punishing training they put themselves through; the pain that they have to experience almost constantly all in the belief that it might earn them a gold medal, or better, Olympic medal. You might seem them competing at a national or even international level doing something that they’ve dedicated their lives to. Completely tortured themselves in the process, and there’s no denying that that’s not something truly beautiful.

I don’t think I could possibly continue writing any more if I didn’t at least address the most obvious topic – Ballet.

Ballet, I think would have to be regarded as the most beautiful form of dance in the history of the world. It’s so elegant and graceful, and let’s be honest, those skinny bitches know how to fly around on that stage and make it look so effortless. I remember when I was younger reading an article about fitness and sport, and there was a study done between all different types of athletes. Sprinters, runners, swimmers, footy players, soccer players, basketball players etc and a male ballet dancer. They were put through a series of drills to measure endurance, cardiovascular activity, Co2 etc, and who came out on top?? The ballet dancer. That article then went on to talk about how dance in general should be considered a sport, because dancers are a type of athlete… well, that, and dance is beautiful. Art in motion. Emotive.

They’re also a bit obsessive. The hardcore ones have either inhaled a bit too much hairspray over the years, and had their hair-buns pulled a bit too tight, because they are all striving for the same thing – perfection. The problem is, that like most sports, the pursuit of perfection is never easy. It’s long and it’s painful, but the result is beauty.

HOWEVER, this type of beauty does come at a cost. Especially for ballerinas. What is the cost?

How beautiful do you think ballet is now? Does it change your views at all? The phrase ‘pain is beauty‘ is no truer than right now. The ballerina, let’s face it, will go through the gates of hell in order to achieve ‘perfection’, but unfortunately, their concept of perfection may be rather different to yours or mine. These ladies, literally, torture themselves all in the name of dance, art, grace and beauty. Yes, the end result can be simply breathtaking, however, there is a trade off. That image above, is the trade off.

So everytime you see a ballerina doing this:

…I want you to remind yourself of this:

In this instance beauty certainly is in the eye of the beholder, because we don’t see underneath. We don’t see the mangled feet, or the bloodied pointe shoes. We don’t see the bruising, or the contorted joints. We don’t see the tears and the pain. We just see the elegance floating on the stage in tulle.

Beauty and Image

That is Rick Genest a.k.a. Zombie Boy. He is covered from head to toe and everywhere in between with tattoos. Most of it is all anatomical – bones, organs, veins etc. Most people would look at him and feel uncomfortable, or even scared, simply because of his tattoos. But that doesn’t change the fact that he’s still a human being like the rest of us, he just looks a little different. Why should he be judged on what’s on the outside, rather than what’s on the inside?

Some people would consider him ugly, yet others consider him living art, and yet he’s achieved quite a lot. He’s been featured in Theirry Mugler’s fashion shows, he’s done makeup campaigns, he’s even in the Born This Way video for Lady Gaga.

People wonder why others go to such extremes with tattoos – in today’s society, it’s quite common place to see people with ‘sleeves’, or tattoos on various parts of their bodies, and even that in itself has people divided, and I for one have seen some really ugly tattoos and some that are truly beautiful works of art. I might not necessarily agree that it needed to be tattooed, but it’s still a form of art, and art is considered to be beautiful, right?

I came across the following video when doing some research on Mr Genest, and came across a video campaign he did for DermablendPro, which is truly remarkable:

After seeing him covered in tattoos, and then seeing him with ‘normal’ looking skin, it’s quite a dramatic change, and almost makes you question why a person would do that to their body.

Personally, I think it’s fascinating, and I believe that he is a walking, breathing work of art. The amount of work that has gone into those tattoos, the detail, not to mention the cost and the pain, it’s all in the name of his image. And like the saying goes, ‘pain is beauty’ – or does that now only apply to corset’s and stiletto’s?

Beauty and Fashion

This brings us to the next topic – beauty and fashion. Hands up those of you who always dreamt about being a supermodel. Yeah, me too. I would sometimes dream that if I were born a girl, I’d grow up to become a Glamazon as well. Tall. Toned. Legs for days. I’d have an incredible body, and I’d use it to make a fortune.

As a kid who grew up in the 80’s and 90’s, it was the time of the true supermodel legends – Linda Evangelista, Claudia Schiffer, Cindy Crawford, Christy Turlington, Naomi Campbell, Helena Christensen, Eva, Herzigova. Gorgeous women who drove men wild with lust and drove women wild with jealousy. They were everywhere you turned – commercials, magazine covers, interviews, billboards on the sides of buildings etc. The world was obsessed with them and couldn’t get enough of them. They were the epitome of beauty. Ladies went to the extreme of drawing on a mole that looked like Cindy Crawford’s.

