AW MA GOD! You Look Totally Sophisticated!

Occasionally in the club scene there will be one girl who turns everyone's heads, a lady who divides the crowd. To many, she's a skanky biatch but to quite a few others she's a gorgeous sex kitten who's totally owning it. People who know me will know which argument I lean towards, but what does everyone else think? And is it the women or the men who are the biggest fans?

Girls have a lot of choice when it comes to evening wear, unlike guys who really just need a shirt + pants + not-runners= OK. Girls can go anywhere between all-out/falling out to... teeshirt and jeans and still get into most places no problem, assuming you're not hideous, a junkie or pregnant. Although this gives girls alot of freedom it also makes things all the more difficult to choose what to wear. What will everyone else be wearing? Will I fit in? Will I look too frumpy? Too over the top? Too weird? Of course, I am generalising here, there are a sizeable number of boys who go through the same thing. But it is mostly women, and it is mostly the women who are scrutinised by what they're wearing.

Most people will have wandered into a social gathering and felt out of place, and a large proportion of those people would have felt as though what they were wearing was responsible for that feeling. Like that time I wore a clown suit to a funeral and a wedding dress to my friend's wedding. Seriously though, who hasn't spent ages in hair and make-up only to find everyone is wearing their hole-riddled jeans and bed hair? The other way is even worse, when you're wearing op-shop chic and everyone else is designer head-to-toe (see: last post). However if I can transport us now to a fairly neutral situation, a standard club with quite a bit of fashion variation.... Is that girl with the neckline reduced to a belly-line hot or not?
If you said she was more skanky than sexy was it because you were jealous of her? Maybe you were threatened by her? Maybe you just didn't enjoy copping such an eyeful after one sip into your first drink, after all if you wanted to see that much skin you'd be at a strip club.

It's hard to tell what the intentions are of the woman who's wearing the controversial outfit, she obviously wants to look good, everyone does yet what kind of favourable attention is she looking for? Most people want to be liked, and the quickest way to do this is to look likeable, after all a club isn't the kind of place which favours good conversation over good looks. You need to look likeable under a strobe not on a discussion panel.

For me, I want to look sexy but I also don't want to alienate myself from other women. Some women are happy to alienate the competition and impress the boys but others don't even realise they're doing it at all. It all depends on the group you're with as well; in my circle of friends I would probably catch a few confused glances if I wore a micro mini and a plunging singlet, even some concerned words (eg: ummm....you're showing alot off tonight, etc.) However in other friendship circles, the skimpier the better. Almost everyone notices when a group of young women walk by on a Sat night, their mini's and sky-high heels all competing with each other for attention. "Babe, you look waaay hot!" (and you draw attention to our median hotness as a group, all the better)

I'm not immune from fleeting cases of "skanky fever" though, I've gone out wearing clothes specifically designed to make men look at me. In these cases, I go out, enjoy the make attention (after being dumped, hurt, annoyed by some other male) and then go home with my physical self esteem restored but my mental health conflicted. Nobody likes feeling really cheap and slutty, I guess thats where it all hits home for the girls opening the street press the following week and seeing themselves feeling up some other orange skinned, woman, their tongue in her mouth and their eyes droopy with drunkeness. "But I thought I looked awesome!"
Almost everyone has a what-was-I-wearing/doing? moment, don't be too harsh on the next belly-button dress girl you see. She might just be having hers.

Godskitchen: not as holy as once thought

So the peeps down at inthemix.com sent me their customary "we'll tell you whats cool and what to buy" email which I must admit, I do read from time to time. Perhaps I just find it exciting that they start off all the editorials with "Hello Svetlana..." thats genius and it hooks me in! But sometimes, like today I just have alot of work to procrastinate from.

I was excited to find on the front page of this inthemix business, a photo album from Godskitchen. "How lovely" I thought to myself, now I can relive all those rapidly disintegrating memories from ye olde last weekend! I had such a good time with the fortunecat and the randoms, the whole night seemed to go so quickly.

Then as I clicked onto this photo album I discovered a side of G.K. which I had chosen to forget. The trashy, slutty, tacky, sexually predatory side. Ah yes that old thing, that always gets in the way at these young people thingies.

When Fortunecat and I first entered into the main arena last Saturday night, I was blown away; the sound, the lighting and the masses of people. It was great, it was uplifting and I felt really happy to be there. However I could enjoy this euphoria for only a few minutes before my eyes were assaulted by the four bimbo "dancers" gyrating on the stage."OOAAHH! Not again!" I moaned. How clever an idea to have strippers dressed up as angels at Godskitchen! Wow, that's going to break new ground. The silver CFM boots were anything but angelic as I'm sure you can see for yourselves. But I'm not suggesting we have saints up there "shaking their booty" or anything but if I really wanted to see a girl thrusting at me I would have gone to a strip club.

