Vagina shown, not writers own.
Do you know what I am getting a little bit tired of?
People being awful to Taylor Swift.
There I said it.
I mean, I must admit that I am not the hugest fan of her music; I don't deny the chick has talent; it is just not particularly mah forte.
Her talent of late though, seems to be very over shadowed by the amount of relationships Ms Swift has had, or more to the point, how many public break ups, of relatively short term relationships Ms Swift has accumulated in her mere 23 years.
I googled Taylor swift recently, because she is currently beginning her tour with Ed Sheeran, and yes, that means I still haven't finished THAT post, and marvel of all marvels, I’m researching stuff now..
Anyway, in an organic search for the words; how old is Taylor Swift?
The number one search result was Wikipedia, no Surprises there, coming in the number two spot though, was an article titled;
Taylor Swift, Dumped, for being a frigid old lady.
Keeping in mind that I merely searched for her age, I was further disturbed to see at numbers three, four and five, similarly nasty articles regarding her lack of dress sense, her inability to take a joke, and one article that made reference to her being delusional.
I was momentarily, pleasantly surprised by number six, which appeared to be a gushing article about the singer’s choice of frock, until I clicked and it wasn't.
It was in fact, an article all about her apparent "attempt" to glam it up and look stunning, as she would be attending the same party as two of her ex's.
By this time I was arguing at my computer screen with loud exclamations of “SO fucking what?”
I usually run into an ex when I am in Woollies, wearing two odd thongs, (because navy looks like black in the poor lighting of my bedroom but is very distinctly navy in the harsh lighting of the chicken nuggets freezer), faded tracksuit pants and a paint stained powder finger shirt, accessorized with unbrushed hair and yesterday's mascara, just clinging for dear life in clumps from my eye bags.... but if I had the choice, and you know..A little prior warning, I would definitely go for a look that was a little less, "phew mate, you dodged a tracked panted bullet" and more "suck on a fart, you missed out bro"
Number seven was no better, titled, Taylor Swift, a relationship timeline, because clearly everyone cares, but most horrifying to me was number eight, an article titled;
Taylor Swift’s boyfriends keep dumping her. In which the theory was, that Taylor Swift must be a virgin, that's why she could not keep herself a lad.
I mean why would they stick around if she wasn't going to spread her legs like margarine? She clearly has NOTHING else other that her vagina to offer so why would they?
Sadder still, this article as well as most of the other articles, were written by woman. Faaaaar out.
Sisters are doin it for themselves.
The general argument behind all of this bitter nastiness, was that Taylor Swift had written songs after every one of her break ups, and therefore, was deserving of all and anything handed out to her.
WHO GIVES A FLYING? Isn't that what artists and musicians DO? They channel their emotions into their art? I mean... I once wrote a song called,
"You can all go get fucked, if you think I'm picking that shit up again"...because that was the extent of my emotional turmoil at the time, and let me tell you, it gets a rousing reception at open mike night, about 9:30, down at the local.
I don't see Ringo smashing up Thomas the Tank engine sets because someone misinterpreted the meaning of Yellow Submarine.
It's inspiration. Shut. up. about it.
While everyone was busy screaming burn the virgin at Ms Swift, Rihanna got back with Chris Brown.
Think about it.
I might being a little being a little sensitive about this whole Taylor Swift thing, I mean, it doesn't really affect my time in the house.. Not really. Only it does, and I will explain.
After a recent discussion about some upcoming branded work with my blog, a PR representative made an offhand remark about hearing I had been up to no good. **insert mischievous grin, Lucifer like hand rubbing and a cackle.(Not actually a cackle, but for dramatic effect, lets pretend they did)
I rolled my eyes at first, assuming that it was about the free pass blog post, and attempted to add to the joke by admitting that Benji Madden was my bad.. I will totally take the wrap for that rumour, I started it, but for the eight thousandth time, I didn't touch him... unfortunately for me.
The look on her face though, led me to believe that she had no idea about my free pass post, and I wasn't laughing at the same joke she was, Then it clicked that they didn't even READ my blog!!!
Then it clicked, it appeared my magical PR seeking vagina had been quite the whore without my prior written consent or knowledge.
I demanded to know. EVERYTHING.
I sat there, mouth agape, (but not too agape, lest people assume I was there to offer head) as this woman filled me in on my supposed sexual escapade.