Imitation is the highest form of flattery, dahhhlings.

But then something happened, over the years the modelling industry took a turn for the worse and started to give off the image that only emaciated young girls could be models, and for quite some time, some designers would only use these types of girls in their runway shows. That was considered beautiful. Some skeletal bag of bones who looks like she’s been wrapped in couture and sent down the runway in a pair of stilts. Sorry, no. Not in the slightest. (Sidenote: if you’re looking for a laugh, do search for videos of models falling down. Guaranteed to make you feel better!)

Now, let’s fast forward to 2013 / 2014 and shine a spotlight on Carmen Carrera. Carmen is the first transgender model. I had never heard of Carmen before, until I saw her walk in the Marco Marco show.

Check out the full show:

When it comes to the modelling industry, it can easily be summed up in one word:

However, have you ever really looked at a fashion show, and studied the models, rather than the clothes? The models seems to all look the same, especially the male models. They all just seem to be clones of each other – they have the exact same body type, the exact same chiseled jaw, and the same blank expression that tells us there really isn’t much going on upstairs. I put them in the same category as all the other hot guys – you can stand there and look beautiful, but please, for the love of god, don’t say anything.

The other issue I have with the modeling industry is that even now, even after it’s cleaned up its act a bit and now actually wants people, rather than bags of bones in Manolo’s, it’s still giving people, primarily young women, this unhealthy view that in order to be accepted, you need to look like a model. You can’t achieve anything unless you skinny. You can’t be in the media. You can’t fit in with the cool kids at school. Boy’s won’t talk to you etc.

What a bunch of crap!

This, however takes me to my next topic:

Beauty and Weight

Women who are overweight, have always been made to feel bad about themselves, mainly due to mainstream media. It’s plastered with skinny bitches, and they’re always shown to be having fun – they’re on the beach with their (skinny) girlfriends, splashing in the water in their bikini’s and then get approached by a group of guys (ie: gay male models); or their on jewellery commercials, getting earrings, and bracelets from their male-model boyfriend / fiance / husband (again, gay!). Their the ones at fast food restaurants, stuffing their faces with a burger or fried chicken, and having a great time.

…but where are the plus-sized girls?

Why is it that even now, even in 2014, plus-size is still something that isn’t being accepted by the media. Despite the campaigns by various groups to have more ‘bigger’ girls in mainstream media, it just doesn’t happen. What kind of message is this sending to women? As a gay man, to me this says ‘you’ll never be this happy unless your skinny. You’ll never get these kinda of diamonds, or meet a man this attractive, unless your skinny. You’ll never enjoy fried food like this, unless your ski-…’ actually, I think that if you’re a bigger girl, you’re more likely going to enjoy that fried chicken soooo much more than some skinny bitch.

In my search for images of plus-sized models, I came across this little gem:

Perfectly said.

Who says that bigger women aren’t beautiful, or can’t be beautiful. Can you sit there and look at a plus-sized model and say she doesn’t look beautiful? The key word being model. She’s a model. It’s no longer a word for anorexic bitches on stilts. It’s expanded. It’s diversified. However, there needs to be more light shone on plus sized models to give them the attention, and the recognition they deserve.

I sit here and look at society and think that it must be really tough for anybody who’s a size 12 or bigger, because fashion in it’s purest form is targeted only to those who seem to not like eating, or prefer the taste of their fingers after each meal. What  kind of fucked up message does that send to women? No wonder the ‘dieting’ section of supermarkets and health food stores etc is rapidly expanding. It’s like society’s way of giving the skinny bitches an All-Access Pass to life, whilst letting all the bigger girls wait in line behind the velvet rope. How is that fair? It’s high-school all over again. Where the skinny bitches are the cheerleaders fucking the quaterback of the football team, and the bigger girls are hanging out together eating their feelings. And why do they have so many feelings? Because of the skinny bitches being such haters.

Just look at her, curves in all the right places. She is BEAUTIFUL!! And anybody who thinks otherwise, can get themselves well and truly fucked.

Now, having said that, I have to address something. Being somebody who works in the health and fitness industry, there is something to be said for bigger girls feeling sorry for themselves. They too have the ability to lose weight, but it requires effort. It requires changes to diet, it requires exercise, it requires persistence and dedication, and not many big girls have that drive. They would like it to happen, but they want the results without the effort. Unfortunately it doesn’t work like that.

