Haute Phoenix

For those who don't know, I am the Heather behind Heather's Haberdashery, which you've probably never heard of. I design custom and one of a kind hair ornaments, it's one of my many talents. Bows, feathers, flowers, miniature top hats, I'm even making a halo for a dancer at the End of Days party (which is going to rock. If you'll be in Des Moines, check it, May 20th at Glaza Studios). Now that you know that... On to the project.


If you've ever tried to organize 7 women in one artistic team, you know how I'm feeling about it. Awesome. A local college writer, Allison, wanted to learn what it was like to be painted by the skilled and infinitely fabulous Body By Svec. So, Emily (Body By Svec), set up a shoot for her. She enlisted a hair stylist, a make up artist, a photographer, and a jewelry designer. At the last minute (or 12 hours before the shoot), I got a phone call asking for something more to add to the shoot. I showed up with some hair pieces and the tools and supplies I needed to make new or modify existing pieces to fit the design.

The shoot went fantastically. So well, in fact, that we decided we were a great team, and should continue the project. With Emily painting, Karissa (If Looks Could Kill) for our MUA, Anna Jones (Art of Photography), Sarah Johnson (Shu Shu Maus Jewelry), and Jenny Mark (hair!), me for hair pieces, and our rotating 7th person (the models), we created the Haute Phoenix Project, showcasing the beauty and skills of local artists.

The collaboration between the 6 of us and our models is great. One person comes up with the base idea, the rest of us work around it. We create one of a kind works of art, combining vintage jewelry, fancy feather clippies, fashion make up, great hair, paint, and beautiful people. We don't actually know where this project is going, just somewhere awesome. If you've got any ideas (or want to buy prints, ha, thanks!) I'm down, in the meantime...

I love creating art with other awesome people.
You love the results.


Photography: Anna Jones
Hair: Usually Jenny Mark (Sometimes Karissa or Me)
Make Up: If Looks Could Kill
Paint: Body By Svec
Hair Pieces: Heather's Haberdashery
Jewelry: Shu Shu Maus
Models (In order of appearance)
Allison Maize
Anita Holland
Olivia Rose
Alesha Damerville

Words are worth a thousand facebook profile photos

I got really mad the last week or two weeks ago, whatever it was, that everyone on facebook started changing their profile photos to cartoons to 'raise awareness of child abuse'. Some people understood, some people didn't. One person wrote a facebook note to thank facebook for never failing to trivialize a serious issue. If you changed your photo to a cartoon character, you didn't help anyone. No one cares that you loved the Thundercats, and arguing over which My Little Pony was the best didn't save any at risk children.

You know what might help? Speak up. Statistics say 1 in 4 girls and 1 in 6 boys will be sexually abused before they turn 18. You know someone who was. You probably know a child now who is being abused in some way. No one hears about it. It's hidden away, it's not spoken of. I have friends who cite being raped at age 12, beaten with any number of items for minor misbehavior before the age of 10, 8 year olds taking care of their younger siblings while a parent went into blind screaming drunk rages or just forgot to buy food because they were buying drugs.

As children, we all learned 'stranger danger'. We never learned that family might be unsafe. We never learned that our teachers, our doctors, our ice cream man, our sports coaches, or our friend's dad might not be the paragons of safety and adult virtue we wholeheartedly expected them to be.

When our childhood trust was betrayed, we didn't know who to go to. We trusted the teacher, the boyfriend, the police officer, the therapist. When they shot our dog in front of us to illustrate what would happen if we told, we believed them. When they said that no one would believe us, or that there was nothing to talk about because everyone did this, we believed them. We were raised to trust adults. When we withdrew, when we stopped wanting to go to school, or refused to come home, when we started fights, threw temper tantrums for no apparent reason, when we peed our beds and set things on fire, people chalked it up to childish phases.

We, as children, are voiceless. We are frozen. We can't speak out. As adults, most of us still can't speak out. It's been beaten, penetrated, and verbalized into us since we were 3, 6, or 14. No one will believe us. We are liars. We are the bad ones. We deserve this. There is nothing wrong. We are sick. They just want to love us. They just want us to be better. They are doing this for our own good. This is normal. Don't tell, or they'll hurt you. Don't tell, or they'll hurt your brother, mother, or sister. Don't tell, people will think we're sick. Don't tell, no one will love us. Don't tell. Keep silent. It's our little secret. Don't tell. If we tell, we'll get hurt. Other people will get hurt. We'll die. We'll be never be loved again. Don't tell. We'll be punished. Stay silent. It's better that way.

