Facebook censoring, and why it isn't working.

Any performer and model, myself included, will have had at least one or two of their photo's reported and removed. I've had my account suspended for a month in the past when someone decided to bulk report a large amount of my photos that can only be seen by those who are on my friends list, or subscribed to my feed.
It seems that it has become a purposeful thing to report someones photo's as an act of defiance, jealousy, or just to cause that person trouble, many people I know having been affected by the same thing on a number of occasions.

Performers are constantly battling the pastie ban on Facebook, something I regularly flaunt against as it as a rule is rather small minded, and also as I subscribe to the belief of why is it okay to see mens nipples, but not womens, even if they are bared for something as natural as breast feeding, which Facebook has removed photo's of in the past.
It has been widely reported on when Facebook remove photo's that are actually not offensive at all, usually something that the user has decided to share with their friends and family, the primary reason we are supposed to use Facebook, of moments of great importance to them.

Recently Facebook removed and deemed offensive photo's of a newborn baby that had been born with a rare birth defect, the defect meant that sadly the skull of the child hadn't fully formed in the womb, leaving parts of the brain revealed and causing Facebook to deem offensive.
Sadly the infant died only eight hours after birth, a great sadness to the family, but then faced emails from Facebook of the reported photos.
The family decided to repost the photo's as they were not only sharing this childs short life, but grieving together. This earned the mother a 24 hour Facebook ban.

A more recent event (the previous event happening in early March, and also not the only story of similar nature) in the last few days a woman in Italy decided to show her support, as many of us do via Facebook, for LGTB rights by posting a photo of two women kissing.

Facebook contacted the poster and asked her to remove this "offensive" image, and she rightfully refused.

This caused Facebook to threaten to remove her profile completely for "Violating the communities standards" as it was breaking facebooks rules regarding "Nudity and Pornography".

This is a stock image, and easy to find via a quick google search.

But how many of us have been "guilty" of sharing similar content, remember the same sex proposal in a hardware store that went viral?

We pretty much all shared that one. 

Ironically for Facebook, due to this coming to light the image above is now being shared widely across the platform as people share the resulting article from The Independent which features and automatically sets the previews to the offensive image.

So why are these things being reported? Why in this era is this still seen as offensive?

They all shout "think of the children" but isn't sheltering them from real life, and acceptance of others going to have a negative affect when you shield them from something, claiming it to be Wrong?

Earlier today while waiting in a post office queue, I as most do turned to my Facebook app to keep me amused while in the queue.

Upon opening the app one of the top stories on my feed was revealed from just a glance as a crudely drawn picture of Homer Simpson drawn around a womans vagina.

I quickly closed the app and hoped no one had seen it over my shoulder, assuming that I would want to look at such things.

I quickly forgot about it, assuming it would be quickly reported and deleted, disappearing from my feed.

Twelve hours later, it is still there, and on my laptop screen the full extend is revealed, cucumber and all..... My option is just to unfriend the poster as although I am not a prude, I don't really need to see cucumbers in such orifices. Plus I want to be able to continue to enjoy salads, and The Simpsons.

So why wasn't this reported, why did my eyes have to suffer something so gross twice in one day, and strangely on the same feed where articles posted about the Italian woman having her not at all offensive photo seen with such negativity?

Is it the friends you keep on Facebook, those who decide which photo's to report, or is it Facebook for agreeing to remove non offensive photo's, while keeping up photo's that are pornographic, or advocate violence, or are sexist and misogynistic? 

It seems my feed is full of previews linking to articles on animal abuse, with horrifying photo's that turn the stomach, and are quite upsetting to someone as sensitive as me who holds animals in higher regards than most people.

Actual pornographic content, like the described above?

Or photo's of Miley Cyrus' latest attempt to shock people by wearing 80's cut body suits, and throwing her legs in such a way that sells records, apparently.

Out of all of those things, I'd rather see my feed full of loving same sex couples fighting for their much deserved equal rights (on a side note, go Oregon!!), families celebrating and loving their children even if they only have a small amount of time to share with them, and yes, not on a similar spectre, but also ladies nipples, pasties or not!

The "Resting Bitch Face" post....

I have a condition.

One that has only just started to be talked about in recent years, and be noticed by the main stream.

One that has haunted me my entire life, made people avoid me, even made people hate me.

I have Resting Bitchface. 

I'm not sure when it grew into bitch face mode, but for the last fifteen years it has been somewhat of an issue.

I am always told by people that they thought me to be stand offish when we first met, some wondering if I for some reason hated them, but then claiming that I'm really nice when they got to know me. 

Why is this a shock? Does everyone think this? How many people didn't make the effort to even talk to me and now think of me forever as some stuck up bitch...?

I'll never know.

Even in my own family it has caused confusion, with even my own mother thinking I was giving her dirty looks for no reason, and causing a stream of confusing one sided arguments that ended with my resting bitch face contorted into a look of confusion which actually looks more bitchy than my everyday resting bitch face. 

Even my fiancé used to worry that I was pissed off or annoyed with him and not knowing what he had done and not knowing what to say, sat fretting while I just watched whatever film or tv show I was currently enjoying at the time. 

Luckily now since I saw a video about resting bitch face and I laughed and said "I totally have that" that he finally realised that it was just my face.

My face is broken in a bitchy manner, like a tea cup with complex social issues.

I try to smile more when outdoors to avoid offence, but hating my teeth and wanting to hide them meant my face is twisted into a strange closed mouthed smile that is tightly clamped over my teeth, and possibly making it seem more like I suffer from Resting Smug Face, a disorder highlighted by celebrity, Cate Blanchett. 

So instead I must embrace it, and wear my bitchiness with pride, it has it's bonuses I suppose.

Charity clipboard holders tend to not stop me.

When I actually need to look "bitchy" I've got that look well practised.

It also doubles as a great modelling face, strong!!

So whenever you see me, please believe these are not dirty looks, and I do not hate you for no reason, just take into consideration that....well....I have a disorder.

Why I want to quit Burlesque, but Can't and Won't...

This is something I've been battling with for a while now, while all around me the scene shrinks, talented performers step down while others flourish for all the wrong reasons, it's undertones of bitterness, breakdown of community, and frankly it's competitiveness have become somewhat of a bother to me.

Whether you realize it or not, the scene is bursting to the brim with performers, and they are still coming, new fresh faces burst onto the scene with excitement every week, but it saddens me that they won't have the same support or experience as most of us many years ago.
While more and more performers join the scene, some bring a fresh style and voice to it, notably Aurora Galore, who's energy and wildness onstage has launched her into an exciting career, some bring back the classics, such as Havana Hurricane who embodies the burlesque revival lead in America in the early 90's lead by performers such as the amazing Dirty Martini, but while some of the acts may be new and fresh, there is a diminishing platform on which these acts can perform.

