Archive for November, 2004

Up and Away

Thursday, November 25th, 2004

Tomorrow I’m jetting off to Sydney for a couple of days to play at being a corporate girlfriend. I’m a little unsure precisely what this role entails, and about spending my birthday with people I don’t know very well. My uncertainty has been assuaged somewhat by the fact that all my expenses are being paid for, and we’ll be picked up from the airport in a limo. I never claimed to not be shallow.

Stuart’s workmates have always seemed like a nice bunch, though. I’m a bit wary of the owner of the company, but that’s only because when I met him for the first time at the Christmas function last year, and when I went to introduce myself to him, he said “I know who you are. We’ve heard all about you.” My automatic response when someone says something like this is to freak out, because I fear they’re going to follow it up with something along the lines of “So, do we get to see this famous ping pong ball trick?”

I’m sure it will all be good, though. As long as Stu gives me cake tomorrow, I’ll be happy. Plus there are the added bonuses of a new city to explore (yes, Bumpkin Girl here has never been to Sydney), and lots of dirty motel room sex to be had, which will be especially important as Stu’s going to be in Sydney for the next few weeks working on a contract. We’ll be sex-cameling it up. There is also a yacht cruise of Sydney harbour planned, and a barbecuey-type function. I will be smiling politely at people while Stu will be all This Is My Girlfriend, She Has Boobies. In some respects, he will always be an Engineering student. It’s kind of nice, though. It’s better than This Is My Girlfriend, She Has Boobies and If You Look At Them I Will Break Your Face, or This Is My Girlfriend, She Has Boobies, Which I Guess Is the Upside of Her Not Being a Size Eight, The Fat Cow. Neither of those is very pleasant at all. Rather, Stu is a fan of sharing the boobie love.

Well, I guess I did mention in the last entry that I talk about boobies a lot. Don’t say you weren’t warned.

I’ll be back in a few days, with tales of adventure and possibly sunburn.

The horse has bolted, taking the scantily-clad rider with it

Friday, November 19th, 2004

So, another Sexpo update almost a week later! I am surely one of the more timely bloggers around.

I spent Friday and the weekend in a sort of daze; the stall was incredibly busy and because of that, I really didn’t get to explore the other stands as much as I would have liked to. I ended up catching only a distant glimpse of Penisaurus, which made me feel sad; along with all the dickheads who buy and then proudly wear Dirty Pierre t-shirts with devastatingly witty slogans such as “Terrorists: fuck ’em” and “Dirty Pierre says drink beer for the taste, not coz ya gonna root a fat chick”, Penisaurus for me is one of those dependable Sexpo events.

I’ve always been amused by the way some people dress up to come to Sexpo. I’ve never really sure why this is, although my suspicions lie with first-timers who suppose Sexpo to be far more exciting than it actually is. This seems to be a lot of people actually; random polling of whomever I happened to be talking to before Sexpo revealed that people who had never been before believed it to be a lot more exciting than those who had been and realised that it’s basically the overpriced Queen Vic Market of adult products. As such, while there’s technically nothing wrong with dressing up all slutty for it, it’s not really a prerequesite. This doesn’t stop the parade of general public T&A every year, not that I’m exactly complaining. I always have to wonder, though, how vastly differently people are dressed than they would be if they were, say, going to Chadstone (or, in the case of a few choice individuals I had the pleasure of seeing, that would be going to Mid Valley shopping centre, located on the outskirts of exotic Morwell. If you’ve never heard of Morwell, think Moe, but skankier. Yes, really.). Far be it from me to criticise gratuitous displays of titty, but since in my experience women tend to dress up “sexily” for a specific reason, I’m wondering exactly what reasons those are. I’m not sure random hookups actually happen all that often among Sexpo visitors (stall employees are a different matter however, ahem). Maybe some of these women are hoping to buck that trend. I don’t know. I saw one woman in the toilets who I assumed was a stripper, not in any sort of pejorative way, just because I’ve noticed in the past that Sexpo strippers often turn up at the beginning of the day already scantily clad, possibly to make things easier later. An hour or so later, though, I saw this woman and her male partner wandering around laden with shopping bags. She was still pretty much as dressed as she had been in the toilets at the start of the day. Which is to say, after I got a better look at her and realised she was a lot older than I’d first assumed, that she still looked like mutton dressed as the kind of lamb that the butcher has injected with red dye and displayed on that fake grass shit to make it look more appetising.