In my experience, I’ve had a number of bigger girls cross my path and I just love the fact that they’ve decided to get active and do something about their weight.

Now, before you start hating on me, I completely understand that everybody has their issues. You might struggle with your weight, it could be a thyroid problem, it could be a genetic condition, but you can’t just sit back, give up and accept it. Well, unless you’re truly happy with how you look and how it makes you feel. If you’re happy to own your size, then good for you. I’m talking about the other ones, the ones who are bigger and unhappy and just lazy. The only one you have to blame is yourself. Yes, I know that you feel like crap because of whatever reason, and yes, I COMPLETELY understand how eating that entire cake is going to make you feel better (trust me, I do it too!) but at the end of the day, it’s not doing you any good.

I only look at this from a health perspective and nothing more. It’s not healthy to be overweight, and any medical professional will tell you this. The problem however, is that what is considered to be a ‘healthy’ weight range, is still considered to be overweight. And that’s wrong. Have you ever checked your Body Mass Index (BMI)? It’s a calculation of your weight and your height and gives you a result. If you want, you can check it out here. I just put mine in, and because I’m 1kg out of the range, I’m considered overweight. For me, that’s somewhat upsetting, but at the same time I just brush it. My weight is always up and down, so I don’t really focus on it. If I’m happy, I’m happy. I know there’s room for improvement, but I’m too lazy to put in even more time at the gym for my own gains. i’m too busy working full time and teaching my classes.

For me, when I teach a class, I love the feeling that it gives me when a bigger person can come to me and thank me… thank me for a class, thank me for putting a smile on their face, thank me for helping them ignore life for an hour, just so they can sweat and dance and have some fun. I love that. I love it because it’s reassurance that I’m doing something right. We don’t often get real feedback like that, but when we do, we treasure it. I’m not there for the social aspect. I’m not there to see friends (it’s nice though). I’m there to positively change people’s lives, and make a big enough impact on them so they’ll want to come back again and again.

The one pet peeve I have about the gym are the posers. Those people who come to the gym, and stand there and stare at their own reflections in the mirror the whole time. Yes, I understand that when using weights you need a mirror to check your technique, but heaven forbid that those last couple of squats you did put a few hairs out of place.

You just just get the fuck out. Right now.

Or the people who do classes, and are always in the front row, doing the same thing. They probably have terrible teqnique, so sense of direction or timing etc, but they just stare at themselves the entire time, completely oblivious to what’s happening in the class around them. OR, they’re the people who go in full-makeup, but don’t want to sweat.

Sorry bitches, if you’re coming to my class, you’re here to work. Please don’t turn up and waste my time if you’re not prepared to actually do something. If you wanna go put yourself on parade for everybody to look at, go be a beauty queen.

Beauty and Events – Eg. Pageants

Beauty pageants. Ugh. Just the concept of a beauty pageant is so ridiculous to me. Basically, it’s a competition only for the pretty, skinny bitches. But it’s a competition to see who’s the prettiest! It’s nothing more than a glorified popularity contest. The only difference is, that these bitches get a cash prize, and the opportunity to parade themselves around the world, telling the world ‘Look at me, I’m the prettiest bitch in the WHOLE WORLD (Miss Universe)”… and then they can go off and blow every guy who says their pretty. I loathe these things. Miss America, Miss USA, Miss World, Miss Universe…

However, without them, we wouldn’t have things like Miss Congeniality, and train-wreck TV shows such as Toddlers and Tiara’s, and of course, Honey Boo Boo.

As much as HBB is one of those shows you just hate to watch, it’s like a secret indulgence. Like when you drive past a car accident, and you just want to stop and have a look, but you know that you shouldn’t – this is how I feel about HBB – you shouldn’t watch it, but it’s so bad, it’s good.

For those of you who don’t know, HBB is a pudgy little girl who does ‘Kiddie Pageants’. Which, are pretty much one of the worst things for a girl to get involved in – well, unless you’re anorexic and your overbearing parents (usually the mother) have tens-of-thousands of dollars to just throw away on costumes and glitter (OMG the glitter!) in some vain attempt at getting you to win the local popularity beauty pageant.

What I love about HBB is that she’s not the skinniest, she’s not really that talented, nor that intelligent, and she sometimes refers to herself in the third-person, and she doesn’t really give a shit. That certainly doesn’t stop her from entering these ridiculous competitions, and in a way, I actually kind of admire her for doing so, because it says to the other tubby kids out there ‘hey, if I can do it, then you can do it too!’ I’m not saying that it’s necessarily easy for her to enter these, but she enjoys herself, and hell, she’s got her own ridiculous TV show out of it.

