Currently inspired to promote V Sparks and to promote myself as a model. Marketing strategies will be gratefully received.

Some photos of myself and Samantha Kellogg at the Voodoo Night bodypaint competition.

Attention models! Beware of this photographer!

I'm not the type of person to talk behind someone's back, but this guy is weird and I think people deserve to know that before setting up a shoot. The Model Mayhem name is Source Exposure. I don't know the photographer's name. He posted a casting call that sounded cool to me, so I expressed my interest and got a rather hostile response. He seems to think that we had scheduled a shoot before, to which I did not show up. Of course, this is not the case, as I take modeling seriously and would never do something like that. I've never talked to this man before, let alone scheduled a shoot with him. I tried to express that to him, just for the sake of clearing my name, but he refused to believe me. So, I just want to warn models that he apparently has an active imagination. My exchange with him may have been harmless (albeit irritating and insulting), but for all you know, he could one day insist that you promised he could submit those private, personal nudes to Hustler. That would be quite unfortunate. I feel like I've witnessed a bout of schizophrenia before my very eyes. This complete stranger thinks he knows me, and not only that, he hates me! It's all too bizarre.

I approached the group of people standing outside Bret Michaels's tour bus, wanting to make conversation to distract myself from that pesky nervousness I always get. "Do you think he'll be signing autographs?"

"I don't think so," she said. "I told the roadie who I am and that Bret knows me, but he was so rude. No wonder my brother fired him."

"Aww, that's too bad. I'm surprised he wouldn't even let you say hi, since you know Bret."

"I even brought my photo album to prove it. Those roadies are so rude. This never happens to me at Steven's concerts."

I thought it was cool that she was related to someone in a band. Because she knew Bret Michaels, I wondered if maybe she was referring to Stephen Pearcy.

"Remember how tight the security was at the last Aerosmith show?" she asked to her friends.

"Wait, you're related to Steven Tyler?" I asked.

She hesitated, then said, "I'm his sister."

"LYNDA?!" I exclaimed. She didn't look like the photo I have of Lynda, but people change, I supposed.

"No, I'm Annie. You know Lynda?"

"Um, no," I said. I wasn't about to try to explain.

"No I'm a close friend of the family. We've considered each other brother and sister for years and years." She went on to tell me more about Lynda and other family information that I think I should keep secret.

"Wow, I can't believe you're Steven Tyler's sister!" I said. My excitement got her excited too, and she pulled out her photo album, flipping through to show me photos of herself with Steven, Joe, Tom, and Teresa. She went on talking about serious things, and I was sad to learn that the Aerosmith situation really is so bad. I had hoped that the media was exaggerating it, but Steven and Joe really can't get along at all.

Then we all got into the concert for free.

After the show, I didn't see Annie again. It made me sad, because I never got to convey to her how special it was that I met her. I told her that Aerosmith had been my favorite band since I was twelve, but that really means nothing at all. I wanted to tell her that she was so rock and roll, that she was the coolest person this town had ever seen. I wanted to tell her that her brother has touched my life in a way that no one else has. He's what influenced me to be who I am. Everything I think and say and do is because I grew up following him. I wanted to tell her these things, but I didn't have the chance. How do you really explain that to someone, anyway?

So, Ms. Annie Not-Tallarico, if you're out there, I just want to say, you're so rock and roll.

I had a dream that I had sex with Raquel Reed, the alternative model. I won’t give too many raunchy details just on the off chance that she might be reading this, as I assume scene queens have to be very aware of all the places they’re mentioned on the internet, but I will say that the dream was very hot and I woke up disappointed that it wasn’t real. She had a very beautiful shaved pussy (no turquoise pubic hair, although that probably would have been cool too) and I enjoyed orally satisfying her. Boy did I ever satisfy her.

I’m trying to get into commercial modeling, since I’m average height and not Nordic and therefore probably can’t be a high fashion model, but I don’t feel hopeful because of the amount of competition. If I could supplement my (ideally high) income with some modeling jobs on the side, and have a great portfolio to show for it, I’d be really happy. I just want to create great photos, have a good time, and make a little extra cash. Unfortunately, that means adding a bunch of boring commercial photos to my comp card. I want all my work to be sexy and exotic.