Silence. Fear. It's happening next door to you. It's happening across the street. Don't look. One of your classmates has bruises. Don't look. Don't tell. Your daughter cries herself to sleep at night. Close your eyes, it's just hormones. One of your students is withdrawn. Shh, don't say anything. He'll come to you when he's ready. The kid you babysit clings, begs you not to leave. Walk away. Nothing is happening. Everything's fine. If you don't see it, it doesn't exist. If you don't hear it, it didn't happen. If no one tells you, then it didn't happen to them. If you don't talk about it, it didn't happen to you. Everything's fine. Everyone's fine. Don't look. Stay silent.

No one wants to speak up. I had a massive support network as a child, if I had only known it existed. I went horseback riding at my teacher's house. I was at my grandparents' or my great grandparents' every weekend, assuming my mom, brother, and I didn't live with them. My softball coach's husband was a police officer. I didn't say anything, because I didn't think I could.

I'm tired of silence. The scars on my arms are from being used as a human ashtray. Do you believe me? I'm claustrophobic because I got locked in a closet for 3 days. Do you still love me? I couldn't connect with people because they might find out how bad I was, how much I deserved to be beaten and starved. My mom's boyfriend once tried to drive under a train while drunk with 5 children in the car. We got dragged 50 feet, the 3 of us youngest cowering under the arms of the oldest, with the fifth screaming terrified in the front seat. He tried to kidnap me from school after she left him. I went from childhood abuse to a series of dangerous relationships and poor decisions.

I was hurt. I was afraid. I was silent. I found a voice. I'm not broken. I'm not sick. I did not deserve it. I can still be loved. I know that, but hundreds don't. Thousands don't. Look around you in the mall. Realize that at least 1 of every 5 adults you see was sexually abused as a child, and others were beaten, tortured, neglected, and belittled. Of every person under the age of 18, 1 in 5 have been or are victims of child abuse.

If you're not sure what you can do, how to speak out, speak up, and help, there are resources.
Darkness to Light and the Rape, Abuse, and Incest National Network can teach you to recognize the signs of abuse, and give you plenty of information. Stop it Now is good for resources for parents, teachers, survivors, whoever. Survivors of abuse, children who are being abused, can still be helped, and there are a hundred small ways to do it that won't inconvenience you. Don't think you can make a difference? All it takes is one person. Or a bunch of bikers. But we don't need your facebook photo. We need your voice.

War is not kind

I'm sitting at work in a mostly empty bar on a Tuesday night with my laptop. There's a Cubs game on our very large televisions, and some crappy radio rock playing over the speakers. I keep it dark in here, it is a bar after all. Along two of the walls we have long rows of booth style padded benches, with tables and chairs lined up across from them, along with the stools along the bar, and some taller stand alone tables and stools grouped around the pooltable.

Sitting, or slumping, rather, at one of the wall benches, is a man who I will call Joe. Joe comes in almost every day, and is almost certainly an alcoholic. He drinks $1.50 Budweiser draws during happy hour, and he's generally polite and friendly. He also tends to be a little incoherent, and often a bit depressed. Joe is a Vietnam vet, and a more stereotypical example of the damage done in that war, you could not find, unless it was a variation of Joe with no legs.

Joe lives at home with his disabled son, a veteran of a later war. They were both honorably discharged with benefits, due to injuries or other damage sustained while fighting for their (our) country. Or for whatever reason the government says that we're going to fight these wars in places that don't want our help. Joe recently (last week) learned that he is eligible for a shitload of money from the government, as, in addition to his actual injuries, he has several issues linked to exposure to Agent Orange, including peripheral neuropathy (nerve damage). Some of his son's disabilities may also be linked to Joe's exposure to Agent Orange.

The Vietnam War ended in 1975. Lawsuits filed by veterans or active military personnel against the U.S. Government for health problems caused by exposure to Agent Orange (Dioxin) began in 1977. In 1988, the first massive study was completed by medical professionals, and reported in the Journal of the American Medical Association. In 1991, the US Congress made Vietnam veterans eligible for treatment and compensation for conditions caused by exposure to Agent Orange/Dioxin. In 2009, that list was still growing.