This is what I like – the overweight people with the fuck you attitude. The ones who aren’t afraid to put themselves out there, even if it’s going to open them up for ridicule.

There needs to be more of this. If the world is going to insist on continually promoting these skinny-bitch pageants, then why can’t full-figured women enter them as well. What has happened to our society where we only want to promote and focus on the pretty thin girls. Like I said before, just because you’re pretty, doesn’t make you smart. Anybody can parade around in some hooker heels and a bikini (See – Bikini Models), but that doesn’t necessarily mean you can string a sentence together.

Beauty and Intelligence

Well, wasn’t that just a lovely little segue? Paying so much attention to the media, I am of the general view that pretty people are only that – pretty. Pretty certainly doesn’t mean intelligent. As is the case with the youtube clip above, you could be trying to win the vote for the prettiest girl in all the land, and you might not necessarily be able to construct a sentence, but men don’t care about that. As long as you stay thin and pretty, and don’t talk, they’re happy. Oh and as long as you blow them on command and make them a sandwich afterwards, everything will be great.

Hmmm… anybody else suddenly feel like we’ve travelled back to the 50’s??

I am fortunate enough to know a number of people who have both brains and beauty, because, well, generally the two don’t go hand in hand. Well, that’s not entirely true. They do go hand-in-hand, it’s just that it’s actually quite rare – like unicorns.

But I think in society nowadays if somebody is quite good looking, there’s almost a pre-conceived notion that they’re a bit simple. I know that whenever I have somebody who’s really good looking comes up to me and actually deliver a proper sentence, and manages to do so without a grunt, or a hair twirl, or a pout, I almost die of shock. And don’t even get me started on the use of ‘LOL-speak’ – i’ll end up in a table-flipping rage. Seriously, USE A PROPER WORD FOR A CHANGE!! WHY IS IT SO FUCKING HARD… soz, i mean uze props wrdz 4 a chng. Y s it so fckn hrd?

Just. Kill. Me. Now.

I’m not saying that pretty people can’t be smart, I just think that my personal experience is that pretty and smart people are quite rare. They’re an endangered species. We need to get them all together and start a breeding program for them, so they can multiply and we can release them back into our dysfunctional society. I also think that there are a number of smart-pretty people who are just dumb. They do dumb shit. They ask dumb questions. The stuff that makes you wonder how they manage to make it through the day without killing themselves, or killing others. I think these people are everywhere. You can be academic and book smart, but still not have any concept of common sense. I would like to give them the benefit of the doubt and just assume that they’re actually idiot savants, because if they’re not, then they’re just dumb, and that’s so much more disappointing.

There was this one woman whom I used to work with. She was attractive, highly intelligent, was doing her Masters in Law… but she’d ask me the most stupid questions. But she had been working at the same place for a number of years, and still had to ask things. Where did we keep the pens? How do I send a fax? Can I email a book? (Okay, so the last one is actually true! It reminds of the scene in Mean Girls when the guy leans in and says “Last year, she asked me how to spell ‘Orange'”) so it is actually possible to be quite intelligent, but still so dumb at the same time. Needless to say, we didn’t necessarily see eye-to-eye very often. I had my moments where I would point out stupid stuff she said, immediately after she had just asked it… then it was ‘on’!!

Beauty and Self Esteem

Thanks Xtina. You’re one of the people who has always been scrutinised because of your fluctuating weight. One minute you’re skinny and then suddenly you’ve ballooned to twice your size. But you know what, even overweight Xtina is still beautiful, regardless of how slammed she is in the media. And it doesn’t affect her ability to sing either, because that girls has some pipes on her. And really, why should anybody give a fuck about your weight, when you can sing like that. This is another reason why I love Adele. She’s a bigger girl, and she’s got an incredible vocal talent as well. Her’s is in a much lower register than Christina’s, but it’s still beautiful and incredible.

Ahhh, Dem Lovato. So pretty, and yet such a mess. From punching a dancer, to self-harm, drug addiction, rehab… you sound like you need to be hanging out with Lindsay @ Rehab. You can braid each others hair and talk about boys… and who can get you the best coke. Demi, to me, seems like another one of the manufactured Disney bitches who, yes, looks pretty, but has been built up into a superstar without actually having that much talent. Oh, so you say she’s been in a successful TV show, and sold millions of records? Yes, well that would be because of the Disney brain washing machine + gullible youth of today = overnight success + millions of dollars. Hell, they could market a lump of shit, and everybody would want to buy it – it’s the age we live in. Teens and tweens going batshit cray-cray over some overrated ‘celebrity’ and having this overwhelming urge to own anything and everything with their face on it.