Wooo here I am modeling for It's Obviously Clothing. The kids are gonna go crazy for this. I know, because when I brought home the free swag (not to be confused with free shwag) from the shoot, my little sister thought the hoodie was awesome.

They credited me using my legal name though, so now when I reference this tear sheet, I'll have to give the whole back story.

Maybe I should start posting modeling photos here.



Photography: David Earnisse
Hair/makeup: Denise Lenore

Well, I just learned that it’s illegal to have small tits in Australia. The government is banning porn and nude photos depicting women with small breasts, on the basis that they believe it promotes pedophilia.

...

I’m trying to find the words to say here, but they’re just not coming to me. I’m too shocked and appalled. As if flat-chested women don’t face enough pressure by being constantly reminded through the media that only big boobs are sexy, it has now become illegal for a woman with small breasts to show them off. The Australian government is perpetuating horrible stereotypes not only by saying that small breasts are childlike and not womanly, but also by promoting the idea that women should be fake. In a sense, they’re saying that women are only truly women if they have large breasts. Any woman interested in adult entertainment--a benchmark for measuring sexiness, whether it’s right or not--will have to get fake boobs if she wants to pursue her career. In doing so, the standard set for women’s breast size will increase even more, and women with smaller breasts will be considered less and less attractive because of it.

To me, this is even more reason why I should go into nude modeling. As it is, I’ve been trying to get lingerie gigs, emphasizing my need to “represent,” but I might have to take it to the next step if this is what the world is coming to. As society is picking up on that idiotic catchphrase “real women have curves,” the barely curvy girls of the world are getting left behind and feeling unattractive.

It’s time for me to take a stand of my own and raise some small breast awareness. I’m thinking of starting a Small Breast Project with some other models around Chicago. Maybe a topless photo shoot of a group of women with AAA- to small B-cup breasts (personally I think small B’s are perfect, for the record) showing off our lovely little titties. Then one day, more men’s magazines might start having classy photos like this one from Playboy France.

FAIL!

Keith was looking for the song "Gay in the '80s" by Hot Leg, so he typed the word "gay" into my iTunes, and this was what he got:



EPIC BOWIE/JAGGER FAIL!

I looooove the studio. I don’t know what it is but being in a recording studio feels really good to me. It’s very quiet and formal and professional but at the same time you know that all kinds of amazing rocking goes on there. At CRC where we went last weekend, the guys working there were telling stories about recording Rod Stewart and Axl Rose and it made the place seem just a little bit touched with the magic of rock and roll. My purpose for being there was to participate in part of a group singing backup vocals for a cover of the song “I Like Beer” for Keith’s friend Trey Green. I chilled out on the couch behind the soundboard and ate chocolate chip cookies while they went over the song and Keith recorded the guitar. When the rest of the vocal group arrived, we all stood together in a half-circle in front of the microphones with our headphones on and sang our lines over a few times until we got it sounding right (i.e. drunk). Because the only females were myself and another woman, Nancy, our voices were not particularly audible on the recording so we had to go record harmonies alone together. Nancy and I went off into the little separate room--I don’t know the name for it--and butchered our tone-deaf harmonies over and over while everyone stood around the console in the other room listening to us struggle. Voices came over the speakers to give us instruction, but ultimately we couldn’t carry a tune. In retrospect I see the humor in it, though at the time I wondered why my brain was having such a hard time grasping the simple concept of singing. I’ve come to the conclusion that I really like being the listener. I’m not a musician and I never will be. That’s not a skill that I have. But I’m good at appreciating music, and I think that there are plenty of other ways I can contribute without being a musician myself. In fact, I don’t need to be a musician. There’s no reason for it. As long as I can be a part of it, that’s all I want.

There are a lot of serious feminine issues I could address. I think perhaps one of the most important is the issue of female sexual pleasure, and its many inhibitors. Let’s take a look.