I actually like the idea of dancers on stage at raves, they're fun and they get the crowd going. But I don't need plasticized sexuality shoved in my face. Earlier this year I went to see a band and ended up being accosted by a burlesque show. I don't care how cool burlesque becomes, to me it will always be just a stripper packaged differently. Like the Suicide Girls (strippers who dye their hair black and consider themselves better than the playboy bunnies), ha! What a joke. How many women are going to take their clothes off for me this year I wonder? And I'm not even Kevin Rudd.

And it isn't just the paid dancers who are doing it, anyone who's been out in the last 10 years will be familiar with girls stripping for the Inpress photographer and dancing on the bar like they're being paid $100 an hour to demean themselves. The ladies are doing it for themselves yo!
It's no surprise moronic guys treat women like strippers and porn stars in clubs when all girls are expected to present an aura of sexual promiscuity 24/7. That must get put a strain on the ol' gyrating muscle.

Being sexy isn't about just buying a cute new top or doing your eyes up anymore, to be noticed (by the inthemix photographers anyway) you need to get your tits out, spread your legs and suck down a chupa chup like its raspberry cock.It's only fair to say though that these pictures aren't a realistic representation of G.K. this is just what the promoters want you to see so that maybe if you're a serial date rapist or socially retarded young man, you might buy a ticket to this event in the hope that one of these girls might fuck just as easily as they say they do. And if you're a girl in desperate need of male validation then maybe you'd like to shed your individuality and "empower" yourself by joining these Playmate try-hards. Buy a ticket ok?

No seriously, this wasn't the majority of G.K. punters, there were plenty of gorgeous, normal girls and boys wearing enough clothing so that when they went to the toilet they needed to remove at least one item of clothing beforehand. They were dancing and being themselves and smiling at each other because they were actually happy not because they wanted to look as if they were. They weren't performing for anyone like possessed sex dolls. I'm so sick of those possessed sex dolls, aren't you?

Trashy in Trashland

I was at the Lounge last night with some close friends, mainly cos the others didn't show up. I guess inviting people the night before at a drunken party wasn't the most efficient way to get attendance. However I find that it's hard for people to weasel out of something if you give them a lift there yourself, with the child locks firmly secured.

So the Lounge, yeah I like it. The booths, the staff and the fact that you can be as trashy as you want and nobody cares. Everyone in the toilets has big shiny pupils and smiles even if they've been waiting 15 minutes for the girls in the cubicles to finish doing whatever drugs they're doing in there.

The bad side is that people can be as trashy as they want and sometimes I care.
Like when a wasted girl jumped onto my lap and started raving like a derro. I tried to understand what she was saying but as I looked into her cross-eyed, unfocused eyes she started to spray her words over most of my face, and I stopped listening after that.

Or when an incredibly tall guy grabbed my neck and held me there suspended slurring loudly in face "You're hot! Ahhm not gaay! Come ere!!" I eventually twisted my way out of his grip and ran for it.

So how to deal with a trashy crowd? Join them of course (or get annoyed by them the whole night and whinge)
Now I'm not a big drinker and I'm having a break from pills so what else is there left for a girl to do?
Get high on life?
No, that just won't be enough for The Lounge.

So I thought I'd try out some rather uncool legal party pills.
Originally Party Pills contained this stuff called BZP which was supposed to be similar to MDMA but then the Australian Government banned it last year because as soon as they find out people are enjoying anything other that alcohol and cigarettes they get rid of it quick smart.

So these new party pills are BZP free, an alternative to the alternative if you will. And much like Chinese whispers the original message of pills gets distorted till before you know it you're taking caffeine and vitamins.So I popped two and kept my skeptical cap on. About 20 mins later I found an uplifting rush with an undercurrent of nervousness. My hands started shaking and my teeth started chattering. At this point I was the only person in The Lounge with a coat on, but I didn't mind cos I felt pretty good and quite frankly shocked that they did anything at all.

The high was short lived however and I soon decided that legal highs were much better accompanied by something highly illegal. Enter GHB, the most awesome yet most disgusting thing you could ever taste. But once the whole ingesting process was over it took only a few minutes before I was immersed in a warm and tingly euphoria and the strange sensation that there was a party in my pants.
"Hey you guys! Keep it down in there!"

So there was lots of dancing and feeling good going on, and the standard trip to 7/11 for a Killer Python.
By about 2am, my very straight and sober party pals were seated and I was dancing on my own. Well not with anyone I knew if that makes sense.
The crowd was swarming with guys, a problem when clubs don't have a door policy, all the girls end up squashed between thrusting men.

