Bus Karma

So I was in Victoria last weekend and got on a bus, paid my fare, stuffed my transfer in my wallet which I shoved under my armpit, and quickly proceeded to the upper deck of the bus.
I got off about half an hour later, to wait at this stop for 50 minutes.
I walked to the DQ across the street for somewhere warmer to read, and decided not to get anything.
I crossed the street 45 minutes later, just in time for my bus and got on.
I was fumbling with my backpack to find my wallet and the driver said, "Oh, don't worry about it. I believe you have it" *happy face*.
So I went upstairs again and was still looking for my wallet with my transfer.
I was frantically fingering through my bag and my backpack, and rushed downstairs.
The driver saw me and said,
"Did you find it? I said you didn't have to worry about it" to which I responded
"No, I have to get off, I think I lost my wallet."
So he pulled over on the side of the road, gave me a free transfer and directed me
to the last stop.
50 minutes of waiting to drive two blocks and have to walk back.
It was cold, my phone was dying.
I had to catch the next bus for sure to make the ferry to meet my friend and get home.
I had no numbers, no money, no I.D. and bad shoes.
I disrupted a couple at DQ to see if I could crawl around under their table. They giggled as I sobbed beneath their Peanut Buster Parfaits, banging my head on the table.
I hobbled back to the shelter to wait another 50 minutes.
After five minutes in the cold, I started accepting loss.
I made a list of everything that was in my wallet on the back of a paycheque envelope in my bag and looked at it.
There was:
real I.D., fake I.D., sin card, douglas student card, debit card, library card, starbucks card, sephora card, coquitlam centre card, love letters, rollies, a bunch of change, $35 worth of cash, a receipt to return boots I bought, a bunch of business cards, a drink umbrella, 8ish bus tickets, marble slab coupons and probably some other things.
It didn't take long for me to forget about it and know it was out of my control.
Mid-thought:
a homeless-looking man with a pony tail started talking to me. He was telling me about his day at work as a steel fabricator and how he really loves working. He continued to discuss the four wives that he's had and how every single one of them has left him for another man even though he treats them like gold. He just loves work so much, so he spends a lot of time doing it. And it wasn't even about the money. He threw all his money at his wives, made them happy, gave them things - anything.
He fidgeted to get out a little black book so he could tell me his phone number in case I ever got in trouble in Victoria again (after I told him I lost my wallet), and how he always protects his friends. Most people thought him an asshole but really, he only has a select group of people he cared about and do anything for.
He asked me if I had a smoke, I didn't.
He went up to a guy at the stop and asked if he could buy two smokes off him, the guy said
"Two?!" and Andy (was his name) said
"Yeah, one's for my friend".
So we smoked together until his bus came.
He dropped his smoke and boarded.
Another homeless guy got off the bus, picked up the still-ambering smoke and put it in his mouth, assuming the seat next to me.
He asked me if I was a model, told me I could be if I took my nose ring out. And I told him he could be too (haha) and then he got defensive. I told him I was joking and he said he knew I was joking but why was that funny? Wasn't he good-looking enough?
Then he clarified that he wasn't hitting on me - he had a wife at home two blocks away that he loved more than the entire world. She was 42, beautiful and had a laugh that sounded like birds.
He had two cats, thinks people are mean and was surprised to find good conversation these days.
He offered me a beer, I declined - my bus was coming.
He leaned into his sack that hung from a wire rack and pulled out a Lucky beer.
We had a cheers, I thanked him, finished my drink and got on the bus.
No time seemed to have passed.
I sat down in my seat and couldn't wipe the smile off my face.

Frida's big (terrible) day.

Frida Kahlo-Bruneau is getting neutered/spayed tomorrow.
I haven't cared enough to find out which one is specific to females and obviously still don't care.
She is having her femininity stolen from her forever.
She started painting this piece featured above, a few days ago when my mom told her that she'd have to stop eating at 8:00 PM the night before the surgery. As you can see in her depiction of herself on the left, in the white, she recognizes that there will be scissors and blood involved in this de-womanizing as well as her loss of innocence (the white gown).
People (one person) have been telling me that her personality will be ever-changed by it. They said that she won't be crazy or funny or outlandish and that the only pets that are interesting in the whole world are ones whose owners allow them to keep their hormones, genitalia and sex-drive.
I'm nervous, starting since the day I got her and excentuated three days ago, to climax at 8:30 tomorrow morning and then for weeks or maybe my whole life until she acts like herself again.
She won't trust me anymore and definitely won't sleep with me.
She'll look up at me like she never knew me and walk past me on the street like we were never in love.
I'll sit in my room crying myself to sleep at night and she'll be on the porch, looking out at the city crying in the cold - the cry of the saddest cats thinking about a lingering feeling of something that used to be, wondering if she'll ever be able to retrieve it - whatever it was.
I might rather die...