35 years after an honorable discharge from the Marines, and 19 years after laws were passed to assist and help people like him, Joe is just now learning what resources and compensation are available to him. He's unsure about filling out the applications needed to seek compensation that both he and his son could use for a better quality of life, partially because it's so very difficult. He has to provide proof of when he served and where, and of his honorable discharge, to the VFA, and some other part of the government. All of this is on record.

He is a nice man. Sure, he mumbles, and I'm not sure how much of that is the beer, and how much of that is the nerve damage. He does occasionally tell me things I don't want to know (example: Last night he told me he doesn't like taking vicoden because it makes him horny. 10 minutes later, he quietly lectured my manager for cussing in front of me and a female customer, because "You shouldn't talk that way in front of ladies"). He is near certainly an alcoholic. He has a hard time making himself understood, and even once you learn to understand when he's mumbly, sometimes, he just doesn't make sense.

I generally don't support wars. I find that the reasons for them are not the reasons we are told, and no matter how humanitarian we think we are, and what good we think we are doing, I suspect there is a better way. I don't know what it is, but I'm pretty sure we're smart enough to figure out an alternative if we really put our minds to it.

I do not support war. But I support the soldiers. Men and women are fighting for our freedoms, and to spread our freedoms to people who don't have them. The lucky ones come home okay. The unlucky ones come home in coffins. And sometimes, our soldiers come home broken and maimed, and all too often, there's too much paperwork in the way for anyone to help them. Yes, I know. They signed up for it. They bring it upon themselves. They could choose not to enlist. But they did. They are defending us, and trying to help other people. They are tools that are often misused by the people in power, and when they come back in pieces, mentally or physically, they fall through the cracks. No one looks. No one wants to help. Everyone wants to slap them on the back, give them a high five, a free drink, and send them back home, knowing they'll be fine, because that's what we want to believe.

I hate seeing people like Joe, passed out about 15 feet away from me. He has resources available to him that no one's bothered to tell him about. Once he's told about those resources, he's so beaten down with no faith left in anything from years of suffering and mental problems from a deployment from half a lifetime ago, he's not even sure he can be bothered to do it, because it's so hard for him to prove things that are already on file. And even if he does do it, how long will it take to be approved? What if he's not approved?

He told me today he thinks he's going to do all the paperwork, get the money, then retire. I'm not certain what he does, but he still works somewhere, because his military pension, even for an honorable discharge as a wounded veteran, is not enough to support him. He wants to get all this compensation money from his nerve damage and tumors and tremors from exposure to Agent Orange and retire. And then volunteer most of his day working with other veterans.

The short version of this: Support your fucking troops. They're going through hell for us. The government is full of assholes, but the military is full of people who are just trying to help. Or get college money.

"I'm a Lesbian in a Man's Body"

Any girl who likes girls has heard that uttered from the mouths of usually, some macho man who thinks he's special or clever. I actually know some lesbians who are or were trapped in men's bodies. I think that statement coming from a straight male is inherently insulting and disrespectful to actual transgendered, transitioning, or gender-confused individuals.

Personally, I'm ambisexual, bisexual, whatever you want to call it. I'm not particularly concerned with what's between your legs (or on your chest) when looking for someone I'm sexually attracted to. I want someone physically, mentally, and emotionally stimulating, and the sex of the person I'm interested in doesn't enter into it. I'm a female, physically speaking, but gender wise...Meh. I'm still a girl, but I'm kind of manly, and I'm fine with that. I don't feel any real gender confusion most of the time, and I'm pretty happy with my genitalia.

I can, however, understand someone who isn't happy with their sex. There are a lot of resources for people who are genuinely interested in transitioning. I find the particular phrase "Lesbian in a man's body" demeaning to people who genuinely do feel unhappily trapped in their bodies and the worst part is that it's often done without people thinking they're being insulting. People don't even consider that they might be behaving like close-minded douchebags.

Sad day.

For those who aren't aware of what transgenders are, or the thought process behind it, I have a great forum link, including personal stories and more awesome links!
You can read SA's Transgender Megathread VII without being a member, but you can't post.


Note: I have asked those "lesbian in a man's body' meat heads, very excitedly, if they've come out to their families yet, and when will they start transitioning. They aren't nearly as amused as I am.