I was fascinated, a little concerned that I may have an evil doppelgänger, slightly impressed that people assumed I had the time and agility for such elaborate sexual encounters and by the end of the story, I was slightly jealous that this stuff didn't actually happen.
I laughed, and wracked my brain to think of anyone who might start such a rumour, or what I may have been doing or where I had been to develop such an elaborate story.
I went back over the evidence,
I have three kids, I married a cabbage going on TWELVE happy years ago, live in a giant crater of the southern highlands of NSW, but it's on a hill, so it's OK...
I drive a Mitsubishi Magna with over 333000 k's on it for crying out fucks sake, the roof lining has come unstuck and when the windows are down, it flaps around for dramatic effect.
My blog is supposed to be facetious.
I go out once a month, to the local, with three friends, one of which is my sister, it closes at 11pm.
I just learned to crochet, I stay up late watching Escape to the country and saying things in a British accent to my cat while my husband reads twitter, and I crochet lopsided granny squares that I NEVER sew together.
In my book that means I NEED an affair, and I can safely say, I'm clearly not even almost having one, not at least, until game of thrones is back on.
Then I was pissed off.
Can I not have a genuine success without rooting my way there first?!? I mean, surely I must have nothing but my Magna driving, post childbirth vagina to offer?!?
My outrage was met with a good old bringing down to earth type
"There, there sweetheart, no one actually gives a fuck and you aren't that important" and the old pearler... ALL publicity is good publicity; at least people are talking about you... Dont worry, No one important talking about you, but people, so it counts.
Only they are-ENT!!! And I don't care WHO said it, they are not talking about anything I wrote, or said, or even anything I Actually DID, They are talking about my vagina!! More specifically, my vaginal ability to have inside out/ upside down fusion sex with a visiting male celebrity whilst simultaneously tweeting AND moon walking to an inner city cafe I have never been to.
Worse still, this was to be encouraged, because it was apparently better than no one talking about me at all, and the things my vagina supposedly did were of far more interest than anything I actually did.
Vaginal ability, is so a word.
So I went home, ON THE TRAIN after deciding to not to do that particular job, and alone for the record.. (There is probably CCTV footage somewhere, if Barry O Farrell hasn't made the cameras coin operated and then fired the guy whose job it is to feed the coins into the camera), I drove my shitty Magna, back home and I told Cabbage of my supposed affair.
I looked at him, and he was LAUGHING at me. I was all sad and disheartened, my faith in sisterhood, squashed and stuck to the bottom of my kick ass shoes, and do you know what he said?
"Naaaw, as if babe, HA! YOU wish!!"
Because that's what the people who love you should say, and it's only the people who love you that matter, I know that, and I laughed too and promptly forgot all about it.
Reading those articles about Taylor Swift renewed my sense of rage though.
Poor Taylor Swift... Look how sad she is...
I can't help but be a little sad myself, at the prospect that a vagina was an acceptable PR tool, and if we can't fight equally, then just vagina the hell out of it. THIS my friends..is where we can't have it all.
I'm angry that querying Taylor Swift's age threw up ten pages on what her vagina did or did not do.
For the love of Adam Levine, (Someone spread that one) We can't keep claiming that our vaginas are the reason we are not equal, when we are more than happy to allow it to be more interesting than we are.
We can't keep allowing the amount of relationships that Taylor Swift has at the age of 23, or whether her vagina was a factor in the demise of such relationships be more interesting than the fact that she was the youngest songwriter ever hired by Sony/ATV music house.
Want to Blame the Internet? We ARE the fucking Internet!! No amount of SEO is going to rank those pages most relevant to the query of Taylor Swift’s age if no one is clicking.
One day, my daughter might Google Taylor Swift, I don't want her reading of those types of Successes' before she gets to the stuff that otherwise makes her a brilliant role model. Our kids should be able to Google things like "how old is Taylor Swift?" without looking up 1000 reasons your vagina hates you.
I don't want my daughter when she is grown, to give a shit how many lovers someone has had unless she is sleeping with them, or feel the pressure to have all of her shit sorted enough by the age of 23 to maintain a long term relationship.
I don't want her to still be fighting for equal rights in her day.
I don't want; to read it, to hear it, or buy it. I don't want to use my vagina so people will talk about me, and I don't want To hear one more person cry Misogyny and then publish pictures of Chrissie Swan Smoking while pregnant, my vagina will grow teeth and bite that person, such is my rage.
That's vaginal ability.