So I was keeping my eyes down and avoiding eye contact. Every now and then I'd look up and check out who was invading my space; no, not hot, no way but come the fourth approach and I was a persuaded to share my dancing space with a rather good looking young man.

However I soon found out that no matter how hot someone is, their charm can diminish in the instant they open their mouth. A drawling Aussie accent raving about how much they love footy is the biggest turn off I could've anticipated (except maybe that they'd wet their pants or vomited on themselves recently).

Then I spent the next few minutes dodging his wandering hands and his trying-to-kiss-you-lean-ins. So now I had to get rid of Mr Patriotic, but how?
The "I have to work in the morning" line worked a treat. And when he shoved his phone in my hand with the expectation that I would hand over my number I pulled the "I don't like waiting for guys to call" line and "I like to be in control" bullshit.
I had to stop myself from rolling my eyes when he replied sleazily"So you like to be in control eh?"
So I managed to grab my faithful friends and make a swift exit and delete his number all before we'd reached the car.

Sorry Aussie-hot-guy you'll find the right girl soon enough.

By the way I'd like to link here to The Lounge because their photos were the exact antidote to those I'd ranted about in the post "Are we trying to repopulate the white race..." which most of you all had a rant to as well. Good on The Lounge for paving new way for tasteful photos of all types of people just being themselves, no licking or faux lesbianism required.

Are we trying to re-populate the white race? Or just look as if we are?

According to the photos taken out on the clubs these days it looks like Aussie's are trying to re-populate the white race. All I see is platinum blonds getting it on.
However they've got it a bit wrong, firstly the blond hair...it's from a packet.
Secondly it takes a man AND a woman to make babies, not just two drunk women.I know it's not an original argument but it really pisses me off to see women willing to prostitute themselves for the camera. Two lesbians... fine, two girls pretending they're lesbians...sad.

And what half decent guy would get off on two girls pretending to enjoy each other anyway? Doesn't it bother them that the girls are actually really insecure and unhappy?

I guess it's the same as asking if guys mind that the girls in porn aren't enjoying themselves. Maybe some men are so deluded that they actually believe all those fake moans of pleasure.
It's not exactly a turn on to imagine that the girl sucking cock is a flat broke, eastern European migrant who's trying to pay the rent and find a proper job.
Or that the girl moaning from double penetration (the ladies love that one) has been abused as a child and can't experience intimacy without being physically degraded again and again.


I could go on and on about porn but I wont. Back to the photographs, I mean this kind of shit is everywhere. Anyone who's opened Inpress magazine would know that 90% of the photos are of one-type of woman in a compromising position with another of the same type of woman.

This type bores me shitless, I can't even tell the difference between them. I remember a friend of a friend was offended when I didn't recognise her after we had met a couple of times. I guess that's what happens when you try to look like every other insecure, self-conscious Barbie. Out with the hair straightener, the peroxide (unless it's in to be a brunette cos Britney was for a month), the cakey foundation and push up bra. Paint your face until it doesn't look like your face anymore and then you can fulfill some retarded, moronic boy's grade 9 fantasy. Beware the clones! The poor, self-hating bitches.
Photos courtesy of the Room 680 website. Used without permission, like totally.

DRIVE THE GIRLS CRAZY!

No, like, in a bad way.

Because everything went soooo well last time I did a post making fun of guy's who pick up girls badly, I've decided to do it again!

Based on my own vast, and unlucky experience I have compiled a delightful how-not-to guide for picking up girls.

HOW NOT TO PICK UP GIRLS: A GUIDE FOR THE MODERN BOY
Head to the nearest night spot and start not-doing these things!

Ask a girl about her opinion on something and then interrupt her answer with another question about her opinion on something else.

Lean excessively on all things; walls, chairs, other people. You should appear so relaxed that people think you're medically sedated. Leer over the girl you're interested in as if you might fall into her lap at any moment. Actually falling into her lap can be an added bonus.

Blow smoke into a girls face and tell her to get used to it while you sit with a tough guy expression and air of disdain.

After a failed attempt to pick up a girl, head straight for her best friend.

High-five your mates loudly, visibly and frequently.

When talking to a girl, make her feel insecure by,
* "negging" her (A veiled insult ie: complementing her on her hair and then asking if it's wig)
*Talking about lots of other hot girls you know.
* Staring at other girls mid conversation

Insist that girls buy YOU drinks.

Make heaps of assumptions about a girl you know nothing about and announce them to her as if you understand her more than anyone ever has.

Walk up to a girl who is sitting down and squash up next to her, rudely invading her personal space and use the close contact to trap her into a conversation.

Perform magic tricks read girl's palms like you're some sort of traveling side show.


There you have it, my passive aggressive rant for the week.