David Bowie/Glam/Victorian Tea Party

When I got invited to that, I wasn't really sure how to dress, but it sounded like a good time anyway. After multiple clothing changes, eyelash malfunctions, and collaborating with a friend on what we should wear and making sure we looked fine, I picked up some sweet tea vodka and headed to Serana's birthday party.

Upon arrival, we were invited to the backyard, where Enigma was running around in man panties with a chain saw, pumping his own stomach after drinking blue gatorade, and Serana, dressed like an awesome but deranged toothfairy, was eating crickets while Karla took photos and the mask maker filmed.

Serana cheerfully bounced around, and asked us if we wanted to be a part of the video they were making. Of course we were fine with that. After signing our releases, we put masks on, but then the video camera's batteries died and it got dark before it was re-charged, so, no fun video for us. Instead, we retired to the house, where there was air conditioning and a great deal of sweet tea vodka. Serana's sister did a lovely job on the cupcakes, and we all ran around being silly photo whores.

Theme parties and costumes are the most fun.

Internet Friends

I'm always super amused by people's reaction to meeting people on the internet. It's so scary, or desperate, or any number of negative adjectives. One of my exes, Brian, used to constantly mock me for my 'internet friends'. People think I'm going to be raped, robbed, and murdered.

I love my internet friends. People I've met online have hosted me, partied with me, stayed at my apartment. We've talked late at night on the phone and messenger, and hung out in cities far from home, and I have yet to be raped, robbed, or murdered. Much as I hate how the internet sucks up my time and my life, when I feel I should be doing something more productive, I'm incredibly glad I have it, because it allows me to meet really awesome people.

Thanks to everyone who's not too cool to make friends on the internet. And fuck you to everyone who's too stuck up, ignorant, or scared to do so. You're missing out.


This picture is the first time I travelled out of state to meet 'total strangers'. We had a super awesome night. The only thing I regret about my internet friends is that I don't get to see them *nearly* enough. <3

My first time...

Doing one of my fetish piercing projects was a great time. For a bit of background, I am both a body piercer and a fetish model, and love both. The increasing legitimacy and acceptance of piercing makes me extremely happy, and I'm proud to be a part of my industry. Further, I think piercing is a wonderful artistic expression, though it seems not enough people see it as more than putting holes in people. I've seen a lot of gorgeous corset piercings, but the fetish model in me influenced a new project idea, to use piercings in a fetish aspect. The idea has been realized, and I still have lots of ideas for it, and it's even inspired me to do several other larger projects that were a lot of fun. I look forward to doing lots and lots more.

I got together with Laura Ann Photography, an awesome girl from Peoria, Illinois. We've shot together lots of times, and it's always a great time. She brought Dolly Danger, a model she'd worked with previously, and I brought in a local girl who none of us had met before, but you, my readers, will remember from yesterday, Kenniko. We all gathered at Lasting Impressions, the tattoo shop I work at, and began the process, which, since Dolly, Kenni, Laura, and I all got along excellently, took a while, because we kept getting distracted. Kenni rocked out everyone's hair, the sheer height of mine, felt a bit Helena Bonham Carter, which was awesome to me. We did our make up, added fancy eyelashes, and played dress up with each other's shoes and corsets for awhile.

After a bit of gossip, and all of the preparations were ready, we set the scene for the photos, re-arranging the inside of the shop to our liking, before we started the hard part of the day. We did 6 piercings in each arm, to lace the girls together. We did three rings in each forearm and three in each upper arm, for a total of twelve piercings each. Both girls sat through the piercings beautifully, though Dolly made some fun faces. The marking was difficult, as this was my first time trying to mark girls to match each other, but once I got that done, we did Dolly's piercings first. Dolly hated me a little during the piercings, I think, given the occasional cuss word directed at me, but she sat wonderfully still, possibly helped through by Kenni holding her hand and giggling. Kenniko was up next, and I was a bit worried about her sitting through it, given that Dolly said it hurt, and Kenniko had never been pierced before, much less twelve times in a row, but as it turns out, Kenniko was born to be pierced, she did awesome! Not a single flinch. It was very impressive.

Once the girls were marked and punctured to my liking, we set up our sexy fetish photo party. The girls were laced together back to back initially, which they took pretty well, despite the difficulty in standing while they were laced to each other. My riding crop and I were in some of the shots, though certainly not all of them, because, well, they're prettier than me, and the point is the piercings. We set the scene for a more fetishy look. Then we had them on their knees (and we all love our women like that, don't we?), with their forearms laced to each other. The final shots were of the girls laying on the couch on their backs with their arms laced across their chests.