This is a clitoris, a small, pea-sized area of the female body that is densely packed with highly sensitive nerve endings. Gentle and deliberate stimulation of this area is extremely pleasurable for the female and will, under normal circumstances, result in an orgasm. There are, however, a number of factors that can inhibit either the pleasurable sensation experienced from stimulation of the clitoris or the ability of the woman to achieve orgasm despite the pleasurable sensation. Stress is a factor, and hormones are another. Sexual insecurities and body image are also important to consider.

In my situation, it’s antidepressants and birth control pills. The combination of these two medications has significantly dulled my body’s reaction to clitoral stimulation, as well as my desire for it. So let’s talk about masturbation. I strongly believe that this type of physical self-love is very important and should be practiced regularly by all. However, I have found that, since I began taking these medications, masturbation has become way more trouble than it’s worth. Unless I’ve been highly aroused for literally hours, which of course is rare due to the impracticality of it, I’ve found that attempts at self-pleasuring result in a sore arm long before resulting in an orgasm. Sometimes the desired orgasm is never achieved at all. In that case, what’s the point in trying?

Looking back on my younger years, I remember a distinct “tingly feeling” occurring in that area as a direct response to sexual thoughts and fantasies. Such a feeling is a thing of the past for me, something I haven’t experienced since before becoming so heavily medicated. The lack of physical arousal, which no longer accompanies my mental arousal so intensely, generally leaves me with a “take it or leave it” attitude when it comes to stimulation. I enjoy it when it happens, but when it doesn’t, I’ll forget about it quickly.

For most women, sexual problems result from mental hang-ups and deep-seated beliefs that don’t support a woman’s sexual freedom. For me, the problem is purely physical. Deep down, I know I want it bad. But on the surface, my body’s response is telling me it’s no big deal. I’m very enthusiastic about sex from an emotional standpoint, but physically, my body is lazily lagging behind.

Unfortunately, I fear that my situation cannot be improved. Antidepressants and birth control pills are necessities for me that can’t be ignored or substituted. Without them, I’ll be depressed and pregnant with cysts overgrowing my ovaries. My hope, though, is that increased awareness of the side effects of antidepressants and birth control pills will motivate doctors to study alternatives. In a society that is increasingly depressed and decreasingly interested in procreation, it is imperative that this problem be solved. Otherwise, we may someday be living in a world without female orgasms. And that, my friends, would certainly bring about the apocalypse.

X-posted from MySpace

“You’re the blessed, we’re the Spiders From Mars.” He gracefully bends down to kiss her small white hand.

I read Angie Bowie’s book recently and loved it. Of course it was chock full of interesting stories but I think my favorite part was the way she always went out shopping at thrift stores and came home with new fabulous clothes for David to wear. His image was even more revolutionary than his music and made such a huge impression. The fact that she (and Cyrinda Foxe) dressed him gives her astronomical rock and roll credibility, if you ask me. She also did a tremendous amount of publicizing and marketing for him, which makes me so so happy I decided to pursue a business minor.

The first issue of Sunset Star is coming out soon, and I’m really excited and hopeful that it will gain a following. For my contribution I had to write about my relation to rock and roll, and it was hard to do because I’m trying to figure out exactly how I fit in. I’m less than a musician but more than a fan. I used to throw the word “groupie” around, but that always got misinterpreted really horribly. That’s a shame too, because the old school groupies were really hip and classy women who everyone wanted to be around. Nowadays, groupies are just starfucking sluts, so the legend is tainted. I know I don’t need a label, but it would just be helpful for explaining who I am. I guess the search continues.

I’m so fucking pumped to be going to SXSW with V Sparks in March. Even though I can’t afford tickets to see the main stages, it’s going to be fun barhopping around Austin and checking out all the unsigned talent. I just wish we could stay longer, because I have grandiose fantasies of sipping champagne in a hot tub at sunset and looking out over the ocean, but alas, it’s only a two-day trip. Well, I guess the other problem with that scenario is that Austin is nowhere near the Gulf.