Just like Pokemon: you gotta buy it all!!

So, if you look at the above for long enough, you might start to think that Demi seems a bit forced in what she’s saying. Yes, girls, you ARE beautiful, but only because my agent tells to say so. I personally think that you’re all peasants and you’re beneath me. If anybody should be doing something about self-esteem issues, it SHOULD be her. She’s one of these girls who’s got problems, but is also int he public spotlight, and that shouldn’t be deterring people from whatever shit they’re going through, if anything, they should be owning it and shining a light on it, and telling the rest of the world, ‘well, hang on a sec, actually, I kinda feel like shit for this reason and that reason’.

Whatever happened to people actually helping people??

But this is about beauty and self esteem. And the first thing that springs to mind is high-school. High-school is such a cruel place for anybody who doesn’t fit a specific mould of what teenagers are supposedly meant to be. But because everybody is so different, AND because society has become so multi-cultural, it opens itself up like a gaping wound, just waiting to have salt and lemon juices smeared all over it.

Enter the topic of bullying. Who remembers the fat kids in school being picked on? Yep, I certainly do. I was friends with them. Did any of you actually stick up for them when they were being bullied? Can’t say I did, and I feel shitty for not standing up. Back then, I was also the one being bullied. I got bullied for being a dancer. I got bullied for being smart. I got bullied for having a big nose. I got bullied because of my name (!!). But worst of all, I got bullied for being gay. For being flamboyant. But it wasn’t just from the boys, it was from the girls as well. The girls who I actually expected to at least be some kind of ally, and yet they turned on me without a second thought.

It’s hard growing up in the country, surrounded by dickheads.

And as a result, I turned out like this:

I felt sorry for anybody who was different. Just like in Romy and Michelle’s High School Reunion, our school also had an A-Group. They were all the popular kids, with wealth parents who bought them everything (Read: divorced), who were all good-looking, great physiques, and really bad attitudes. Basically, they were a bunch of cunts who took far too much pleasure in destroying other people’s spirits.

And the worst part of it now, is that this type of bullying is no longer confined to the playground. It’s online. It’s cyberbullying. It’s fucking sad. If you’ve never been bullied, then you truly have no concept of how horrible people can be to one another. Yes, sticks and stones my break my bones, but your nasty words will destroy my spirit. And the problem is that people aren’t willing to talk about the problem; parent’s aren’t prepared to take it seriously; schools don’t want to get involved; and at the centre of it all is some kid who’s full of so much pain they don’t know how to handle it, and are more likely to suffer in silence and do shit like self-harm (Hi there, Demi Lovato!) or worse, take their own life.

Nobody, NOBODY SHOULD EVER BE MADE TO FEEL LIKE THAT. To tell somebody you don’t like them, or their not worthy of being around you because they’re different in some way, is one of the worst things you can ever say to somebody. You might laugh it off, but these kids have real emotions. You’re just simply a horrible, nasty person with a blackened soul. If anything, YOU’RE not the one worthy of their company. Yes, you may have your clique of skinny bitches, with your platinum-blonde hair, super-jock boyfriend and drive a convertible, but you have no substance. You go out of your way to knock people down in order to make yourself feel better, but where does it get you?

You might not like somebody because they’re overweight. Or because they’re cross-eyed. Or they’re disabled. Or they’re not as financially secure as you. Or because they’re a different race. Or because they don’t speak English very well… but who cares. Hating on them is not going to achieve anything. You don’t have to like everybody, that’s totally fine, but you don’t have to go out of your way to make sure they know that you dislike them. All you need to do is accept that they’re different, and move on. The least you can do is acknowledge them as a human being, and respect them for who they are, where they are and what they have. Maybe, just maybe, you could go out of your way to try and have a conversation with them? It’s not going to kill you, and who knows, you might even find that you have something in common with each other.

So much time and effort is spent on people trying to bring people down, even as adults, but let’s face it, it’s still just bullying. It’s still high-school, except we’re all just older. Some people haven’t learnt lessons, they’re just older bitches. Some people will never change.

But regardless of who you are, where you are, every single person is beautiful. Some have beauty both outside and in. Some others… just outside. All you need to do is acknowledge it, and take a small step to make your world, and somebody else’s world, a little bit better.

