Virgo, a magpie, a huge lover of cupcakes, tattoos, leopard print, puns, doggies and Disney films!www.diamondsanddaggers.com
I’m a chihuahua, I tell you, a chihuahua!
Gay, straight, bi or trans - which ever way you like it, sex is everywhere.
Even still, in 2011 there is still blatant discrimination in the world that is directed towards the matters of the heart (and ofcourse the bedroom) but surprisingly its not always coming from the areas of society that one might think.
I realised I was bisexual at 19. Have I faced discrimination in the last 3 years? Yes. Has it been from middle-aged, straight Daily Fail readers? Surprisingly, no. Well at least not to my face.
The only discrimination that I have personally encountered for being a bisexual women has come from the mouth of a lesbian. Yes. That’s right folks. Lesbian women - the same women who have been fighting sexuality based discrimination for decades and now some of them choose to inflict that same exact pain on others. Crazy, right?
If I had a pound for every time a lesbian told me I needed to “make up my mind”, said I must just be “a confused straight girl” or have been told that I must be “disgusting” for actively wanting to sleep with men as well as women (because “that’s sooooo gross!”) I would probably be writing this on a sunny beach in LA rather than on my bed in an East London flat share.
Only yesterday I was told by an older lesbian woman that I live with that she didn’t understand “all of this bi-curious stuff” after I informed her than I in fact wasn’t a lesbian like she had wrongfully assumed.
Bi-curious. What does that even mean? The connotations evoked by that word are far from positive ones - feelings of confusion, un knowing and a sense of not really understanding who you are as a person. Curious.
If I could ban that term I would. There is no curiosity involved here. To me, it’s as black and white as the words I write on this page. I’m bisexual. I can and will have happy, loving, monogamous, sexual relationships with both genders. It’s simple.
And why the segregation from the gay community? An eye roll when the B word is mentioned from a Big L. A quick wink and a nudge as if to say “don’t waste your time. This girl won’t be around for long. She be back to her husband and 2.4 kids quicker than you can say Civil Partnership.”
Even the word itself - bi-curious. Heterosexual, homosexual, transsexual but bicurious? Somethings not right here dear readers. I’m no more curious than you or the rest of society. I’m sexual with both sexes and I love it!
Hopefully one day you’ll learn to love me too because in the words on one crazy unicorn birthing bitch - I was born this way, baby!
I LOVE pickles!
Crochet pickles with little eyeballs! Everything Nicole Gastonguay makes is friggin adorable. I want all the crafts.
Norman Keith Collins (1911-1973)
Collins, better known as “Sailor Jerry” in the tattoo business, was born in 1911 in Reno, Nevada. By the 1920s he was sailing the Great Lakes and hopping freight trains across the United States. He learned tattooing from a man named Tatts Thomas, who is credited for showing him how to use tattoo machines. Practicing on drifters, he later sailed the Pacific Ocean before settling in Hawaii. A big brute with a dirty mouth, he often wore plain white T-shirts that exposed his ink-sleeved arms. Mike Malone, who took over Jerry’s shop after he died, described him as “a class-A pirate.”
At age 19, Jerry enlisted in the United States Navy. It was during his subsequent travels at sea that he was exposed to the art and imagery of Southeast Asia. He remained a sailor for his entire life thereafter. Even during his career as a tattoo artist, he worked as a licensed skipper of a large three-masted schooner, on which he conducted tours of the Hawaiian islands. Jerry worked at a few locations in Honolulu, including 13 South Hotel Street, before he settled into his 1033 Smith Street location.
Although Jerry was world famous for his tattooing, he had other interests. The sea was always a part of his life and while holding Captain’s papers in the 1950s; he skippered a tour ship that covered the Pearl Harbor memorial. His study of electronics led to a first class FCC license. He played saxophone in his own dance band and for several years he hosted a late night talk show on a local radio station, where he lectured against the impending downfall of the American political system by infiltration of liberals. On that show he was known as “Old Ironsides”, another reflection on his interest in the sea. He was a prolific writer and carried on in-depth communications with many pen-pals throughout the world.
Sailor Jerry was a master at getting vivid colors inked into his tattoos and other “scratchers” as he called them would often sniff around his shop trying to figure out his secrets. Never one to share tips with undeserving artists – and ever the prankster- Jerry always had a trick up his sleeve to throw them off his trail. In one famous encounter a guy asked Jerry how he got such strong colors; Jerry told him he put a little bit of sugar in his inks. Of course he went straight back to his shop and put some sugar in his inks before heading home for the night. The next morning the scratcher returned to his shop only to find his ink infested with roaches. Jerry surely got a good laugh when he inevitably heard the outcome.
Sailor Jerry died June 12, 1973 and is buried at the National Memorial Cemetery of the Pacific, (commonly known as the “Punchbowl”) in Honolulu, Hawaii. This cemetery is located in the crater of an extinct volcano. The site of his grave is 124/Section T. If you happen to find yourself in Honolulu, stop by to say hello.