Nights are either closing down completely, others overrun with acts they don't have enough positions for, or reverting to private style dinner clubs where the acts perform regularly such as Proud, Privee, Cirque Le Soir, or The Hippodrome and create small sub-communities within themselves and the scene.
If you are involved in those you may be able to survive from the living you make there alone, but if not you still have a variety of gigs to flutter between.

Some of us are lucky enough that we can still live from performing, but maybe not making as much as just a few years before. Some step back, or use skills acquired in performing to gain what we refer to as "proper jobs", some even go back to studying and changing their career paths.
So why have so many amazing performers started to step back, or worse, out completely?

It is hard work to feel you have to compete, or change your style to keep fresh, especially if like me you are a stubborn lady who created a style for themselves and want to stick with it, or to feel that you have to constantly bring out new acts or implement new skills which costs a great deal, and when you aren't earning a huge amount why would you splash out?
I have spent thousands on my costumes, and I will continue to use them until they fall off me without prompting, because they have kept me going this far. Of course I do have acts in the plans but I bring them out when I'm ready to rather than rush out many new acts to keep pushing onto promoters.
Some performers may prefer to act in this way, constantly bringing out fresh acts and if that works for them great, but we don't all work the same way, and that's fine.

What about other elements of the scene however?
What about our private lives?

A lot of us have our private lives now very mixed up within out performing persona, this I know all too well having performed for nearly 9 years, and now about to marry a fellow performer involved in the scene. Most people have embraced our personal choices and accepted us without query, but some liked to ask questions.
Our private lives and choices were being picked up on, and usually by people we didn't even know.
We are performers, how does our personal time affect what happens onstage? To regular audience members watching the shows, they are watching the act, not whispering the chinese whispers they heard at another show.
So why is this part of our scene at all?

I loved burlesque, and for a long time it was a huge part of my life, but now I can feel myself stepping back from the scene. Make no mistake I am not quitting, and I have many great friends who I have met through performing, but the community is now so large that I don't even know the people who bother to talk about my personal life anymore, isn't that a little bit sad?
I'm pretty sure they don't know me either, but I'm always being told how straight forward I am, if people wanted to know anything about me they could just ask, I generally tell the truth.

Burlesque is my profession, I do it mostly for the love of it, but yes, I admit, sometimes I'm doing it because its my job. I pay rent, I have bills, I eat food, and burlesque pays for that as do so many others in the scene.
I don't have a part time job currently, but I wouldn't see it as a failure if I did tho others make that suggestion, it may help to reignite the passion for the art form I was once so obsessed with if shows were booked for the sheer love of it again, and I knew I could be happy and comfortable backstage.
And yes, I would still do it even if I didn't have to, despite everything said here, because I chose to make this my career, I worked hard to get to this point, I remember the early days with fondness, but also I will not let the downsides win.

Now lets build up this community again, we are attacked by outsiders enough (most recently the feminist 'debacle') that we shouldn't be attacking one another, we should embrace our differences onstage as thats what makes a show interesting, lets reignite our love for what we do all over again, and maybe, just maybe we can bring it back to life and save it for ourselves and revive this amazing scene.

We can be happy again?

Definitive proof that you can't just 'Snap Out of It'

Exactly one week ago today, unknown to me my boyfriend had arrived in Liverpool where I was running a show in one of my favourite venues and rooms in Liverpool.

He had planned out and was gearing up to surprise me and propose onstage at the end of the show in front of my friends, family and show regulars. 

Of course I was happy and elated, but having been battling with quite a severe bout of depression in the past month, it didn't suddenly end once that ring was on my finger.

Of course I felt very happy but still the underlying darkness of depression was still there.

I wish I could say it all melted away completely and I was able and allowed by my mind to enjoy and feel excitement about the transition in mine and Edds life, sadly this is not a cure all method.

My mind and body have since been through the wars of severe mood swings, from hyperactively planning the big day itself, to having a day I actually couldn't get out of bed.

Stress levels are fairly high now we are talking budgets, plans, and sorting our finances trying to make everything we talk about a reality, while remaining the calm and happiness level we should be feeling isn't an easy task.

We vary between soppy cuddling and talking about the future, to Edd having to cuddle me while I'm upset and miserable. I'm lucky he is pretty understanding and willing to listen to me and how I'm feeling, and is pretty sensitive to my feelings, but then I feel more guilt that he is having to deal with me and my depression when really we should be in our honeymoon engagement phase. 

At a time when we should be feeding each other chocolate strawberries, I'm opting to comfort eat junk food.

When we should be at it like rabbits, my libido is at an all time low (this I feel most guilty about).

When I should be happily planning the event, pinning things to Pinterest, and looking forward to wedding dress appointments, it's hard to get out of bed, unpack my suitcase, or go out to work at shows.

So I take this as definitive proof that depression is something that really cannot be controlled, altered, or brushed aside no matter what amazing and wonderful things that happen within your life. 

This is why rich people suffer, the famous suffer, the successful suffer as no matter what your situation or point in your life still it lingers on to bring you down when you should be feeling your very best.

I shall continue the fight with my own mental health, and hope that when I walk down the aisle, the darkness has gone and I can start my new life with Edd full of enjoyment, joy, and a libido worthy of our honeymoon. 

                                 

Is Social Media Not Social Enough..?

Recently I have set up a new blog, you can see it by following the link above (please go look, the rest of this blog will rant as to why).
Once it was set up I had to start the hoop jumping, getting it out there and getting it seen, and so I went with the usual go to for anyone trying to start up something shiny and new. I got straight onto social media.

When, eight years ago, I started out as a performer it was fairly easy to connect to other performers, promoters all over the world, companies in need of models and so much more. I made many friends and connections and this helped me to get myself out there just before the Burlesque Boom hit.
I've relied on mediums such as MySpace (yes, I've been doing it THAT long) and emails for the first two or so years, before moving onto Facebook after being told repeatedly in Paris that "all the Parisians use facebook now, MySpace is dead".
At first Facebook was on the more quiet side and only a few others had migrated over there. This meant you could really see everything and connect with people in a better way, it was great for those first 4-5 years.
As well as Facebook we started to switch up between there and Twitter, where no one understood how to reply to each others tweets, and it was a stream of out of context sentences. Ahh those were the days. Shortly after Twitter, Instagram popped out it's head and we marveled at posting photo's of our pets, before upgrading to turning the camera onto our own faces and birthing the "Selfie".