Modeling has unfortunately been very discouraging lately, but I’m not giving up. It’s frustrating to not be taken seriously about my passion but I won’t let it get me down. The most important thing, I’ve learned, is to make the best out of a bad situation, and then figure out how to turn it into a way way better situation and make the best of that too. Positive thinking can change your life. Remember that.

Oh and I totally found my current new lifelong dream house of the week.



Except that it will be all post modern with furniture like this.



Yes I'll let you come over to visit.

I’m so unmotivated that it’s actually starting to get depressing.  When I want to be motivated but just can’t find the inspiration to be, that’s pretty discouraging.  I need a reason, a purpose, if I’m going to start something, and I don’t have one so I’ve just been watching a lot of South Park online. 

That’s why I went to LiveJournal, because I know that the homepage always has a prompt for people with writer’s block, and today’s prompt was, “What’s the craziest thing you’ve ever done for love?”

It’s a really interesting question, and the truth is that I have absolutely no idea.  Love in itself is kind of confusing.  How many times have I been in love?  How many times can anyone be in love?  Is there such thing as a soul mate?  Can you fall in love repeatedly?  Can you learn to love someone over time?

More importantly, does anyone actually care?  No, not even me, so I guess I shouldn’t overanalyze here.  I think a much more relevant question would have been, “What’s the craziest thing you’ve ever done for a man?”  Because women are crazy anyway, and men are stupid, so when you combine the two together, shit’s totally gonna hit the fan.  Love is just a minor detail in that case.

I’ve had more crushes than you’d ever think was possible, and I always end up altering my behavior at least slightly in some weird, out-of-character kind of way so as to make myself more desirable and not cause any problems.  I don’t think that it’s a bad thing, and I think that pretty much everybody does it.  It’s normal, but I still find it interesting how people interact, always making efforts to please.  Then I look at old married couples who bitch and moan and pick wedgies in front of each other, and I sincerely hope that I will never change.  I don’t want to be that comfortable with anyone. 

So let’s look at some examples throughout my history when I did something that I shouldn’t have done, or did something that most other people wouldn’t do, or just acted like a crazy lunatic, all because of men.  (In rough chronological order.)

--I showed my “privates” to a neighbor boy because he wanted to see what girls looked like down there

--I cried for days when my third grade boyfriend dumped me

--I cited “Girls Just Wanna Have Fun” as a reason for a breakup

--I gave up the possibility of easy sex because I feared mental infidelity

--I let someone take the best years of my life

--I told a guy to his face that I only wanted to be his girlfriend because it would make me look cooler

--I walked around for hours alone trying to get picked up by anyone in the neighborhood

--I deliberately put myself into situations in which I knew I’d be objectified by male friends

--I researched witchcraft to cast a love spell on someone I didn’t know

--I wrote countless insane love letters to a Finnish rock star in the middle of the night

--I almost(!) let a weakly disguised homosexual use me as a sexual cover-up

--I tried to organize a professional orgy

--I ignored numerous flaws because of my insecurities

--I made a complete ass of myself in pointless letters to various people who didn’t care

--I didn’t confront my boyfriend about having another girlfriend in Raleigh for the first few months of our relationship

Looking back, I guess most of that stuff is fairly normal.  Anyone can look back and ask themselves, “Wait, was that the right thing to do, or should I have handled it differently?”  But I feel like I handled each situation exactly as it needed to be handled at the time, and overall, I realize that most of my actions were totally and completely normal.

Some were batshit crazy though (witchcraft??).  And you know what, that’s okay with me.  While some of it totally sucked--namely the early heartbreak stuff, when the situations were hardly even real so all I was feeling was what I’d built up in my mind and my heart--I don’t regret any of it.  I’ve learned a lot over the years, particularly:

--Real boys are better than imaginary boys

--Everyone under 20 is a complete fucking moron

--Music is a bad excuse for everything

--Men are pigs

--I’m a crazy nutcase

So, to sum it all up...  I know I’m not the only one.