And if I’ve just wasted all this time writing this damn post, then at least I’ve shared it with the world, and left you with one last image for the day:

Daily Prompt: Ingredients

What’s the one item in your kitchen you can’t possibly cook without? A spice, your grandma’s measuring cup, instant ramen — what’s your magic ingredient, and why?

No, not Paula Deen. Butter.

Slippery, greasy, golden goodness. As somebody who bakes, everything that I make has butter in it. And it’s usually in every component. The batter, the filling, the frosting. Butter, butter, butter.

And as somebody who should really be paying more attention to their expanding waistline, I don’t really know how to address this problem… I love baking, and I love butter, but I don’t like gaining weight… why can’t I be able to, quite literally, be able to have my cake and eat it too… and not put on weight?

I think this is the exact reason why I prefer to wear trackies (sweat pants) and comfortable clothing (read: fat clothing) instead of showing all my lumpy-bumpy bits. Ugh, it’s hideous. The problem is, that it just makes a dish. Even when cooking dinner, it’s the sort of thing that is a fundamental ingredient of French cuisine. Have you ever had seafood that was just cooked in butter and some herbs. OMFG it’s unbelievable. Sometimes Hulk will create something special and do king prawns and scallops in some kind of butter sauce, and rather than the half-a-dozen pieces of seafood we get each, I really just want to have an entire bowl full of it. Or a lobster tail with a burnt butter sauce… yum-yum-in-my-tum-tum!! Fuck having anything else. Salad? Now you’re just talking crazy talk!

And let it also be known that when it comes to having freshly baked bread / scones / cheesey muffins etc, the only (and I mean ONLY) condiment you need is butter. And lashings of it. Moreso if it’s just come out of the oven and it’s still hot. You don’t need to ruin it by putting margarine or soy-spread on it. Good quality oil… I’ll let that one sneak past, but other than that, it’s butter all the way.

Speaking of butter, do they still make ‘I Can’t Believe It’s Not Butter!’? I will admit, I did try that when it was available here in Australia, and from what I can remember, it was actually quite impressive. But now that I think back, I wonder about all the nasties that would have gone into something like that…??

So whilst I sit here and wait for my arteries to slowly harden, I couldn’t help but share something. When I first read the prompt, my instant reaction was butter. And the first thought once I thought of butter was…

Now, for those of you who aren’t on the same page, this is an Oprah reference. One that was brought to my attention by my favourite bitch, Kathy Griffin. In order to give yourself an Oprahcation (Oprah-education), enjoy the YouTube clip below…



Daily Prompt: Style Icon

Describe your personal style, however you’d like to interpret that — your clothing style, your communication style, your hair style, your eating style, anything.

I really don’t know how to answer this, because I’m not really certain of what my style actually is…

Clothing style: Comfort. I like things to be comfortable and relaxed. I’m not a suit & tie person, I never have. I’ve had to for work, but even then, I’ve certainly not enjoyed it. Sometimes I wish I was, but I simply don’t have the wardrobe space for a plethora of suits and shirts ties. Hell, I don’t even own an iron!

It’s also partly because I work in the fitness industry, so majority of my wardrobe is all gym gear.

Communication Style: Sarcasm.

Most of the time, anything that comes out of my mouth is sarcasm. Sarcasm and humour. I have a tendency to shoot my mouth off and then think about what I’ve said and it’s usually with a touch of remorse and guilt, but most of the time I don’t apologise. Now, I have to make sure that I really think about what I’m going to say before I say it, because I usually just say things as throwaway comments without actually meaning anything by it, however, the people that I say these things too take them seriously and literally and are easily offended or upset by it. And that just annoys me. They should know by now that I’m like this, and to basically just take anything I say with a grain of salt.

Hair Style: A hot mess.

Previously, I had what I referred to as my lesbian hair, which was partially shaved with a little mohawk on top…

…but just not that long, and it didn’t trail down the back of the head – it was just on top. But now it’s growing out and going all curly again. I can’t stand my hair. I had a dream last night that I ended up growing my hair right out and had a small curly afro, and I actually liked it. Clearly, it was more of a nightmare, rather than a dream.

Eating Style: Get in mah belleh.

There is nothing attractive at all about watching me eat. If anything, I see food as some kind of competition – how much food can I stuff into my body, in as little time as possible, before I end up feeling like I either want to vomit or die.