Soon we were juggling between the many various social media outlets, plus emails (I have three separate email accounts), websites, Facebook profiles (two), Facebook pages (four), Twitter accounts (three), Instagrams (three), Blogs (two, of course, I already said that..!) and now, Vine, Bloglovin, Polyvore, and so many many more.
Are we juggling too much?

Trying to keep everything constantly updated, fresh, eye catching and informative while over so many different platforms is a job in itself, and these days it actually can be a job, but with everyone trying to push out so much information in the same places meaning it's all getting too lost?

As part of my building interest in my new blog, I decided to try out the facebook adverts because even with how many people liked and followed the page, I could see that the posts were still only being viewed by a very small number of people due to facebooks new privacy settings meaning posts only reach people if interacted with.
For a new site and a new page that's not likely at all.

Most adverts you could post for £3 to get a few more views and interactions, I've tried this on a couple and it does boost the number of views but even if it's been seen over 1000 times, the interaction numbers are still low. Today I tried to use the targeted adverts, aimed at women only, in a certain age bracket, who are interested in fashion, style, tattoos, high street etc.
I hoped this would help more people to find the page and boost interest in it too. Once the promotion was complete I can see a break down of how the advert helped.

 

 

32 interactions, may I add that this post had over 1000 views in the time it was live, and for every thousand this is what you may expect for your advert costs.
The costs of this advert? £5.00.

I decided to try this as more of an experiment than to actually get it out there as it is something I have noticed for a while. Companies asking people to change their setting so their posts can still be seen, people asking people to comment so they know who can actually still see their updates and many more similar. I can't see updates from my friends or companies I follow, but I see plenty of posts I'd rather not see with "shock value" and moanings of people I've never even met.
I have no problem with facebook moaning, I'd just rather know you first.

So is social media too full? Is there too much information on our many open tabs (I currently have eight tabs open this very second, and I'm also using my iPad) constantly streaming, so we pay less attention to the content trying to take it all in? If someone see's a sponsored post for all of one millisecond have they really seen it, and therefore that's seen as a success worth charging for?

Twitter these days feel like shouting in an empty room, Facebook shows you various strange and weird updates while the ones that may be of use or importance to you are hidden away, also MySpace is definitely dead (R.I.P) so is social media broken?
Do we need a new outlet, a new way of connecting with those we want to connect to?

What was once a great way to find others with similar interests, expand your mind with interesting discussions and articles, and stay in touch with your loved ones in a more relaxed environment has now turned into one giant loud rave like party, and those people you want to reach? Well, they're on the other side of the Rave.

Depressions a Bitch, and So Am I

I haven't been to well lately, my depression gets greatly affected by seasonal shifts and this is something I've been aware of for years. Edd is also aware of this and is very sensitive towards helping me through these times.
My life is great right now, I have found the perfect man for me and we are so happy together, I've finally got savings in the bank which is rare for me, I've done some fantastic shows lately, have plenty of exciting things booked in, castings coming my way, got back to the weight I wanted after losing so much over the non stop December.
I should be on top of the world.

I have depression.
It makes no sense, it hits you when you least expect it without any warning or reasoning.
Sometimes situations in life have a great affect when your mental state is already significantly weakened by previous bouts, sometimes you could be having the best time of your life but still it lingers and tries to beat you down.
Generally I try to get on with it, ignore it, talk it through with Edd who is patient and understanding enough to listen and try to help, but other days getting out of bed is hard.
Those days I have to force myself to smile, to eat, shower, leave the house if I have no way of getting out of it. I can't call a producer with the reason "I'm too depressed to face outside" and this is also my job.
Having the extra worry of money wouldn't help and so I carry on.

The smallest things get my down lately, stupid fickle feeble unimportant things that would usually be a mild inconvenience, but to me and others with depression it feel like your soul has been sucked out a tiny bit more and replaced with the blackness depression provides.
I have been open and honest about my depression before, so I think most of my friends and family, and even some people who watch the shows know about the fact I can have my bad days.

Sometimes the stupid things that get to me amuse me in a strange and contradictory way. Yesterday I told Edd about how I was feeling, I laughed at how stupid it was and how it shouldn't have such an effect, not in the grand scheme of things.
After this conversation I took to my facebook, writing a post I believed summed up the strange things depression can do to your brain, as I mentioned before, people know about it and plenty of people I know also suffer the same or similar conditions.

Anyone who actually knows me would know this was pointing out how my strange brain likes to affect me, and that it was also seeing some humor in the situation with the summing up of such a status. Also that facebook isn't very important and is used for flippant comments and isn't to be taken to heart. That what I would have liked to think.

So today when I open my inbox to find this message, from someone I'm not sure I actually know, and who missed the point entirely it shocked me. Mainly because it's a fairly contradictory message in itself, but also at how much this person missed the point of above's flippant and unimportant status.

Firstly, it's boo HOO, not who, bad grammar.
And yes, being someone who reads the news, even writes about such events, gives money to charity, doesn't even eat any animal products, gives to the homeless, and actually does try to help others while being polite towards them, I am perfectly aware that there is injustice in this world.
Injustices that we would all like to be able to change but we all do what we can, we could all do more, we could end wars they mentioned all over the world and use the money that funds such wars to feed those starving and dying people mentioned in the same sentence.
I wasn't aware anyone was paying me pennies for my thoughts, useless or not. But I would like to think I wasn't a bimbo, especially as I'm working towards being a writer and am constantly working on practicing and improving it with such blogs as this one! 
Pretty sure my Genes are what makes me exist, if he meant Jeans it's okay, I bought some new ones yesterday to replace the ones that didn't fit right.
The flesh comment? I don't even know where to begin with that....

But it's the last sentence that gets me, take my prozac (I'm not currently on anti-depressants as I don't like the affect) to make myself happy, aaaand then.....kill myself.
Who knows what those pictures are even about.

I wasn't expecting such a reaction to the post I made, seemingly I'm such a bad person for briefly allowing my depression to do it's usual and get inside my head.
It doesn't matter that just last night, the same day I posted this I gave some money to a guy on my way home from a show, who then told me he'd moved to london only two months before, and this was his first week on the street. I sat and talked to this man in the cold and rain for 40 minutes, all about his life and situation and it really upset me that I couldn't do more to help him, or the countless others that I have given food and money to.  I'm a heartless and selfish bitch.

