Assholes can *kiss my ass*!

So I was chatting with an old friend of mine who moved to a different university recently… Having thrown themselves into a totally new town, he reckoned he’d try some time in residence on campus, get the gist of the people who he’s studying with and will be cahorting with before getting himself a bachelor pad…

He ended up in what we South Africans like to call “A Jock Res”. This term has a different meaning to its American counterpart. A jock is not necessarily a man who spends his life on the football (or whatever other sort of sport’s) field.
The term is used more broadly here. It refers to brutish, Neanderthal-esque jerks. Keywords are: mean and stupid/ inconsiderate of their fellow human beings.
I prefer to call a spade a spade, though I may occasionally get caught up in my linguistic environment, so I just call them assholes.

You know, I try so hard, remind myself so often, to respect absolutely everybody’s right to be the way they are and to be on the planet…

But these assholes make it really…
REALLY hard.
The real problem right now is that beneath my roiling, boiling anger…
I’m actually terrified.

Please forgive me, but I knew to purge myself of that fear right here, right now. Fears are extremely dangerous creatures when left unattended, unacknowledged. They can grow completely out of proportion, and fangs and horns… And they can grow so powerful that they can control your life.
I’m the kind of girl that doesn’t take kindly to that sort of thing.

So here’s what I was told that’s been shaking up Yours Truly so bad…

So my buddy’s chilling in the tv room, sitting behind a whole bunch of mates who’ve clearly been in this res for some time… They’re all watching some random show and commenting on absolutely everything in the way that can be expected when a bunch of guys are socially asserting themselves…you know what I mean.
And then this particularly hot chic takes centre stage in the show.
“Wow that chic is so hot I’d rape her”
My buddy blinks a couple of times, checks his ears aren’t clogged up with wax and lint.
“Whoah dude, that’s not cool… I mean… she is seriously hot…and I sure wouldn’t mind seeing her in some bondage or something but…”
The assholes butt in: “You’re into S&M?! Are you fucking sick or something?!”

Holy shit.
I can’t believe it.

So these guys think you’re and deplorable if you have an alternative sexual identity, but it's perfectly okay to want to rape a girl?
Fuck, I feel ill to the pit of my burning, nauseous stomach.

I have a request of the male readers of Wet Your Lips *Here*...

Please let me know, via the comments or email that these [resounding shout:] ASSHOLES are merely terrible, terrible anomalies...the spawn of some sister who got it on with her uncle, who both belong to a family so inbred its members resemble maltese poodles...who all live in a town 3 kays away from a nuclear testing site.

Please tell me hearing comments as described above is not a normality you've had to learn to live with when in a men-only conversation.

Please tell me you'd rather tie me up or something weird.

Please tell me you won't tolerate men like that in our society.

Please tell me its not just a bunch of broken or outraged or militant-feminist women in the anti-rape marches and campaigns.

Please tell me you'd never verbally or physically assault someone for being different.

Wow.
This is, without a doubt, The Most Serious Post *Here* Ever...But I really needed to do it.

Now, to make amends, one last favour to ask of you...

If you find one of them blokes that fit the description of "asshole", as stipulated previously, please tell them this:

"Lady Lipstick says you can kiss her ass!!!" (bet it would bruise their ego to be forced to put on the lipstick first too...)

Hmm... And if it's with extra sensuously slick lipstick... They may as well put their back into it...














So now y'all have seen my ass. You're welcome to disagree with me, but I still think it's cute... *Especially* now that I'm seeing it peppered with pouts of silky colour :-) Yay! I'm going to do that more often...
P.S. In case you were wondering, they're still there while I'm typing this. And I added a bouquet to my one nipple for good measure. And one around my belly button. Because I could ;-P

The Problem Of Susan

Once upon a time...

When I was a little girl I came upon some books I loved to read by the author C.S. Lewis. The books in question were "The Chronicles Of Narnia". I've always read a lot. For different reasons as you veterans of yon Lipstick Fetish blog know ;-)
And as I've grown I've been in utter awe and wonder as how some stories grew with me. I grew wiser and the tales grew deeper. One such book that has never let me down, that always made me pause each time I came to reread it again and reconsider my view of life, the universe and everything, was one of the title "The Little Prince", by Antoine de Saint-Euxpery. Sadly, I've had to exclude "The Chronicles of Narnia" from this list.

