Designer Vag

The Perfect Vagina: a documentary on the growing trend of plastic surgery on your cooch. I warn you, this is horrifying - you see a 21-year-old girl go under the knife.

You're going to want to beat the shit out of a lot of guys they talk to. (But I am sort of love in with the mulleted guy in the park who is all, "I have never not liked a vagina!" though.)

The woman who makes people "talk for their vagina" sort of makes me facepalm. But you know, if it helps people not hack up their ladybits for cosmetic purposes? Go for it.It's honestly depressing how many of the women in this film just think their genitals are hideous. Like, I'm sorry, ALL genitals are kind of weird looking, male and female.

...don't read the comments on the page, either. Fuck me, people are stupid.


And so continues my week of depressing documentaries! Also watched: the suicide forest of Japan, several horrible drug docs, and one on "England's Jersey Shore."

Tits McGee

The other night, my friend Tranny Zuko poked at a bubble in my shirt.

"What is that?" he asked.

"...double-boob," I sighed.

That's when your bra caused a little hump of flesh where your breast spills out of your cup. It's not supposed to happen, but when you've got giant boobs? It happens. A lot.

Know what else happens? Nearly suffocating yourself during pilates.

I've been working out steadily for months now, and I've dropped weight everywhere but my chest. I feel stronger, and better, but... AGH, the boobs! So I made a decision: on Tuesday, I'm talking to my doctor about breast reduction surgery.

Every since making the decision and talking to my sister and mother, it's just been like... I want it done NOW. Now now now! Yes, I know you can't do jack shit for a week after, and yeah, it takes between one and two months before you can 'do sports' or whatever, and it can take a year before your boobs get totally settled... I don't care. I just keep looking down and going, "goddamn, you could FIT THINGS AND NOT SUFFOCATE ME."

As a burlesque performer, a lot of people have seen my boobs. Duh. And honestly, part of my resistance to the idea of surgery is a result of being in the burlesque scene. For one thing? People know me by my breasts. When I've mentioned before to people that they annoy me, I get a lot of, "but you have the perfect boobs!" and so on and so forth. Yeah, sure, perfect if you don't want to DO shit.

You can't get cheap bras to turn into show bras. You hear the other girls all, "I got it on sale for ten bucks!" as they gleefully rhinestone their multi-coloured underthings. They get to fit the cute normal-sized pasties. And dance moves? When you have two huge fat sacks on your front, doing certain moves is really hard, or downright impossible.

Burlesque is an interesting subculture because it's sexual, but also filled with feminists. Burlesque performers are encouraged to feel beautiful regardless of body shape. So in a weird way, getting a tit job also feels like a betrayal to that spirit. You're changing your body. That's not a core value in burlesque. (At least not in the circles I run in.)

And of course, there's scarring. That's a concern, if only because I wonder if for the rest of my life people will assume I got implants. Because let's face it - even with a reduction, I'll still be busty. ...but I won't be a fucking I cup anymore.

But ultimately? It's my body. And the health and mental benefits will be immeasurable. So.

And goddamn am I going shopping after. FOR PRETTY BRAS.