But this is one of the good guys, they care about the starving and dying people even if they might not go out of their way to actually do anything about it.
Instead they're busy at home sending messages to openly depressed people with helpful advice.
They tell them to Kill Themselves.

Last night I ordered a pizza....

After waking up with swollen tonsils, and feeling a bit run down all day I decided I didn't have the energy to cook.

After sleeping, recuperating, and lounging in my dressing gown all day I started to feel better. And hungry. For a change I ordered with Pizza Hut believing that having a brand name would mean the food would be slightly better too, generally I'll use an independant take away via hungry house or the just eat websites but marketing ploys got me when it appeared on Facebook due to someone else ordering with them.

So far it's a pretty standard lazy night in right? Finally it arrives, I learn this not by the bell in my flat ringing, or a knock on my door but my phone ringing, when I answer it an impatient voice tells me to "come downstairs". I didn't expect to have to leave so I was still wearing only a dressing gown, and nothing underneath. 

I told the driver this believing he would understand I didn't want to go outside in barely any clothing, and surely not protective clothing at least but still he demanded I go outside. This started to turn into an argument as he repeatedly and rudely shouted at me to come and get the pizza while I argued I was a girl on my own not really wearing proper clothes.

I feel I should point out by this point it was a rather unsexy towelling gown rather than a sexy satin type, I was not trying to seduce the pizza man as Edd was out of town, my life isn't a porno and me and Edd are faithful. 

After arguing for so long it was too late for me to put anything else on believing the pizza man to be at the door outside waiting and ran outside in said gown and ballet flats. He wasn't there. I looked around wanting to rush back inside as it was dark, cold, and getting late. I called the phone he rang me on to no response, till suddenly a young man on a scooter wizzed from around the corner, no where near my buildings door, and shoved a cold pizza into my hands (cheeseless if anyone was wondering).

I of course posed in my gown proclaiming that's why I didn't want to come outside, grabbed my food, politely called him a dick and then went back in. Upset with the whole matter I tweeted (as twitter is all powerful) the Pizza Hut account that I had to go outside while alone and undressed.

Read the tweet at the bottom first, before going from the top. 

They were helpful enough and I filled in the form linked with great detail of the rudeness of the driver and how unsafe I then felt in that situation, also that the food was actually awful. It really was, if I'd known I wouldn't have gone outside at all as I couldn't eat it anyway.

With the twitter account being so helpful (I think it's American ran and they care more about the customer than British stores it would seem) I hoped the email back would be conclusive and the matter would be over. 

Sooooo, that's a no then. They are more worried that their male drivers on scooters may be more unsafe than a girl on her own waiting outside in the middle of a housing estate wearing only a dressing gown. I've been told by previous drivers from Domino's pizza that they may get mugged so don't go in, but then I was fully clothed so wasn't as worried.

Does the small amount of money the drivers may carry, considering most people pay online nowadays, and the small risk they may get mugged in a building where the halls and generally empty?

Independant delivery men run the same risk yet have no problem delivering to the door of the flat, working as often as late as we do take aways are a now weekly luxury and have always been this arrangement of them being delivered to our door like take aways are meant to be. 

Yet my safety is less important then they maybe £20-£30 the driver carried? 

Some may say I'm blowing the going outside out of proportion, but in a society where women are conditioned to think that rape or assault could be just around the corner, and that we would then have to take the some blame due to what we wear or the state we may at that point be in, I would expect such large companies to help lower that risk to their customers. 

I feel fairly safe in the area I live, despite it being London, but have in the same grounds of my building in the middle of the day been hit on and flirted with in a rather aggressive manner by what is essentially my neighbours. 

After speaking to me on the phone he could have assessed the situation called for him entering the building, where a Middle Aged cockney geezer would have no trouble going out at that point, even if only wearing a fluffy bunny gsting. 

Multimillion pound companies wouldn't really be dented by the possibility of some money or pizzas being stolen where endangering lonely women could have severe implications to those individuals.

I suggested that should be the case but have since heard nothing back.

Getting that £12.00 would at least be nice, and thank god I got back in safely. 

Guarenteed quit smoking tip - get your teeth pulled....

So yes it has been a while since my last posting. December is a busy time for performers, and I also disappeared to hamburg for a week to see the guys from Briefs (you can read my review of their show in a previous post) as my beloved Edd Muir was joining their tour.

But I am back, holed up in hackney flat and waiting for spring to set in.

A bit of time off is somewhat useful lately as I've dealt with tooth dramas, article now to follow...!

I've always hated dentists, since I was a teenager when train track braces were affixed to my teeth and was handed a scary looking metal implement with restraints. Not a kinky item as that would be illegal given I was only 14, and braces generally don't go hand in hand with fetish. 

This is a confession, I had a head brace. 

It was something I only had to wear at night thankfully, although my mum would regularly remind me to wear it when I got home whenever I had a guest over. (She will try to correct me on this as I know she is reading it, hello mum send money, but this is what my memory tells me)

It was painful, it was humiliating, and I hated it. I would wake in the morning to find it taken off and on my bedside table. Awake me hated it, but unconscious me seemed to want no part of it.

Alongside the headgear I had to have regular check ups, tightened braces, elastic bands, the works, and believed my dentist had nothing but hatred for me. If I was him I would have done too as my nervousness seemed to pass itself into a nervous gas which would resonate loudly around the white office helped along by the plastic fabric on the chair forming an unbeatable bond of volume and humiliation. 

This went on for two years until the braces finally came off. 

I was excited seeing other girls braces removed to reveal amazing straight perfect white teeth. A diet of American tv convinced me that braces gave you that perfect smile that every one wants and I too would join the ranks of the perfectly toothed. How wrong I was.

My teeth were now weakened, ridged and chipped. They were a bit straighter but even another year of wearing a retainer didn't help me to believe that all the pain and agony was worthwhile, from having four teeth removed just to have the braces in the first place, to the sleepless nights, jaw pain, and having to brush and floss while at school while the prettier girls use the hand driers to get their 90's wispy fringes right. (Note: I was an ugly duckling) 

And so I avoid dentists. I hadn't been to one for ten years as all they would tell me was about the lack of enamel left in my teeth and how there was ridges in my teeth, I knew all of this already and it was all thanks to braces. 

I avoid smiling fully, talking in a way that may show my teeth and became very self conscious of them but suddenly a pain began.

My wisdom tooth had decided to surprise me by coming through unnoticed and immediately starting to rot inside my mouth, I could feel my pulse inside my head and it was utterly relentless. 