This comes down to a feminist issue of birth control and reproductive rights for Frida as well. I feel like I'm stripping it from her. Sigh.
And as a reincarnation of a bisexual revolutionary feminist mexican artist who had an extremely passionate relationship with Tina Modotti, she ought to have a lot to say on the matter that I can't possibly understand from her.
It's like Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind...
Is love a legitimate experience if it doesn't last (at least in the memory) forever?

James Whistler

This painting has always appealed to me and I'm not sure why.
It's called Nocturne in Black and Gold - The Falling Rocket and it's supposed to be exactly that.
Whistler was even sued by the Pre-Raphaelite painter John Everett Millais (might know him by his portrait of John Ruskin or The Boyhood of Raleigh) for being a fraud, a liar, a bastard for making people think that this painting could even be legitimately described as art. This included Millais pointing out the way Whistler was making fools of the people who marveled at his supposedly incoherent work and even buying it.
Thank goodness for artistic revolutions though or nothing would change.
At least a couple artists every once in a while had to put up with the shit for being different and experimental before society could start saying 'Hmmm... I actually do really like this style" and having it catch on and be super trendy for a while until the next rebel throws something at everyone.
I just picture water, fireworks, confetti, night time, mystery, UFO's, murder, dragons, grand-scale celebration, flashlights, police, the northern lights, people running away from something, and at the same time - it being totally ethereal and beautiful.
It's just so easy on the eyes and really open to interpretation so here... I'll let you look at it.

The sexualization of (femme) lesbians.

While homophobia is one of the pulsing, infectious organs of patriarchy, there is a definite loop-hole when it comes to "hot" lesbians.

The flux of girl-on-girl porn (assuming they're long-haired, skinny, large-breasted with high-pitched moans to top it off) permeates our world every single day, every single minute by a whole lot of people. Porn is a huge determinant of the way people (especially men) perceive women, the social grounds on which they can interact with them, and definitely affects their own sex lives.
A guy sees a (usually) femme couple at a bar, for example and says to himself 'Yeah, that's alright' (even 'Mmm...') as if it doesn't count as gay because they're both good looking and he's getting a good feeling out of it - at the very least.
Teenage girls all over the place are claiming to be bi-sexual simply for the purpose that it will help them get the guy whose attention they just can't seem to grab. (Not to say that there aren't teenage girls that are actually legitimately bisexual). This sort of bi-sexuality can be defined as drunk making out with other drunk friends while stopping a few times to giggle so nobody around you, nor the two of you actually act like you're doing it because you're enjoying it (god forbid). Even children who've been on the earth for just over a decade have identified that this is something men like/want/desire!
One time I was at a shady strip club and there was a girl on stage, just doing her thing and still had her panties on. The audience wasn't being super attentive at the moment and one of the other strippers hopped on stage and started touching the performer and ended up pulling the performer's panties off with her teeth.
I mean see - I caught you. Your attention span just went up at least one notch or you feel a little tickle in your belly.
But this is exactly what I'm talking about - this disregard of homophobia in moments when the observer is enjoying themselves, when they feel comfortable. They feel like it's catering to them and not to the girls who are actually in the act.
Patriarchy says 'Of course lesbians should be dejected from regular society because they're deviant. They're alienating themselves from the heteronormative patriarchal structure.' But this is talking about lesbians behind closed doors; female couples who are in a relationship together for eachother. It even seems ridiculous to say that - of course they're in a relationship for eachother.
But on the opposite side of the same coin, patriarchy is saying 'BUT - hang on a second! If you're going to be a lesbian who will put on a show for me, then you're a goddess. You're super hot - both of you! Actually, can i have a threesome?' (Keep in mind that a threesome with two girls and a guy is considered a "threesome" while one with two guys and a girl is considered a "tag-team."
So what can we do to bust this normalized obsession and even acceptance of (usually femme) lesbian sexual activity?
Take the infatuation and admiration that you have for this cultural phenomenon and use it to reconsider all homophobia in general. All sexualities in general, actually. Encourage homonormativity.
Try really, really, really hard to come up with a point that you think validates ANYTHING about homophobia. And when you do, give me a call. I promise I'll make you feel like an idiot.
At the very least, just stop using the word 'GAY' to explain anything about your life.

Crotch-staring is the only answer.

So guys tend to have a fascination with the female body (as recently noted on the post below).
And that's great, really. I do too.
But what isn't great is being in public, meeting someone, talking to a coworker (especially awkward managers named Bill), catching up with a friend you haven't seen in a while, ordering a drink from a bartender and absolutely knowing that they're looking at your (my) breasts.
I will never let you walk by me saying 'it's a compliment, shut up.'
One time I was talking to a group of guys and I sighed heavily in annoyance of some passer-by in my peripheral who 180'd me (this sounds like I'm getting at how hot I am but this literally happens to any walking vagina (haha imagine a walking vagina)("oh, i'm going to take my vagina for a walk")) and the guys I was talking to were like 'I think girls actually really like getting checked but they have to act like they don't; it's like... playing hard to get.'
My talking to these guys just happened to be on the fifteen minute break in my women's studies class and my head was feeling hot with petulence and disfavour.

