Friday, December 5, 2008


I finally saw the movie Choke. I was the only single gal in the cinema with a whole bunch of couples. I thought it was fantastic - I laughed and laughed. So did the boyfriends in the cinema. One of them kept sneaking looks as me, as if to say, "Who is this girl that really *gets* this movie?"

Mostly the girlfriends sat silently - glaring at their boyfriends for yukking it up a little too much. Uptight twats.

For me I thought the movie (and the book) were a great representation of the power and absurdity of sex in all it's shapes and forms - the non-model, non-porn reality.

I know people take it all so seriously. I've lost potential clients when I crack a joke at something I shouldn't. Like the guy who wanted me fart on his face. I'm sorry that's your fetish is what I wanted to say. C'mon though, you gotta admit it's a funny one!

Can we not have a giggle while I attempt to fart on command?

Anyhow, he didn't follow through. He thought I was making fun of him. I wasn't - I was making fun of the arbitrariness of fate or karma or whatever it is that shapes our fetishes. Some people get the short straw. And it stinks (pun intended).

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