After a few days of this Edd decided to take action, calling for an emergency appointment and walking me into the dentists, a dodgy looking two roomed shop front in hackney where the receptionists teeth made me question the quality of this dentist. The dentist found the problem and advised me to go straight to the London dental hospital at 7am the next morning, along with a note that had the word urgent underlined all of two times.

To make it easier for them he decided to take some X-rays, the machine however being so old that the arm would move it around as soon as he turned to push the button and causing him frustration. So much so that he swung the X-ray machine into my face where the tooth pain lay, sadly this didn't dislodge the tooth...

The next day we rose at 5.30am to get across London, believing that we needed to be there for 7am to get seen. Handy tip for everyone, the walk in emergency dentists doesn't actually open till 8am. 

An hour was spent shivering, smoking, and wincing in the cold and rain of a January morning while more and more people turned up to join the queue. 

Second in the queue we hoped the process would be quick and we could go back to sleep as we were both performing that night, we sat, we waited, we took turns going outside for yet more cigarettes, and we waited some more. Finally about 9.30ish my name was called and my tooth was looked at. The X-ray revealed that the previous dentists could not take an X-ray as he had missed off the actual infected tooth. 

So back I went to wait for the X-ray technician. His contraptions to help get the X-ray were somewhat scarier than I expected. Flashbacks of metal head gear popped to mind which quickly lead to other flashbacks once it started to hit my gag reflex. (You can stop reading now mum) 

I yanked it out of my mouth before gagging while he had to audacity to look confused, his girlfriend has my sympathies. After a second attempt with a smaller contraption the X-ray was done and it was time to get the deed done.

Finally I was in the chair wrapped in a plastic bib, with only one dental technician at the ready to pull out the pain inducing tooth. The injections began which I hate and the numbness set in. Alongside the numbness came the drool, this is when a second technician came along to wield the suction device. 

The pulling started along with the crumbling of the tooth meaning the suction device was now sucking up pieces of tooth when not attaching itself to my tongue. 

That's when the third dentist got involved taking turns to wiggle the tooth with metal pincers which couldn't quite get the grip and jangled around the rest of my teeth. I didn't like this. 

Pulling and pulling the tooth did not want to come out, this is when the fourth technician cam to hold my head, pat my hair and tell me I was doing well. In my drugged mind I started to wonder if I was at the dentists for tooth pain or if I was being put down. Just call me Redbeard. 

After half an hour of four dentists playing around inside my mouth the tooth gave way, and all but two technicians disappeared. 

They showed me the problem which was that my tooth root had gathered some kind of lovely infection around it doubling the size of the root and leading to possible facial abscesses. Great.

Now the after care which she waited to tell me while I was waving from side to side under anesthetic and shock, the usual salt water rinse, soft foods, no alcohol etc....then she hit me with the big one. 

"No smoking for 48 hours." 

What?! This couldn't have been mentioned before so I could chain smoke a whole packet in preparation?! Can this be used to get me off any murder charges in court as it may now become an issue?!?

Nothing helps you stop smoking more than the impending doom of infecting what was an already painfully infected area, and with a name like "Dry Hole" it scares you away even more.

I was shocked at how I didn't scratch out eyes or collapse into a heap of withdrawal crying for those 48 hours. I may have been a little more tense than usual, maybe even a little short tempered (this is a regular occurrence anyway) but generally I got on with it. I was okay.

Even when told e-cigarettes and nicotine gum were also a no go and my choice was cold turkey, I somehow managed. 

I counted the hours and started to feel more happy with managing to keep my head while suffering not only facial pain, but nicotine withdrawal. I even managed to do a show later that night and another the next day while not killing anyone. 

It's been 4 days now since I had the lovely experience explained in detail above, and while I have since had 4 cigarettes since I could smoke again, I have thrown all four away before they were finished as the taste was disgusting. Even Edd is now down to only 2-4 a day when we were previously on about 20 each per day and we've been using the same pack that was bought Friday morning before the dentists yanked my tooth. 

So while the pain, early mornings, waiting around, lack of being able to drink for a week, and everything else I have suffered through this past week I'm now on the road to kicking the cigarettes.

And all it took was a hole in the head. 

A Dirty Way to Clean a Home

I've never been a tidy person, often my flat is a sea of feathers, shoes, discarded clothing, and half drank cups of tea.

My parents didn't have time to be always neat and tidy, chores such as dish washing fell to me and my brother, and we dutifully and disdainfully did so but only while arguing. I'm still terrible at washing dishes but I've gotten pretty good at arguing so I learned at least one lesson there.

As my parents still have little time to themselves to divulge in such things that when, years ago to help make ends meet, I started working as a cleaner while studying at university they became one of my clients, a useful arrangement as hiring a member of your family meant that the usual social stigmata of cleaning up before your cleaner arrived wasn't seen as relevant. Still now I twitch tempted to scrub their cooker when visiting, but I value my hands and would rather avoid that awkward situation.

Now living in London with my boyfriend, who is also a performer, I find less time or energy to unpack and clean, opting instead to order take away and watch countless episodes of 30 Rock. As this is a habit and a pastime we both share the flat can become somewhat unmanageable and lead to our land lady suggesting a cleaner on more than one occasion.

I can understand why, with limited space to walk in our room for suitcases, costumes, and performance equipment, to the pile of dishes, the fruit bowl containing stray onions and packets of crisps, and a bath plug hole filled with various hairs in the other rooms we all share.

                          

In spite of my habits I have tried recently to spring into action, and hope to learn how to become a clean and tidy person, even if this means forcing myself to pour bleach in toilets, get rid of the many things I have accumulated over the years, or even get rid of some clothing and part of my amazing collection of shoes I cannot walk in so are still box fresh.

To know exactly where everything is kept and subscribe to the mantra of a tidy home equals a tidy mind, but the main reason was the offer I received that everyone in the flat seriously considered to a rather worrying degree.

As a performer and sometimes model, I get the occasional email or offer that worry me about the secret fan base I may unknowingly keep.

The latest on my list of offers was for a "maid", a man who longs to scrub my toilet while wearing a French maids outfit, and who longs to straighten up my flat for a small fee. A fee that he would pay to me for the privilege. 

I told my boyfriend who thought we could do with the flat being cleaned by such magical means, my landlady and her son both agreed that it wasn't an offer to refuse. I still subscribe to the idea of having a relatively clean home before allowing anyone indoors, even if it is to clean and also what would I have to do in that situation.

I'm sure I could make a good dominatrix if the desire ever appealed to me, but I would rather sit watching tv while my male maid magically transforms our flat into a somewhat presentable home.