So -
it's not okay, it's not acceptable, I have a face and all women usually do so please be a decent human being as I invite you to look at it.

And while you're trying to figure out where to look when conversing with me, I'm going to look directly at your crotch, asshole.
I hope you feel supremely uncomfortable with this gesture and shift your body around and make snide, giggly (to cover up the insecurity) comments where your voice will crack and you'll feel self-conscious about what I'm doing and how it makes you feel weird.
And of course feminism has a thousand million kadrillion ways of theoretically or professionally approaching the patriarchal issues of male control, male domination and the objectification of women - many of which I'm very fond of but there are a thousand million kadrillion ways that women can apply small solutions to these issues to their everyday lives.

I encourage any and every lady to do this as well and encourage everyone to watch this short video:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jO9p6e4SWLM

Must show everyone immediately.

There is so much wrong with this, I just don't even know what to do with myself.
First of all, he looks like an idiot with this smitten facial expression. Like he hasn't gotten laid in 10 years, his wrinkles are catching up with him and he's trying to make this moment last for the five dollar drink he made this girl to do this for. Of course he put it as his profile picture.
Secondly, this girl was probably either;
1. really drunk,
2. some kind of exhibitionist or
3. simply one of the many girls who have actually been conditioned to feel a (false) sense of appreciation for her body from the vulgar attention of this male and others like him.
Whatever it may be, patriarchy has structured our culture to make homes of acceptance for degrading situations like this. Incidents like these make women objects of male desire that put them on cheap pedestals and give the illusion (which doubles as a justification) that it is simply men enjoying her body.
I can just hear someone saying, 'but it's not like he's making fun of her, he's showing that he enjoys it!' like that would make it okay even if it were true.
Can you honestly tell me that this is a photo that is simply saying 'I love this woman's breasts and she loves it when I do this'?
Although this woman may have nice, commercially-approved breasts that lots of people probably enjoy looking at and being near, this photo is reducing whoever she is to exactly, only these parts of her body. This is what patriarchy installs - that women are perpetually on the fingertips of men, at their leisure, at the beckon of any given man at any given time for anything.
Breasts and happy man, breasts and happy man.
There are so many negative implications about this.

You can't even see her face.

And I mean - not to say that everything should (except in a utopian world) be able to showcase everyone's personality, true beauty and only the most loving of connections, but seriously - this is blatant disregard for whoever this woman is.
The only reason I'd want to become friends with this guy on Facebook would be to see all the various comments that people probably posted about this.
I'm sick just thinking about what his 884 friends would have to say.

Backless in (the dead of) Winter

The little man figure over on the left is a Marc Jacobs Brooch.
I want the belt to be worn as hanging, not supportive by any means.
I keep feeling really backless these days, like I feel really trapped that my back is always hiding behind layers of bras, camis, turtlenecks, sweaters, blazers, jackets, hoodies and other what-have-you's.
I'd rather these ankle boots be really dark navy blue or blood red but I still think grey is pretty rockin'.

SMOCK

Check out how cool this dress is. Stumbled across it.
Helmut Lang is the MAN. (TOTALLY just realized how sexist that saying is. I'm officially stopping my use of that saying. From now on, in it's place I will say... Helmut Lang is the bomb/moose juice/beetle brain/fetus!/bee's knees/money.)
I feel like it's nothing I've really seen before. At least not recently.
I also feel like it would fit anyone properly, with the boxy shape at the top and the cinched waist (I spelled that like waste the first time) and then the continual bubble-ish style.
It makes me remember painting at home when I was a little baby and going into the cleaning closet for the smocks that were my dad's old shirts covered in paint and grime (they doubled as rags.)
With a pair of really matte red ankle boots or grey thigh-highs with virtually any really tousled hairstyle, this would be so hot.
Think Madonna with Basquiat.
I feel like it would only complement it too if I didn't shave my legs.

Moderately Tasteful Perversion

This guy has photographed Pamela, Lindsay, the Olsens and a whole bunch of his mom.
I really like them. They're more shocking than anything I think.
Actually, less like shocking and more like 'Woah!' with excitement and interest.
I love that the focus is just the people he shoots, not backdrop, not props or anything but just the people and what they seem to be willing to do for him.
I went to 'Contact' so I could gush about how much I love his work and the e-mail that they post is for people who are willing to pose nude for him.
Now you're wondering if I e-mailed him or not...
You'll never know.