This feeds into another phenomenon I’ve noticed of late, which doesn’t really have anything to do with Sexpo, except tangentially, and that is women dressing really inappropriately for their age. I don’t mean to suggest that women in their forties or over shouldn’t make an effort, but when you’re in your forties or fifties and you’re walking around in tight hipster jeans down to your pubic bone and a midriff t-shirt, you’re going to look silly, no matter how fantastic a body you’ve got. It’s kind of like when you see 12 year old girls who haven’t started puberty wearing shirts with sexually suggestive or outright crude slogans. Do your parents not notice/care what you leave the house in, sweetie, or are you actually an undercover employee of Operation Auxin?

I am, of course, getting sidetracked. Regular and perceptive readers of this blog may have noticed that it consists of about 90% sidetracking and 3% intentional content (the rest is about boobies).

I would have liked more of a chance to look around; to confirm whether my suspicion that there were less stalls overall and more completely-non-sex-related (or even heath related, because let’s remember that Club X’s assertion that Sexpo is a “health and sexuality and lifestyle” expo isn’t complete bullshit at all) stalls than in previous years. I also would have liked to be able to buy more things; as it was, I bought some lovely lingerie/costumery (I use the term “costumery” because I always feel conspicuously dressed up if my various girlbits are clad in anything fancier than cotton undies and one of my regulation minimiser bras, which moonlight as attack dog muzzles when I’m not wearing them.) from a new label called Sexiaz, which I recommend highly. On one of my wanderings, I ended up at the Pleasure Activism stall having a bit of a chat. They seem like a nice bunch. I’ve joined their email group, and while I’m currently lurking, it’s been an interesting read so far.

The guy I was working for, Michael, was really nice, and was quite impressed with me, so it looks like I’ve probably got work for next year. Yay!

And yes: I am fully aware that, had I written this entry several days ago, I would have remembered what else it was that I wanted to write. Nyah.

Tired and Lacy

Thursday, November 11th, 2004

So. Very. Tired.

Today was the first day of Melbourne Sexpo, at which I’m working until Sunday night. I’ve got incredibly sore legs, but I had a really good time. I’ve worked at Sexpo several times over the years, for various companies (I’m practically a adult-retail-whore-for-hire), and I’ve found that, like anything else, how much you enjoy it depends on who you’re working for. And I’ve worked for some real buttheads over the years. Fortunately, the guy I’m working for this year is super nice and thinks I’m ace, and I’m selling pretty pretty lingerie, so it’s all good. Tomorrow my dear friend Sonya will be working on the stall with me, so that will be fun, and also hopefully give me the chance to devote some time to going shopping. Mmmm, banned-in-Queensland goodness!

I’m yet to run into my good friend Penisaurus, but hopefully it will happen tomorrow. I really don’t want to go the whole time without seeing him. I love me some giant penis monster.

I’m sort of past the point of being coherent, so I should really sign off and say goodbye. If you’re planning on going to Melbourne Sexpo, you should come and say hi. I’m the tall blonde chick battling with the g-strings.

They didn’t mention the sodomy. Or the tapdancing.

Tuesday, November 9th, 2004

So, the article came out. As I suspected, out of the dozen or so photographs taken of me, some of which were quite nice, the one where I have a double chin and look a bit special was the one that got printed. Which, after seeing some of the photos that were taking (one or two in which I looked damn fine), I can’t help but wonder if someone at Leader newspapers read my previous entry. Heh. Still, the article itself was flattering, and referred to me as a “talented wordsmith”. I don’t care that it’s hack fluffery. Which is fortunate, given the size my head has swelled to.