Can a dominatrix be in a onesie and laughing while shouting "Good God, Lemon!" All the while demanding varying levels of food? If so, then sign me up. The flat could do with a good clean.

A not so Brief Encounter

On Friday night I was in Germany, getting ready for my second act at The Queen Calavera when Beau Rocks came back from doing her act and told me there seemed to be an all male troupe in watching the show. I was intrigued, what kind of show? And in Germany? I wanted to know more.

I introduced myself and was surprised at the mix of Australian and American accents, we spoke and I eventually asked why they were in Hamburg. 

The penny finally dropped (it probably took a while with how tired I was that whole weekend) that this was the cast of Briefs, the show that everyone I know in cabaret was talking about during the summer. We made plans to try and see the show when it was in London but never quite got the chance. A chance meeting with the cast in a small burlesque bar in hamburg seemed surreal but it was lovely to get to meet the cast, drink with the cast, and dance with the cast into the wee hours. 

The highlight on Friday was gogo dancing onstage to Nancy Sinatras 'These Boots Were Made for Walking' with Evil Hate Monkey and the youngest cast member Louis who had all the youthful energy of a 19 year old. 

The cast invited us to see their show the next night, only the second night of the shows run in the Fliegende Bauten theatre near to the Reeperbhan, and we couldn't wait! 

The next day we nursed our hangovers, did a quick Photoshoot and then ran to the show, we were lucky enough to get front row seats next to the stage and waited for the show to begin. Some of the cast came to chat to us while handing out mysterious raffle tickets to everyone in the audience before the show started.

They disappeared and soon the lights dimmed.... Onstage appears a sea of white feathers, opening the show with an amazingly choreographed fan dance number that you would expect to see in a classic musical. The difference being the more modern music, UV lights picking up the feathers, and of course the cast of boys throwing some stunning shapes, poses and gestures with the fans. We were blown away, we whooped and cheered our lungs out and it was only the first act.

The second was Evil Hate Monkey who seemed to dissolve us into hysterics every time he was onstage, the character so perfectly executed, his dedication obvious, energy and skill levels leaving us wide eyed and open mouthed. 

I won't reveal all of the details of the show as this is one event that really has to be seen, an amazing mix of skills, dedicated training, comedy timing, and a fantastic cast that not only were amazing onstage but lovely in person. I haven't talked about much since, and my boyfriend who is also a boylesque performer, is possibly either sick of hearing about it, or dying to see it too. 

The acts ranged from hula hoops, aerial acts, drag queens, insane comedy, and some tricks I have never seen before used in this way (Louis was a particularly shocking act to us, who had cooed over him the night before as any woman nearing her thirties might, but as he refused to tell us what he was going to do onstage we shrieked when we finally did see his act!), acrobatics, genius group numbers, and so so so much more that the time flew by and we just wanted to see it all again.

I highly recommend this show, which is running until January at the Fliegende Bauten, I have worked for nine long years on the stage and never have I seen a show more perfectly executed, with one number flowing into the next, more spectacular, and more fun than this, from opening number to the spectacular finale. We left with sore hands from clapping so much, a sore stomach from laughing so much, and a sore throat from so much cheering throughout the acts. 

If you live near, in or are planing a trip to Hamburg this show needs to be on your to do list, written really big, highlighted, covered in glitter, and surrounded with gold stars.

I shall never look at tightly whiteys in the same way ever again. Also you have to go to find out just what those raffle tickets were for. If anyone needs me, I'll be here planning a sex change so I can get involved!

The loss of the Band in the Brand

On friday Primark released a helpful blog that explains just exactly who those bands are that you can now buy the T-shirts, cushions, even bed spreads of in their store and why they are just so cool. At no point do they suggest any of their albums, or god forbid, listening to them.

To a seasoned music lover such as myself it would read rather patronising but to the average Primark shopper I'm sure its a helpful guide to who's who and what's what.

It opens on the Ramones explaining they wore jeans and had a lot of hair, and are labelled as the first punk band, I would say it was Television in my opinion, the band Malcolm Mclaren liked so much he decided to rip off their look and give it to the Sex Pistols, but this has no matter to the designers, workers, or patrons of Primark.

The only good thing about these designs is at least they have the original logo, Johnny, Joey, Dee Dee and Tommy all taking pride of place in the circle and no mention of Marky Ramone or, thank god, CJ.

Other bands mentioned include The Beatles, who wore 60's suits throughout their career apparently, The Rolling Stones, Fleetwood Mac, and many more whose entire career has been handily whittled down into one unimportant sentence with no mention of the music they created.

If you would like to read these useful descriptions you can do so here - http://m.primark.com/whats-new/article/186

Primark aren't the only guilty party, H&M selling Guns and Roses, Pink Floyd, Black Sabbath, Joy Division and even The Sex Pistols T-shirts in case butter money isn't quite enough. H&M's main target being the slightly more discerning shopper who prefer the wider ranges of british (and one american bands) music at a slightly higer cost than Primark charges.

Topshop probably selling their band tshirts at a similar price to those once independant music store owners who would stock a wide range of music t-shirts aimed to be bought by people who liked the music. Here you can nab insensitive two armed Def Lepard baseball tops which would be shunned by their one armed drummer, sleeve flapping in the wind uselessly...

Roxy Music, Slayer, David Bowie, Blondie, The Doors, The Who, and many many more have been given this mainstream cheap culture make over and you can now declare you know of music via your chest at the small cost starting from £8.00.

Courntey Love even manages to make yet another quick buck out of her long deceased husband by allowing Nirvana T-shirts to be sold at such a bargain price.

Most of the younger kids wearing these would have heard of these bands somehow, if it's from the cover versions ineptly sang on Glee specialist episodes where they learn week by week that there was music before GaGa, they do still love GaGa tho, and belt out what were once iconic songs to fill a primetime spot on Americas Tuesday night television. 

If they aren't fans of Glee, and these days who isn't, maybe they saw their favourite celebrity wandering the streets wearing a band tshirt that you can buy cheap on the high street, thank god for paparazzi eh, or how else would you know what to wear?!

I remember a time when you had to go to specialist stores to buy tshirts of the bands you liked, usually they wouldnt have your size so you chose to either wait or buy it anyway to cut up and fit to your body. 

I made friends with the guys who owned these shops, I spoke to them a lot and when I could afford the prices it used to cost for such specialist items I would get them as I loved that band and their music so much.

