Tagged: entertainment

Jul 22

Something for the weekend: Cocktails

I’ve never had much luck with cocktails.  The single time I tried to drink martinis, imagining myself to be all lavish and glamorous like a Tamara de Lempicka lady, I ended up throwing up in my dinner and having to be carried back through the streets of El Paso, my hair matted with sick, to the hotel by an obliging (and very strong) gent.  A while later, at a conference as the “colleague” of one of the speakers, I tried margaritas to see if I did any better.  This time I made it up to my hotel room unaided to throw up in the bath.  I spent the next day curled up on a couch in the foyer, the concierge hovering in case I turned out to be a bag lady.  I gave soft cocktails a shot, but all that fruit juice is so bad for your teeth and no matter how many maraschino cherries you put in your Shirley Temple, it’ll never have any kick.  Probably I should just give up and admit I clearly don’t have the sophistication required to drink cocktails.  Or the will power not to drink ten of them.

I persevere, though, in the name of glamour.  To avoid injury yet  feel like cocktails were a part of my life, I bought Jane Rocca’s book, The Cocktail: 200 Fabulous Drinks.  It’s illustrated by Kat Macleod with images of gorgeous (if occasionally a little unhinged) women in dresses of sequins, feathers, origami, and collage.  With names like Corinthian Iced Tea, Violent Little Ol’ Lavender Girl, Rum-eo and Juliet, 42 Flying Mules (hopefully not a reference to what you see after drinking one), Misty Bitch, Yemen Fizz, Ms Fanny U Bank, Southern Shag and ingredients like crème de pomme verte, rose petal-infused gin, and honey-infused vodka, it’s very difficult to resist the lure of what those glasses hold.  There’s an aloe vera martini with gin, aloe vera water, crème de peche, and a twist of orange to garnish.  Aloe vera being renowned for its health properties, I might just get away with it.  That said, I think it’s more beneficial for the skin than anything else so I might just have to massage it into my skin and absorb it through my pores.  With gin seeping down my decolletage, into my knickers and down my legs, I’m sure to look the very picture of glamour.


Jun 09

A G-Spot The Size Of The Moon

Last week I read an article about the peculiar things people do to their bodies with plastic surgery. There was the usual lunacy: women injecting a neurotoxin into their faces; collagened-up bloody, swollen pouts; Macrolane-filled breasts (a sort of injectable jelly it takes your body 12-18 months to absorb, leaving you with plain old mammary tissue); laser hair removal; earlobe reshaping (quite how bored, body dysmorphic, obsessive, or surgery-addicted you’d have to be to decide that your earlobes were imperfect I don’t know); a laser inserted under the skin to liquefy fat so it can be sucked out along a cannula; spikes rolled over the skin to ‘stimulate skin repair’ (presumably from the damage caused by the spikes); skin tightening via radio-frequency energy; fat sucked out your belly and injected into cheeks.

Then there was one that made me wonder if there is any part of the human anatomy that is to remain as it exists in nature: g-spot amplification. I’ve heard of labial trimming, as it’s called, thanks to a documentary about a woman who’d presumably spent enough time squatting over a mirror to know that her labia were not as she’d like them to be. The camera only showed her head during surgery, everything below the waist discretely covered by a surgical gown, though her mother was down there narrating. Things like “Oh yes, that’s much prettier”, “Maybe just a little more out of the right hand side”, and “Oh you’re going to love what he’s done down here, hon”. I don’t know which was more peculiar, really – the surgery or the mother-daughter relationship.

What I didn’t know was that surgery had moved on to re-form the inside of the vagina. In this procedure, collagen is injected into the g-spot to enlarge it, the idea being that this will then make sex more enjoyable and orgasms more frequent.

Anatomically/mechanically/geographically I’m not sure quite how this works. Whether the idea is that the greater the surface area, the higher the chance of the g-spot being touched during sex – improving the odds as it were – or if it’s supposed to make it easier for the man to find it, minus his periscope and head-torch, I don’t know.

The case study in the article was a woman who’d been with her one and only partner for five years and, during that time, had never had an orgasm. The doctor told her the procedure wouldn’t work on someone who’d never had an orgasm (he didn’t elaborate and I’ve no idea why this would be) so she said she might have had one once, she thinks. Personally, I’d be casting aspersions on the boyfriend at this point, but I wasn’t there to comment or glance. Perhaps an additional extra could be a brief anatomy/technique lesson from the surgeon who, it appears, knows where the g-spot is.

It’s hard to know whether it’s just a way of enhancing what is already supposed to be a fun way to pass an afternoon or if it’s yet another way that scientists have found to exploit women’s bodies and their insecurities about them. Isn’t it enough that the sculpted and the airbrushed are paraded as the ultimate objects of desire? Must we also assume that their insides possess the same perfection?

Apparently, the procedure has an 80% success rate in America. Quite how that’s measured, I’m not sure. I don’t know whether it’s that the women have 80% more orgasms (though 80% of nothing would still be no orgasms at all, or even less than nothing) or it’s that 80% have orgasms or that 80% of the time they’re having sex the women have orgasms. Either way, it costs from £800 and the enlargement only lasts six months. I’d have to be getting some seriously good lovin’ when I got home to make that worth the money.