Usually when it comes to dinner with Hulk, he always finishes dinner before me. I end up eating really slowly because I’m too focused on whatever show we’re watching and I take my time… but when it comes to desserts, I inhale mine. Especially when it comes to ice-cream. I can be down to the stick of a Magnum before he’s even eaten off all the chocolate of his.

It’s a bit disgusting.



Daily Prompt: The Guilt that Haunts Me

Share a time when you were overcome with guilt. What were the circumstances? How did you overcome your guilt?

It was when I was still living at home with mum. I had met this guy who, back then, I thought was so hot. He was also a former dancer, and I’d met him several years prior, but only when we competed against each other.

It was purely by chance that we happened to bump into each other and this time we were both a bit older… he was only 2 years older than me, but back then, although I was 18, the thought of even seeing another guy freaked the shit out of me, let alone seeing a guy that was older than me. It was outrageous.

It was also a complete secret.

Because I was juggling so many different things during this time: studying full time, dancing at two separate studios, plus rehearsals for a musical theatre production; I literally felt as though I was doing 18-20hr days… Then I met B.

He turned up to one of our dance rehearsals as he was friends with one of the other guys in the show, and I remember being half-way through one of my routines in the show and I looked up and he was suddenly sitting right in my direct line of sight, and he was staring right at me. He smiled and I completely forgot what I was doing.

I was a bit infatuated with this guy. I was so in awe of him when we used to compete because he was such an amazing dancer, but he was so god damn full of himself and so arrogant. He knew he was incredible, and everybody was beneath him. If I met him now, I’d be so disgusted, but back then, I hated him, and I was jealous of him.

After that rehearsal, I just left straight away. I couldn’t think properly, I was so exhausted, I just went home and crashed.

The next night, he turned up again, and I coudn’t focus. Why was he even there in the first place? During our rehearsal break, G comes over to me and he’s like ‘Oh my god, so, that guy over there can’t stop talking about you. He wanted to come back tonight just to see you and talk to you. Girl, he’s so into you, and it’s fucking awesome. Go talk to him!’

I was too terrified. I said no and avoided eye contact for the rest of the night.

I had put my hand up to come in on the weekend to help construct and paint sets, and I was working away with a couple of other guys from the crew and B walked past the studio and saw me through the glass and came and said hi. It was one of the most uncomfortable conversations I’d had. I’d never had a boyfriend, let alone kissed anybody, hell, I hadn’t even come out to people – well, except for a couple of my closest friends in the show.

A couple of days later I found myself back at his place after rehearsals making out on his couch. Not long after that I regularly found myself sneaking out of his place in the middle of the night, cycling home through the thick fog, and sneaking into my house.

This went on for a couple of months. Nobody knew. It was such a big secret. I was constantly lying to mum about staying over at friends places during the week – she didn’t know who they were or have their numbers, so I know she couldn’t check up on me and call them. But I was more terrified of either

a) being caught sneaking in;

b) being confronted about it;

c) being ‘outed’ and / or

d) all the above

 However, it got to a point where he was starting to pressure me into actually having sex with him. Just the thought of it terrified me. I knew it was going to hurt, and I’d heard so many horror stories about it – things like tearing and bleeding and incredible pain, and I’m thinking ahhh, no. There will be none of that.

Then it headed south, really quickly. I got too freaked out and just stopped replying to his messages. I stopped visiting him. He started calling and texting me all day long wanting to know what I was doing and when I’d be coming over again. He’d then start waiting for me after rehearsals… at that point I started getting lifts home with friends, just so I wouldn’t have to see him.

He then started following me. Waiting for me outside the library when I was there studying before dance class around the corner and then rehearsals straight afterwards.

Then one particular day he followed me home. And despite trying to keep a distance from him, it didn’t stop him from shouting out to me. Finally, I’d had enough and snapped.

I did a complete 180 and stormed up to him and grabbed him by the collar of his t-shirt and told him to leave me the fuck alone or I’d put him on the ground in a mound of pain. I told him I couldn’t see him anymore and that he was being too intense and obsessive and his stalker behaviour was the icing on the cake and I couldn’t handle that.

He, in turn had a big emotional outburst right there on the footpath.

Sorry B, I’m done.

He told me he loved me. I told him I didn’t want to see him again and that he needed to stop contacting me.

I walked off, locked myself in my room and bawled my eyes out. What the hell was going on… did I just go through my first break-up?? I was an emotional wreck and worst of all, I had absolutely nobody that I could talk to about it.

it was horrible.



Daily Prompt: Land of Confusion

Tell us about a time when you felt out of place.