Happy New Year

Welcoming in 2007 proved to be very enjoyable last week at Deanapalooza and then The Espy the next day. For photos see the album on imagestation.

The Art of Attraction

Last night, I went out to a bar on Brunnie st and got slightly high and slightly silly with my lovely friend Chox. By slightly silly I mean, really, really silly. For instance, security wouldn't let us take our drinks upstairs so we pretended to pour them into our handbags and drink out of them with straws. We also got ourselves into rather unflattering fits of hyena-like laughter and exaggerated gestures. Obviously we weren't out to impress the boys, or anyone for that matter. So it was all very surprising when our loud, stupid conversations were continuously interrupted by guys trying to pick us up. It was uncanny as guy after guy muscled his way in and pulled out the one-liners. I wondered, could it have been my unwashed hair? My lack of make up? Or perhaps my oh-so revealing neck-high tee shirt?

No, actually we'd stumbled into a pick up workshop where newly "charismatic" students were trying out their lines on anything that moved. Or in our case, dancing with arms flailing wildly. I busted their game fairly early on when a big, obnoxious guy sat down way too close to me and said, "I'm kind of a big deal around here". Without a hint of a smile from him it didn't appear that this man was joking. If he was indeed being funny then it didn't come across, so I had no choice but to assume he was a Class A dickhead. A few seconds later I realised why that awful line he used sounded so familiar...it was taken from a book called 'The Game' written by "pick up artist" Neill Strauss. And yes I read it, well most of it because by about three quarters through I couldn't take anymore of it's bullshit. I couldn't help but take a glimpse of the sorts of ways men where trying to get our attention, unfortunately the book seemed more like a guy boasting about threesomes than really communicating with and understanding women.

It became quite entertaining as guys came up to us like excited children wanting us to watch them show off their new tricks. It was fun to flattered but perhaps even more fun to catch them at their own "game" so to speak by seeing through their cheesy, scripted conversations. One guy was throwing out every "opener" he knew before we even had time to answer the stupid questions, which sounded like "Hey whats a good pick up line?" and "You have a twinkle in your eye are you a naughty kind of girl?" etc. But it wouldn't have mattered if we had started speaking in tongues because the guy wasn't listening to anything we were saying anyway. He was too caught up in reciting every last clice he had ever learned and preventing us from moving away. Fortunately Chox lost her balance during his verbal assault and fell down a step she was standing near. This allowed us an excuse the get away and talk to each other instead of listening to Scripted-psycho.

As the night moved on we had started talking some really genuine, sweet guys who weren't like circus animals. I can't remember Chox's friend but mine was a slim, spiky haired guy called Dan. I had only just begun my complaining about the loser one-liners when the guy I was talking to told me that those boys were his students. Hmmm awkward. I then proceeded to rant about how I thought the concept of pick up classes was lame, and that tricking women through magic tricks ala Mystery was nothing short of pathetic. However Dan was quick to distance himself from the Mystery school of thought, and emphasized that his workshops were really about social skills and confidence, and that while he was a friend of Mystery he considered him to be kind of nuts.

I was on my guard for most of the night as I scrutinized Dan's every move and teased him about the stupid pick-up artist jargon I had read about in The Game, but in the end found myself relaxed and happy in his presence. He told me that the programs goal in the end was really just to make women smile, as I took this in I tried to smother the grin across my face just to prove him wrong. So I suppose even though his students were mostly retards at the present, he seemed pretty damn awesome. I guess I got charmed, no fair.

However the highlight of our night was from a completely unrelated young man. We found him muttering in a cubicle in the womens' toilets. We peered around the open cubicle door wondering why the "girl" in there sounded like a guy. "What I like about the Ladies' room is that it's a ladies room" said Chox cockily. The guy stared at us with puppy eyes, ones with inflated pupils and the started to hurriedly explain himself in half gibberish half english. "Oh, na..man! No d'ya know what? no! I'm in ere right, cos in the Men's right? In the Men's? Was like, a massive shit on the floor! Like right in da middle of the fuckin floor man! Like, some dude shit on da floor! And I was like, fuck dis! Ya know? Ya know?"

Chox and I stared in horror and then decided that if there was shit on the floor in the Men's then he was more than welcome to stay here. He was very grateful, so grateful in fact that he began offering lines of ice and smokes and chewy to every girl in the room while frantically twitching and trying engage in several conversations with himself at once, all yelling loudly. He was thoroughly entertaining, maybe he should run a workshop.

Here's some really bad pick up lines I thought you might enjoy courtesy of http://www.pickuphelp.com/,
Let me make you dinner tonight, I'm serving tube steak smothered in underwear.
You come on strong like a garlic milkshake.
Wow those are great legs. What time do they open?
If you were a Oreo baby, you'd be double stuffed!