As a child, I had loved these stories because they told me that was more to the world than the eye can see... that there are worlds in worlds and it can be a great adventure to explore them... But as I grew older, people started telling me that the stories' author had another story to tell us, under the guise of the childrens' adventures in the lands of Narnia. It was a story about Good and Evil, Christianity... They told me the lion Aslan was actually Jesus Christ. At first, I was angry at the people who told me this (remember, I grew up in a stake-burning, pitchfork-toting, religious-zealot town), I thought they were imposing their beliefs on the stories (which should be inviolate and allowed to exist in their own right)...
But I've grown a little more now, though in many respects I still feel like I'm a child, and I've had to redirect that first impulse of anger.
They were right.

And, in realising they were right, I've realised why there was one part of the story that has always lingered in the back of my mind troubling me, feeling like it didn't fit...
I refer to The Problem Of Susan.
It all makes sense now.

In the last of the seven books, "The Last Battle", Lucy, Edmund and Peter return to Narnia...and are even granted passage to the land of "further up and further in", Paradise. Heaven. Susan, the oldest of the girls is excluded. And the only reason we are offered as to her exclusion is because... you might want to sit down before you read this... "she's grown too fond of lipstick and nylons and invitations..."
Yeah?
Well, with all due respect, fuck you C.S. Lewis.

The problem is not that she's lost "the innocence of children" (a rather weird concept in my not so humble opinion, who says time has to rob us of aspects of our being? Who says learning more is a sin?) because if this were the case Peter would have been excluded too, being the very oldest of the four.
"Lipstick"...
Her exclusion is gender specific. Her feminine sexuality is dawning, golden and strange and wonderful on the horizon. She is being excluded for "the sin of Eve".
I could never understand why she was left behind...

Furthermore, towards the end of the book, we find out the rest of her siblings were killed in a train crash (being the reason why they get taken to live in the glorious land of "further up and further in"...hmmm... sounds like kinky-speak to me :-P ).
This made me think, even when I was just a child, that our girl Susan, mentioned but once in this concluding book, was also left to identify the bodies (which could only be a traumatising event), and left to live alone, family-less. Why? Why did Susan deserve such punishment?
And now I know the answer. C.S. Lewis wasn't punishing her. He left her to live through these tribulations to give her time to repent for her sin...

You hear that girls? Throw out your lipsticks immediately! Stop enjoying life! We must suffer this life in order to repent that we may be granted passage to Paradise!

Ye gods, this is lunacy!

I think I may have tangent-ily referred to this issue in the previous post; regarding the "idiotic concept of hell".
Mind if I share my point of view?

The way I see it, whatever your spiritual beliefs (including anti-spiritual beliefs) there's no point in there being a heaven or a hell while we are beings belonging to the realm of the living. They are all happening right here, we don't need any more of them.
We don't need to paint a heaven or hell above or below our picture of existence because we are the creators of human life here on this crazy little geoid. We create our own lives, and if enough of us create similarly-driven lives, then we create life situations on a global scale. We're *perfectly* capable of making *heaven* and hell right here. And the evidence is all around us. It surrounds me when I wake up to my room, my sancto sanctorum and the view of trees and sky outside my window, every morning. It blares at me from the news channel on the tv.

If C.S. Lewis thinks I should suffer, oh wait, but he thinks it grace... that I may have time to repent, he can kiss my cute, nicely-shaped ass (pics in next post, actually). Yes, I think my ass is cute. It's mine to think whatever I please of it, so there. And it didn't get to looking that way because I was busy on my knees praying for my soul and not engaging in "unspeakable acts with members of the opposite (oops and the same) sex". Does wonders I tell you. And you won't believe how many calories you burn...which is great to think that there's a form of exercise out there that one can *only* enjoy. I suppose that was an accident, huh?

Anyhow, enough bitching. I've got my lipstick and nylons (and an invitation to be a girl's gothic/Victorian date to her Graduation Ball) and I have every intention of making my own *paradise*...
*Right Here*.
Life's too going-on and wonderful to let it go to waste on hunting for a mysterious pot of gold at the end of some rainbow. Go out there and take what you've got and find what you need... to make your life wonderful, happy, healthy and magical. It really is all there.
There's no need to go sticking your nose in a hundred thousand wardrobes...

And I'm off to go *play* with these two lipsticks of mine...
In a bed of purple and pink bougenvilia flowers I've spent some time making.
And I promise you, not once while I'm at it will I feel like I'm "not innocent" or "old" or being promiscious or something stupid like that.
And I'll giggle as I'm about to come.
And then I'll sigh and close my eyes afterwards... with a smile of pure joy dawning all over my face.

Damsel In Distress

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