Afterwards, we took all the piercings out, and let the girls keep their rings as souvenirs! The pictures turned out awesome, and the day was a whole ton of fun! I learned a lot from my first time using piercings as an artistic expression of fetish bondage, and everyone has a great time.

Chastity

This shoot was a while ago, but I'm only recently starting to get into my blog again, so I'll randomly post photos and stories from way before now.

This photo was taken by the ever-talented Stephen Melvin, of Kenniko and Ayako, with hair styling by Cutting James.

The girls, the photographer, the hair stylist, and I met up at the tattoo shop (Lasting Impressions). I'd already met Kenni on a previous shoot (that I'll post pictures of later, because out of order is fine), and know Stephen from shooting with him repeatedly, but we had to get introductions between everyone, especially Ayako and I, since I would be poking her in some very delicate bits, repeatedly.

We hit it off immediately, which always makes me happy. Good shoot chemistry is vital for any good shoot, but especially for one where they have to trust me to do my job, since if I fail, I can hurt them.

While James did Ayako's hair, Kenni did make up, and then they switched, and Stephen and I discussed location and concept. After the girls got their hair done, we set up for the piercings themselves. Ayako went first. Initially, we had intended for the ladies to have 5 rings each, for a total of 10 piercings each--one ring would go through both labia, and a second below, and a third below that, on to five rings.

I double checked my materials nad made sure I had plenty of gauze, genital piercings are very prone to bleeding, and had Ayako lay on the table with her knees up. I marked for 10 piercings. We did the first one, and Ayako made a surprised squeaky noise. I wasn't surprised. All piercings can hurt, all genital piercings are a little bit of a shock to the system, it's really not a place you expect to get poked with needles. And as far as female genital piercings go, the outer labia are some of the more painful ones. The skin is tougher and the tissue thicker than elsewhere in the same area. We did the second one, and inserted the jewelry. It looked great. We showed her, she said she was feeling fine, so we did pair number two. During the 4th piercing, she started crying, but said to keep going. We got the jewelry in, and again, looked excellent. We did the third pair of piercings, and she was starting to shake, and was still crying. She apologized repeatedly, and excellent model that she is, said she just needed a break and we could keep going.

Three piercings looked great. She was bleeding, but that was expected. I looked at the piercings, at my markings, and decided the fourth and fifth pairs of rings were not necessary, especially given the level of pain that she was in. Then it was Kenniko's turn. The last time she saw me, she got six piercings in each arm, for a total of twelve, and didn't even flinch. Despite only going for a total of six piercings this time, I wasn't sure how she'd react, given the nature of the piercings, but as we did one than another, all the way to six, without her even needing a quick breather, I decided that either she has a piercing fetish, or she has a higher pain tolerance than pretty much anyone I've ever met besides me.

Piercings finished, we were about an hour behind schedule, and headed to the location. Sadly, our delayed departure made the awesome historic tea room we were renting unavailable, so we brainstormed. We were in Sherman Hill, the historic district in Des Moines, and my friend Scarlett has a gorgeous house only a block or two away, so we stopped by there, and I ran in to see if perhaps she would be okay with a couple of naked girls hanging out in her living room for photographs. Thankfully, she decided this sounded like a fun day, and let us re-arrange her living room to suit our needs.

Stephen set up his lights while I checked on the girls' piercings. The walking and moving had pulled them a bit, causing them to bleed, so throughout the shoot, we had to keep wiping up the blood, but overall, it was an easy and amazing shoot of absolute gorgeousness.

Afterwards, we fixed Scarlett's living room, thanked her for her hospitality, and made our way back to Lasting Impressions to remove the jewelry so the brave and lovely ladies could walk normally again. Unsanitary as it seems, the still bloody rings were preserved for future use in a one of a kind framed print with the original rings mounted inside the frame (where they can't be touched). Are you excited? We are!