I recall one visit to the store with my then boyfriend at the time where I found a Clash 'Know Your Rights' tshirt in my size, happy as I was my ex declared I had to prove I knew how that song went before I could buy it. Of course I did and was allowed but felt my rights had been exercised that day. I wonder sometimes why it took me so long to leave him, that day should have been the one. 

It was a common thing then that music lovers everywhere would question your knowledge on the bands you were advertising across your person, asking you to name an album, who the band members were, where your ramones T-shirt may come in handy, or tell them your favourite song of that bands back catalogue.     

I wonder sometimes if someone somewhere is still doing this, or if they have all spontaneously combusted after so many recent attempts, leaving behind only a smouldering puddle of resentment. 

I used to own a lot of band T-shirts, and still have some. My favourite was a bright yellow X-ray Spex tshirt that I bought from a small punk shop in liverpool, which featured Poly Styrene dancing across it, which I wore when studying art at university, all chopped up and tied back together. I don't recall whatever happened to it but I wish I still had it. I also bought and wore a Crass tshirt, not being a fan of Crass I admit, but I liked Gee Vaucher the female artist who designed their album covers, so wore it and still have it regardless. 

I keep these tshirts usually tucked away deep in my drawers, a memory of what once was and who I was back then, maybe I'll wear one on a rare occasion but if I ever decend to Primark I will never leave with any of their incarnations. Unless, that is, they make a Rolling Stones Tshirt featuring the Marianne Faithful news paper headlines at the time.

Who can go wrong with a Primark Mars Bar Party?

The highs and lows of being a stock model

A few years ago I travelled over to St. Helens near Liverpool to do a stock shoot. I was paid for modelling and treated well, they had built a circus themed set with curtains, a hay covered floor, even a swing and we set about doing various poses and styles for the next few hours.

After the shoot I went home, probably drank tea and watched my boyfriend at the time playing Call of Duty with his friends, I can't really remember as it was years ago.

I thought nothing of it for the next year or so, it was just a shoot I had done and as I'd been paid it was just work. Occasionally I'd get a message from someone that they had seen my photo in a company newsletter, then in a magazine, once it even graced the cover of an Australian magazine someone was kind enough to have sent to me. 

I've never just come across them myself, people always found them and let me know, unsure if I knew my image was getting used for such things. I know they are being used but I have no say in the matter, that's what stock photos are for.

Sometimes the results were comical, advertising storage units off the motorways, sometimes kinda cool, as giant banners in a Las Vegas casino. People send me snapshots of these things all the time and it's interesting to see how far they've spread. I'm sure there must be so many more out there in this big wide world I'm not even aware of!

But there's the highs and the lows, I got paid yes, but not that much as I didn't think they would be used as much as they have. Is it down to my stunning good looks (that I apparently stole off either Rita Hayworth or Drew Barrymore depending on individual opinion), the costume which I made myself back in 2010 maybe, with its sparkles and top hat it has appealed to a mass market of people who like girls in top hats? Or the subject matter which seems more or less to be used out of context.

Three examples for you, the first kinda good as it was a giant poster next to the Eiffel Tower and also used in the Paris metro advertising a woman's football team. What whip brandishing ringmasters and football have in common I have no idea, or if it even football it's advertising as I don't speak French and went with what I'm told?!

God knows how big it is, I'm kinda glad I didn't see this myself as I would have stood open mouthed staring trying to figure out just what's going on in this poster and claiming to the locals "Moi! Moi! Est moi!"

The second is one of the lows I shall say, of all the things my face may get put to his wouldn't be one I expect. Maybe I look like someone who has had an issue of this sort before? Maybe I look like someone who gets regular smears? Maybe I just look like a lesbian? I haven't a clue.

Although the advice didn't actually come out of my mouth, it's good advice none the less.

This advert has been doing the rounds for a few years and frequently get sent or mentioned to me. It no longer amuses me I must say, cervical tests are just part of life, wether you choose to do it onscreen or not is your choice.

The last is quite cool, I used to play these games myself but no longer have an xbox or a disposable income so didn't know about this until a friend sent it to me, I friend I used to play alongside online in a previous incarnation of this game. 

Yes that is a gun pointing out a poster of me, which I received alongside a bunch of other screen shots all over the game decal (i got my other half to ask his platoon in planetside 2, that's what they said the right term is) in the new Call of Duty Ghosts that's recently been released.

Of course I posted this online as a "look where I've turned up now!" post but it lead to the usual questions "did you know?" No. "Did you get paid for it?" Well, yes three years ago when I did the stock photos and probably not enough considering how much it's been used. 

I have no regrets for the shoot I did no matter how much it's been used, but if I was to ever do one again, I would most likely charge more.

I'm a stock photo goldmine! 

The Amazing Human Milk Detector

Another night of wrenching guts, bloated, sickly and miserable I traced back over everything I had injested that day. Salad? Nope. Soup? Nope, I had made these things myself so knew that no dairy had sneaked into the recipe. Soya milk hot chocolate? Hot chocolate powder? Sometimes made with milk? Oh shit, it thought, it's happened again.

All my life my body has had an amazing ability to detect milk, my youth spent feeling ill most of the time. I turned to veganism about ten years ago, utilizing what passed for websites in 2003 I gave it my best shot, but back then it was limited. A year and a half ago, now living in the urban utopia of London, I decided it would be easier this time around and really went for it head first. 

It worked! No longer was I constantly tired and sick but I then discovered a hidden talent. Cutting out milk completely meant my body could now trace the smallest amounts of milk in any product, it announces itself less regularly but a lot more painfully as time goes on. The smallest drop can lead to me whining and curled up within a matter of a half hour, but these days coeliacs is really where it's at. 

It's frustrating having an unfashionable eating requirement. The supermarket free from aisle is a great example, really it's a small section they like to hide, is it near the jams? The baking products? Or amusingly sometimes, opposite the refrigerated ham.  

On those four to six shelves there's gluten free pasta, breads, crumpets, all butter cookies (butter?! That's really rubbing it in), and more all claiming to be free from wheat. Meanwhile for the lactose intolerant like me? Here's some alpro soya gloop, it's meant to taste like chocolate. 

It tastes like depressed angel delight.

Many resturants and cafés boast of their gluten free products. Pizza Hut have a gluten free pizza base, hummingbird bakery have gluten free cupcakes, most of the products specifically made for vegans have also had gluten free flour shoved in to broaden their market base. Such a shame I'm allergic to gluten free flour, the coeliacs are trying to strangle me with their products, from the inside out. 

Tesco boasts their own free from range, as do sainsburys which are void of everything but not egg. It'll trap you that sneaky egg and reminds me of the worst day date I ever had just last summer.