I generally feel out of place in most social settings. 

I guess I’ve become quite introverted in a social setting, and yet, am usually somewhat extroverted around those who make me feel comfortable. As a result I feel as though I have lost the art of conversation.


Yup, that’s pretty much me – socially retarded and weird.

Most social settings make me feel awkward and uncomfortable – like going to a party where there’s going to be a lot of people that I don’t know. I, generally, would prefer to just not go simply because I know that I struggle to talk to other people about, well, anything. If I can’t find something in common with them, then I just want to flee and get out of their field of vision. 

You know when you go to a party and there’s that one person sitting in the corner by themselves, or the one who’s off talking to the animals? That’s me. I’m the one who stands out. The one who you can tell just doesn’t belong. I would be the one turning up to some event and being asked if I’m lost.

A classic example of this would be the night my housemates decided we were all going to a strip joint Gentlemen’s Club. 

One of my female housemates (at the time) used to work for a company that owned a handful of different clubs in the city, a couple of nightclubs, a couple of bars, and a couple of strip joints (and I think they even owned a brothel…!?) Anyway, she used to do marketing for two of the nighclubs this company owned, and so we were always getting free passes and drink cards just on the off-chance we might actually want to go to one of them. 

For the record, neither of them interested me in the slightest. They were both straight clubs, and one of those was a rave club. And I’m talking R-A-V-E-!-!-! As in, neon plastic spikes, furry leg warmer things, reflective strips of material sewn on to jeans with super wide legs, platforms, piercings etc etc. It played nothing but trance musicIt was also full of people completely off their chops on a concoction of god-only-knows-what with pupils the size of dinner plates:

There had also been a string of incidents where people would get bashed, stabbed etc. I think there was even somebody who was murdered. Just reminds me of the Salt Nightclub Murders

Anyways, I’m getting rather sidetracked here… where was I…?? oh yes…

So, this one night, we get all dressed up to go to this Gentlemen’s Club, and we go in and have a fancy private booth near the stage, and of course there are strippers dancers everywhere, and of course they’re names are like Khrystal, Delicious, Ginger, Raven, etc etc and my housemate knew a number of them – when they weren’t stripping they were also working as podium dancers at the other clubs. 

So there was this place full of perhaps the grossest-of-the-gross straight guys, and we’re talking disgusting, sleazy alpha-males who all think they are king-shit, and everybody wants them…

Excuse me whilst I go throw up a little bit. Ugh. I can’t stand those types of guys. They’re so revolting. And repulsive. But what makes it worse is that they’re throwing money at these ladies, to treat them like kings and basically do whatever they want, so their ego just spirals out of control. Oh god straight men are disgusting, sometimes.

So there was them… all 150+ of them. Then there was the handful of women who were there (the bogan ladies with the bogan men), my female housemates, and I. 

I think the highlights of that night were having three of the girls in our booth dancing up a storm with the three of us at once and being the envy of every guy there… and then having them all give me a lap dance. Unfortunately, (and as embarrassed as I am to admit this) this was the first time I’d ever seen a pikachu up close. Being freshly waxed and smooth as a babies bum, whilst being covered / surrounded with glitter and diamonte’s, was rather fascinating. I remember at one point, one of the girls was sitting right in front of me with her legs spread, writhing around on the stage on her back, and I was fixated at this ‘thing’ that was just staring back at me. 

I would compare it to a car accident… you know you shouldn’t be staring at it, but you can’t avoid it. Like it’s staring at you instead. You’re trying to look elsewhere to avoid it,

oh gee, she’s got some fancy nipple tassels on…

la-di-dah-di-dah, um, oh god, stop looking at me.

Hey, I like this song.

Oh wow, I didn’t even know the body could *do* that!!


ummm, what is she doing now?

No, bitch, don’t touch me there!!

Do I look like I wanna be touched there? Keep your damn hands to yourse….


After all that, I actually didn’t mind it too much. It stopped bothering me. Well… enough to only be slightly scared of it, rather than feeling utterly terrified. After they’d stop ‘dancing’, and pick up all the money off the stage, I’d ask them important questions like, where they got their shoes from? Do they ever get concerned about having a wardrobe malfunction… y’know, too early into their ‘performance’?

Needless to say, I’ve never set foot back into an establishment like that again. Nor do I ever plan to… well, unless I’m gonna get up there are show those bitches a thing or two… but then that wouldn’t necessarily make me feel out of place, would it.

Hmmm, I think that’s something that requires further discussion.