General knowledge: It is possible to do chastity piercings as a 'permanent' option. You would need a row of labia piercings on each side, with separate jewelry for every day wear--most people prefer rings for labia piercings, but barbells are also acceptable and cute. Trust me, not only would chastity piercings not heal if they were in the closed position during the healing, you would find things like walking, urinating, and other aspects of daily life nearly impossible. Once healed, you could use one piece of jewelry to put in two holes, much like we did for Kenniko and Ayako, then switch back to one ring per hole after you got your desired chastity fulfillment for the day. You lace or otherwise hook your existing rings together with ribbons, d-rings, or other closure devices.

Do not pierce yourself. It can be dangerous, and professional exist for a reason. Fetish-friendly piercers (like me) have no problem making sure your piercings are capable of what you expect from them, so long as you notify us before hand.

Wearing White

Pride was this weekend, and on Sunday, we had the shop open, and were busy, and it was awesome. Then Dan and I practiced fire eating! We're working on fuel mixtures now to make fire transfers easier, that's the goal for next Sunday.

I wore white for the first time in years, now that I have a vaguely flesh colored bra. I tried to buy more white clothes, then I learned that most of my tattoos show through white shirts because they are so thin. Woops!

I've been out and about a lot, which is expensive, but fun. I love my friends! They are freaking sweet..

Punched in the chest.

Somedays, every emotion feels like a punch in the chest. It's strange how sometimes, I feel like I'm insulated from everything. Nothing can touch me, even if I want it to. Other days, seeing a name on the computer screen, or liking the way the clouds look has so much impact that I can't breathe for a second.

I am not broken

Since the last time I posted (directly after becoming single), I got involved with a guy who spent months trying to get me to commit, and berating me for being empty and emotionless, telling me my entire life is a superficial waste, and that all of my friends are enablers who encourage my horrible lifestyle, and that he loves me and he just wants to fix me.

Clearly, not a healthy relationship. I did get the hell away (a bit later than I should have) and am again enjoying the single life. Part of this enjoyment is a decision to make myself better. I do not believe that I am empty and emotionless, and that all of my relationships are superficial. Nor do I believe my unwillingness to commit to a standard monogamous relationship is a flaw, given that those make me unhappy.

I do, however, know that I have had a fucked up life, and that some of the damage incurred as a child, and later as a teenager from bad decisions influenced by my childhood, are still affecting me now. I deal with depression, self loathing, self hate, insecurity, and the general host of shit everyone else does. I'm tired of nightmares, I'm tired of irrational mood swings, and I don't want pills to fix it. I want to face everything head on. I will not be a victim. I will not be a survivor. I will be a whole person, without running or hiding from my past. I will learn from it, but I won't be defined by it.

And so begins step one.


I have also started going to the gym almost regularly. Go me!
I'm going out and about more, making sure I travel and get to see my travelling friends. Yay!

Whirlwind of change.

I'm single.
I have my own apartment.
A car that's only in my name.
Living the bachelor life

I'm still trying to piece together all the little things that you don't realize are important until you leave everything but your clothes, photographs, and coffee pot at your ex's house. Still trying to get used to my home being a wonderful little apartment, all to myself, instead of a house with 2 dogs, and alcoholic, and whoever is sleeping on our couch. Getting used to not having a couch.

I have a social life again. I have friends who call to see where I'm at, and what I'm doing, and if I want to come out. I throw parties (at other people's apartments). I go out and have fun. I dance in gay bars with sideshow performers, and beat people with belts in public (he asked for it. Literally. Even supplied the belt).

I'm happy. Re-adjusting to my previous solitary existence.

I feel so...motivated. I haven't had a real day off from my jobs for weeks, but I don't care. I'm a little tired, but I'm not always drained. I feel like I'm getting things done, and that people like me, and that I'm a real person again.

I get to go shoot (pictures, not guns, and I'm usually in the picture, not taking it), and wander around sideshows, and giggle like a little girl at burlesque shows, and I don't get told that my interests are dumb and demeaning and stupid. I can do my hair all fancy, and I don't get suspicious looks and questions about why I'm all dressed up.

I didn't realize how horribly depressed I was, until I wasn't anymore.

I feel like I've lost 140 lbs of alcoholic dead weight, and it's a good feeling.

GingerCon

I got into my car at noon on a Saturday. As usual, it was a spectacular mess, suitcase of props and clothes in the backseat, "Vagina Dentata" (my piercing supplies toolbox) in the trunk, make up case on the floor. One motorcycle boot, 3 books on varying subjects, and a couple of cds floating in the undefined areas with my purse and a backpack full of normal people clothes and shower supplies. Filled up my gas tank. And off I went to Kansas City for GingerCon.