I was still fresh to London and had arranged a day of walking around Hampstead Heath in the lovely heat that summers day. I should have realised when my sheer light summer dress couldn't hide my stomach ballooning to double it's size something was about to go wrong, I lasted as far as Hampstead station before declaring we should really go to a cafe first, right now, this very minute.... 

I had to rush to the bathroom for an immediate body emergency, I had to stay and see it through to the bitter end, but I had chosen the cafe with only one toilet. Soon French tourists had gathered outside the frosted glass, knocking less and less politely as time passed. They had a child, oh dear god I had to let them in.

I went back to the table where my date had finished his meal and looked very confused. I sat saying nothing and sweated at the table waiting for the tourists to reappear so I could once again take refuge from my body's protests. At last I claimed ownership once again claiming to my date I was a 'bit sick'.

Eventually I decided I had to get my old friend Imodium involved, I ran out of the cafe and eventually found an open corner shop that stocked them. I took them on the way back to the cafe and after 20 minutes of awkward conversation I felt well enough to go walk the Heath. 

It was embarrassing yes, but it saved me from trying to make small talk with the guy who's accent I couldn't really follow, this was probably made more clear on the Heath when I started to just ignore whatever he was saying anyway.

That day I learned, my body also detects egg.

You'd be surprised at the things that contain milk, I am. My mother doesn't believe me the amount of times I've had to ask if there's dairy in things claiming that "surely, there won't be dairy in a tomato soup" before the waitress returns saying it was cooked with butter. I've learned the hard hard locked in a cafe toilet hard way to always check and double check.

And to prove my point, here is a list of things you wouldn't expect milk in -

Salt and pepper Pringles, it's salt. And pepper. So what the milk in there for...?

I used to love these, and I check every time I see them just in case but no, there's always milk in there.

Hint of lime? Lies....

You may have gathered by now, I quite like crisps...

Smokey bacon while they are vegetarian nothing gives that bacony essence more than some milk. 

The roast chicken don't have any in, but do have dried chicken breast so I don't eat them. Mmm powdered meat.

It's not all bad tho, here's some things that don't...!

Yes it's BBQ like, so meaty but actually has a tick on its side that it's suitable for vegans. Good job, get to work on those pepper ones tho.

Oh yes....they don't work with salsa, or any dipping actually but if you miss the feel and look of orange powder stuck to your finger tips this is the way to go.

Now these, tescos own skips style maize snack. 

Real skips? Not vegan.

Fake skips that taste just the same, only come in big bags, and are cheap? Vegan. 

Maybe if my diet consisted of less crisps I would find more to eat.

People use these labels these days as a reason that they are now eating healthy, I cut out bread and now I've lost weight! What're you eating instead then? Oh fruit, vegetables...

I combat this by probably being quite unhealthy. Yes I do eat properly but I can also eat a whole bag of those bad boy fake skips in 10 minutes. 

I do my best, but with society helping the new in Vouge allergy mine is being overlooked. I spend stupid amounts in holland and Barrett's, I know exactly what I can and can't eat when it comes to crisps and buiscuits (jammy dodgers, bourbons, and some supermarket own brand digestives and rich tea all fine) but my list of allergies, even to things that actually don't come out of animals bits, mean I'm the worst dinner party guest ever. 

One day I hope my dietary requirements becomes the new fashionable one to have, we reclaim the free from aisle, cafés and chains pander to us, and the alpro soya gloop cheers up a bit. 

Till then I shall barricade myself at home with home cooked meals, for fear more than anything else.

Why my latest purchase was a typewriter....

I enjoy writing, I always have done since a young age where it was the only school subject I was half decent at. I'm not very academically minded so to be good at anything the school deemed a useful life skill was something I felt proud of.

My family encouraged me but it fell to the wayside somewhat as I started to travel, work, and experience life outside of books. As a child I would take the maximum (six) allowed from the library every week and devour each book one after the other, reading one a day sometimes. I was a lonely child.

Even when I was a student through college and university it was known that if I started a book I would ignore everyone and everything until I was done reading it.

And so I started writing again, I'm aware my posts have quite a varied range as I practice writing, different subject matters and toning my technique but essentially that is what I would like to do, write.

I've always admired writers, especially those who write taken from their own life experiences. Mainly Hunter S. Thompson who I have a tattoo of, and regularly argue that Hunter would be a perfectly acceptable name for our first child.

So I bought a type writer. 

My favourite film is about Hunter S. Thompson, played by Bill Murray called "Where the Buffalo Roam" which it seems hardly anyone I know has heard about, find it, go watch it, enjoy it. 

In the film Thompson (Murray) is shown sitting at a type writer recounting events, smoking cigarettes and teaching his dog to attack an effigy of Richard Nixon. 

The typewriter sticks in my mind, and when I saw this baby blue vintage type writer it decided I needed it, it's still usable but I doubt I will make any attempts to write a novel on it, the tape is dried up and I have no idea which is the correct replacement but it is a reminder to write more often.

The ideas and words that fill my head and feel that they must be expressed and shared with the world. Who knows why my head feels the need to express itself in such a manner but all my mind and body wants to do is write more and more, improving, imagining various scenarios and stories that I could explore and hope would interest others. I am always happy receiving feedback, debating and generally talking about such subjects with readers. Yesterday's post lead to a lot of interesting interactions and only makes me yearn more to write, hopefully at a level where my words could even possibly one day sometime god willing be published in good old black and white. Or these days various colours on various colours, but never ever ever will I allow my words to become "comic sans-ed".

I read when time allows, usually stories written about the authors life which is possibly why some of my writings have been quite personal as it's the best experience to draw from, but I just haven't stopped living yet. 

My boyfriend and family are supportive, reading my current blogs and articles and talking to me about the inner workings of it all. My mother asked me today as we caught up over a cup of coffee if I'm getting paid for my writings yet, I'm not, I am stupidly tapping away for free as I'm either very generous, or not so smart. But as she suggests I charge by the word if you've read thus far you all owe me a fair bit by now.

In seriousness now I have come to a crossroads.

I'm happy people have enjoyed and responded to the style, make up, and review posts it is not where my heart lies truthfully. But as they are so well received I feel I should carry them on.

But tucked away along these posts I have turned my hand to articles which fall under a completely different category all together it may not appeal so much to those who want the review posts.

So loyal readers (I assume as much as you've read all the above) do I seperate these types of writings into seperate places or combine the two as I have done thus far? 

Till them I am ready to write...!