This is an entirely made up and unofficial convention, by the way. A group of MM models and photographers made their way by plane, car, and megabus to Kansas City from Texas, Philadelphia, varying points in the Midwest, and even the West Coast to hang out for a weekend, starting Friday (which I missed), and ending sometime Sunday-ish, though the last to leave didn't go until Wednesday or something. We were there to celebrate the loverly Ginger coming out of retirment as an art model.

My 3 hour drive turned into 4 as I drove through the hellish construction that overtakes the entire midwest from the first day there is no snow until about 3 weeks after snow starts again in October. I stopped for cigarettes (they're $10 cheaper a carton in Missouri than Iowa, though still fire safe), and finally made it to Mary Wano's apartment to meet up with everyone. The assorted lovely ladies and less lovely but still awesome guys all hugged me, despite my disgusting layer of sunscreen and sweat, and we mobilized to go shoot.

6 models and 1 photographer (the group I was in) took off towards the middle of fucking nowhere, and ended up on the farm of a very nice lady. Stephen Melvin (photographer) went up to the house, while the ladies- JayElle, iMonstrosity, Stephy C, LauraT, Poses, and I all stripped down and started covering ourselves with sunscreen and bug spray. Stephen and the property owner arrived while we were all naked and oiling ourselves up. Luckily, the woman had been warned and was perfectly cheerful about a bunch of naked chicks wandering her property and climbing around on her stuff.

We spent about 2 hours molesting antique farm equipment, scrambling around on hay bales, and splashing (or attempting to stay dry) in a koi pond, before heading back to our cars, and taking the drive back to KC for dinner with the rest of the group.

Dinner at Buca di Beppo, reserved and ordered in advance, bread, salad, 2 vegetarian dishes, and 3 meatetarian ones... 30 minutes of rearranging tables to fit all of us around one table where we could all move around AND talk to each other... Various conversations, professional, casual, and/or wildly innapropriate, and then there was cake (Thanks Larry and Ginger!), before we aimed ourselves back to Mary's house. Jess, Stella, and I had a supply run, and returned to realize...Stella had the keys the whole time! The entire party was sitting in the hallway of the apartment, holding their booze, cameras, or wearing bandleader hats...

We made it inside, Ginger and Larry shot (with cameras, not projectiles) some secret peektures in the bedroom while Tia read passages out loud from a book of homo-poetry iMonstrosity gave me, and we all compared gory stories of piercing, fetish modeling, and dominatrix stuff. People piled on top of or petted other people. I pierced Stella, Laura, and Stephy. Corwin was totally creeped out by the name we came up with for my box of piercing tools. It's now and forever going to be known as The Vagina Dentata - the box of sharp things. All day in the sun shooting and driving, on top of eating enough to put us in food comas, and a healthy dose of booze put us all to bed by sometime between 2 and 4 a.m.

I know. It's not the orgy you expect to hear about from a group of nude art models and photographers. There was nudity, but that's because we're all comfortable with it. Mostly, it was a lot of people with high stress, fast moving, jobs...Just relaxing together. There are pictures, and you may be surprised if you see them, because mostly...We're just scattered around a room talking, until we all went to our various spots to hide out and sleep.

I got up the next day around 9, made myself pretty for Ginger, and had the ladies assist me into lacing me into a corset. We shot. It was good times. I did a few more piercings. Stephy C is painfully adorable! Didn't get to spend nearly enough time with anyone that was there. Drove my 4 hours home.

And that...is what traveling art modeling is to me. Not nearly enough time for everything. Hello to artists I adore. Lonely shoe lying forlorn under the seat of my car. Possibly for weeks at a time. Minutes of splendid artistic collaboration and seemingly seconds of quality time with awesome people...And then the car. The plane. The last hug from a good friend before you turn the key in the ignition or board your flight. The trek home to try to untangle the fishnets that have wrapped themselves around your corset, stuck inside one of your knee high boots, because you didn't have time to re-pack properly.

Stabbing, naked ladies, and booze, all on less than 20 hours of sleep.

I woke up Thursday at 10am, tried to get everything i needed for the convention. Slept from 3:30am to 6am Thursday morning. (2.5 hours)
I drove to Chicago. The 5 1/2 hour drive took me nearly 7. Forgot my camera battery charger. The battery was dead. My car has no air conditioning.
--Thanks Jeebus, Mary, and Jess for keeping me company via phone on the drive!
The convention was confusion everywhere! James and I were both short on supplies because of the short notice, and Kingpin didn't show up. Since the only two supply companies were totally half assed, we were winging it on a bunch of things. It's cool though, we got it figured out.

I drove to meet Jeebus at his studio. Got lost. For two hours. Ended up in the ghetto for a bit. Decided I shouldn't listen to Hanzel und Gretel in that part of town. Turned around. I stopped at a liquor store and some very nice old Pakistani men printed me directions. I was less than 30 minutes away the whole time..

I got to the awesome studio, and there was no parking. I'm from Iowa, and it was kind of a seedy area, so I just bumped up over the curb and parked in some weeds taller than my car. I was so tired that after hugging Marty, I just collapsed onto the nearest thing that looked like it might hold my weight, and got halfway through a smoke before realizing there were naked, pierced, girls in the room. I had a lot of fun watching Zuni do some elaborate piercing on his girl and Tamara.. AND Zuni gave me some play piercing needles and some dermal punches to test out. Weeeee!

We stayed in a super sleazy awesome hotel. Super sleazy. I slept from 5am til 9am. (4 hours)

The convention was slightly busier. Not by much. I got to watch James do a cool scar piece. Met a super fucking sweet mustache working the door. There was a person attached, and he was cool, but I was mostly impressed by the mustache. Hung out with the guys from Black Sheep Studio. Convention ended for the night.

I sat on the balcony of the Ohio Hotel watching hookers with the boys and girls from Black Sheep, while drinking scotch from the bottle (because I'm classy). I left at 5am, in a cab. I have no sense of self-preservation, but the guys refused to allow me to walk back to Navy Pier at that time of night by myself. My taxi driver spent the entire 3 minute ride saying fuck, apologizing for saying fuck to a lady, and bitching about the asshole in the lexus. I tipped him extra.

I crashed at the hotel with Mike and Lou. I slept from 6am to 9am. (3 hours) Lou took a shower. Got dressed. Showered again. We finally left for the convention. Watched James do another scar piece. Talked to some piercers and tattoo artists from L.A. and San Fransisco. One of the piercers is in Core. He promises to correspond with me via email. Fuck yeah! Finally left the convention around 8:30.

Met Beth and her new boyfriend at a little pub. Left for home around midnight. There were many storms. I started hallucinating from lack of sleep. I pulled over to take a nap for an hour or so. Slept from 4am to 6am (2 hours) Continued driving. More storms. And also, construction and road work. I got home at 10am. Took a shower. Hung out with boyfriend. Went to sleep from 12:00pm to 3pm. (3 hours).

Woke up because I was sweating so much I thought someone poured water on me. The power was out, and it was 95 degrees in my house, not counting humidity. The heat index outside was 110. We put the dogs in the basement and went to the library and dinner for a couple of hours. Power was still off, so we left again. When we got home around 1am there was still no power. Temperature inside the house had reached 100 degrees. Heat index was still around 105. I lost feeling in my hands and face and got light headed so I slept in a bathtub of cold water for 4 hours.

When the power went out, our breaker short circuited or something. The power guy came out around 11:30.


In short, Murphy's law kicked my ass. I sweated my ass off all weekend for very little money, spent $75 to park, got under 20 hours of sleep in the 120 hours between the time I got up Thursday and the time I got up today. The heat index is 118 degrees, and it's about to storm again.

But I did meet some rocking people AND get some lovely pictures from Marty.

An Letter to Plague

You were a wonderful rat, and when I came home from work and found you dead in your cage, I was sad. I will miss you biting the dog, that was really funny. It was also funny when you bit Sean, and I appreciate that you never bit me. You were pretty fucking awesome. But don't worry, I won't miss you very much. That sounds harsh, but it isn't. Sometime in the next few days, Brian and I are going to remove you from your body bag, strip the flesh from your bones, and put you back together so you'll be with me always. I think he's just doing it to be vindictive for that time you bit him, but I'm doing it out of love, and my own morbid obsession with bones.

You will be my Grim Squeeker forever, and don't worry, I'll find a way to get you a scythe and a little rat cloak.

Love,
LeStabbity


R.I.P. Plague:
Soon to Be The Grim Squeaker: