In honour of Australia Day

Oi Oi Oi and all that. It’s hot…again…as it is in everyday in the paradise that is Western Australia.


In celebration of January 26th which is Australia Day, I bring you some fun facts about this weird and wonderful place that is Australia.

1. Ordering beer is a nightmare

You would think getting a beer would be easy, wouldn’t you? Considering all 23 million of us drink 4.14 litres a year of the stuff and it’s practically the national drink (after a tim-tam slam, of course).

I don’t actually like beer and I never have since the age of 8 when my mother let me have my first sip of a shandy (beer mixed with lemonade, and by lemonade I mean something along the lines of 7-up) so because I’ve never been involved much in the ritual of ordering beer at a pub, I always struggle when I take customers from Japan out and have to get them drinks.

The situation is complicated by the fact that in New South Wales, where I grew up, the glass sizes are different to here in Western Australia and when I asked M about it, who, by the way is from Victoria, I got even more confused because in Victoria it is different again. Sometimes you also have to ask the particular pub what sort of glasses they have because the pub closest to my office only sells pints (570ml or 20 oz) and half-pints (285ml or 10oz) which may or may not be the norm in WA.

A schooner is probably the most popular size (425ml or 15 oz), but in South Australia, this size is called a pint. The half-pint is called a middy in Sydney & Canberra, but it becomes a pot in Melbourne & Brisbane. In Adelaide, it becomes a schooner, with their biggest size being an Imperial Pint (just to confuse everyone).

Confused yet?


Maybe it’s just better to stay away from the glasses and buy a stubby. A stubby contains 375ml which is just a bit more than the typical US bottle size of 355ml (12oz). A long-neck is a 750ml bottle and a carton of beer is usually called a ‘slab’ (because it’s long and flat…)

2. Ordering a coffee is also tough

My customers also get very confused about how to order a coffee here. In Japan you have coffee, American Coffee (americano) which is weak, black coffee and a latte to choose from. In Australia we have long blacks, short blacks, espresso, extra shots, skinny flat whites, cappuccinos and the list goes on.


I think the largest difference is that in Japan things are set in stone. You order off the menu and there is very little customisation that you can do. Here we generally take our customers to a  yummy bakery for lunch and it seriously takes 30 minutes for them to decide what to order because they’re not used to being able to choose the type of bread, the constitution of the ingredients on the sandwich, whether they want it toasted or not and then there is the whole coffee situation. Japan likes neat boxes, in Australia we like to fit outside the box.

3. We eat funny things

Like beetroot


It’s usually the first thing my Japanese customers freak out about when they find it on their sandwich.


We always have some in the fridge because M loves it to death. It works well on burgers, sandwiches and in salads. Cakes works well too, in a zucchini-kind of way.

Hawaiian pizzas


Apparently the ham and pineapple combination is one of Australia’s most loved pizzas.

Tim tam slams


Obviously the above was made for you weird people who call biscuits ‘cookies’ and scones ‘biscuits’.



Just for the record, the above is how NOT to eat vegemite.

Just a little vegemite with a healthy slathering of butter is the best way to eat it ala this:


The vegemite to butter ratio is critical and I think this is where everyone goes wrong and wonders why we like something so horrible so much.

So there we have it, happy Australia Day.


Torture porn

I had an email recently asking me if I was into torture porn and what I thought about it because my story sometimes goes a bit in that direction.

It was a good question.

So in answer, I’m definitely not adverse to porn and I guess I do like a bit of torture (mostly because it involves restraints and that’s where my real interests lay) but torture porn ala Hollywood and its horror/torture porn-style movies? Not so much.

I’ve never been into seeing body parts flying around the place or big gooey piles of stuff (True Blood used to push my icky buttons quite often) and those decomposing, maggot-ridden corpses at the beginning of every single Bones episode made me stop watching it (that and the fact that I think Jim Parsons does a much better job of playing a robot/high-functioning person with Aspergers than Emily Deschanel does).

I enjoy the more subtle types of torture and the power play between the people. I also enjoy me a good ol’ interrogation scene – as you may have noticed.

Do I think bdsm play can be torture?

Also a good question.

Wiki – all hail the mighty wiki – tells us that:

Torture is the act of deliberately inflicting severe physical or psychological pain and possibly injury to a person usually to one who is physically restrained or otherwise under the torturer’s control or custody and unable to defend against what is being done to them.

And by that definition I suppose bdsm play could be construed as torture and funnily enough, when you google image search torture porn you get a 60/40 split of gorno pictures and bdsm porno pics. Apparently a lot of people think that the likes of infernal restraints and hogtied constitute torture porn. (As an aside, I’ve probably also flagged myself with some government organisations for the number of searches I’ve done on torture over the past few months…lol. It’s research people! Chill!)

Of course, the consensual element is generally not present in torture so that generally differentiates between bdsm play and torture, but sometimes it’s a very fine line when you get into edge play and stuff that can really hurt the other person.

I was reading an article the other day about the recent increase in the amount of torture porn style movies and things that are being produced.

I have a little bit of a theory about why this is so. I think the more civilised and sterile we try to make our lives and relationships, the more we want to taste that base side of things. On some level I think we all enjoy the brutal, inhumane spectacle of someone in pain and that is why we all like to look at car accidents, people breaking their bodies in sport and punch-ups on youtube.

I don’t think we’ll ever totally escape our caveman roots.

We all still have a bit of animal inside.



This week was a bit meh…for lack of a better word.

Work was busy a.k.a I wanted to punch just about every single one of my customers, the weather was furnace hot and I was generally feeling lethargic. That’s one of my favourite words by the way. Something about the combination of sounds just makes it sound like it makes you feel. In Japanese, my favourite word is mufu which means ‘still’ as in there being no wind. I don’t think it’s a particularly exciting word, I just like the way it makes my mouth feel when I say it.

/end random rambling

Recently, I had some nice validation from an instructor at the gym who I’d never done combat with before. I normally do pump with her and she was subbing for one of my usual combat instructors. We had a long conversation about how she thought I should do the instructor class because I was totally ‘rocking’ it (her words, not mine…lol.) I felt like telling her that if I wasn’t good at it after doing 4-5 classes a week I should just fall on my sword and end it all, but instead I just nodded and we continued bonding over our mutual hate of body attack.

Actually, I considered doing the instructor training for 0.23 seconds a while back, because I really enjoy teaching in all its forms but then I reminded myself that the reason I go to the gym is to be yelled at  de-stress and being an instructor would be like setting my stress levels to MAX. Also, I don’t think I could cope being up on the stage with all the gym bitches judging me. Yeah…worst.possible.scenario.

On the topic of it being furnace hot, which is like the southern hemisphere version of a polar vortex, it was 35 degrees at 11pm last night *goes off to google what that is in fahrenheit* That’s 95 degrees people!! In the middle of the night. WTF? Yesterday we hit 110 or 43 degrees, which wasn’t a record, but was sufficiently furnace-like. But while I’m bitching about it being hot, I would much, much rather be hot than cold. Cold just makes me sad. I really need to live closer to the equator methinks.

I’ve been writing a particularly challenging chapter of the story for a while now and I think it’s going to take me a while longer. Chapter 15…it’s a toughie. Every now and then I ask myself how my little pornish short story ballooned into something that consumes so much of my time. Obviously I have no life! Lol. And then I think what I would be doing with all these hours if I wasn’t spending them writing. Eating? WoW? Plotting the death of my customers?

My WoW time has certainly suffered in that I haven’t raided in months but the biggest thing that has changed is that I’ve kind of become a morning person. I’m not sure if it’s a sign of my impending 37th birthday or what, but I quite enjoy getting up early and writing for a few hours before I go to work. I used to be a person whose brain didn’t start functioning until 3pm and I did all my creative stuff at night, but now I’m useless after about 2pm at work and I find it very hard to do any writing after I come home at 7 or 8pm.

In other news, I got a letter from a Japanese lady I met through work and her four pages of hand-written Japanese were absolutely beautiful.


Unfortunately she was telling me how her husband had passed away. Well, at least now I know not to send her a New Year’s card. In Japan, if a member of your family passes away, you send out a card telling people you’re not sending New Year’s cards and that’s a sign for other people not to send one to you.

I often find that people like to share bad news or confess things to me even though I may not have a very close relationship with them. Someone told me once that it was because I am empathic. How does one test this theory?

Finally, re my impending nipple, septum and tongue piercing…M wants me to give him some dates. I’m thinking about the Australia Day long weekend at the moment. Most of my customer visits will be done by then (I’ve still got two in February but meh) and maybe if I take the Tuesday off as well, I’ll have a couple of days to recover.

I wish I was better with needles. The thought of having those big mother needles going through my sensitive bits is making me nauseous at the moment.

It’s that time again – search terms!

search terms1

Above is what happens to your blog when you use the words ‘porn’, ‘butt’ and ‘Japan’ a lot in your posts. This has been a friendly community announcement.

I’m curious, how does one cum in one’s own ass? I’m guessing it involves a cup.

Sex porn video booths in Japan? Yeah, I’ll have to do a post on that one day.

And as far as the kanji is concerned, 鈴木 is suzuki and as for yamato, well, I’m guessing you mean the most common kanji which is 大和. Anything else I can help you with?

And speaking of kanji, I was doing some reading on piercings the other day (why I was doing it is a long story…) and I came across this site which covered the 2010 King Of Tattoo Convention in Japan, which just goes to prove that when Japanese people decide to go against the grain, they really go. So amongst the photos of people with very large hooks through various parts of their bodies, I found this pic which is probably the first pic I’ve seen of a Japanese person with a considerable amount of kanji on their body (oh and needles…)


The phrase is 逃げちゃ駄目だ repeated several times with the font gradually getting bigger. It  means “You can’t run (from something)” or a bit more poetically & loosely translated, “There’s no running, there’s no hiding”.

I’ve always wondered what a Japanese person would choose to put on their body kanji-wise and I think this is great. Whenever I want to amuse myself, I just do a google image search for kanji tattoos and spend the next hour or so dissolving into laughter (or cringing in horror).

Just remember if you don’t know what it says, don’t put it on your body.

Happy 2014

I feel like I need to write something just to get that depressing post off the front page so here I am, twice as validated and half as angsty.

I don’t know what it is, but I always get a bit funny at this time of year. That whole xmas/new year period is like a funky twilight zone for me. It’s probably due to my impending birthday and being reminded that another year has passed and I haven’t achieved much, but it’s the same every year so I don’t know why I’m surprised each and every time it happens.

The votes for what to do with the dress are in (thank you to everyone who voted!) and having a ritual cremation has topped the list, closely followed by ebaying the sucker. At this stage, I’m favouring putting it back in the box and hiding it. Yeah. I’ll probably need another 7 years of closure before I can actually bring myself to do anything with it…lol.

I made myself a writing cave in the spare bedroom on New Year’s day. So now I have a quiet space that I can hang out in and focus on squeezing out the last 20,000 words a.k.a five chapters. I was also needing some creative inspiration so I got some music to listen to just to get me in the ‘mood’. I’ve got a bit of Sia, Bastille, Lana Del Ray and I’m liking I See Fire from the new Hobbit movie. I get disillusioned with music sometimes and think it’s all gone to shit with auto-tune and doh, doh, doh but there’s definitely some good stuff out there if you look.

Getting inspiration is tough sometimes. I will admit to watching a bit of porn here and there…purely for research purposes of course…just to get into that ‘sexual’ headspace. I’ve also had to do a fair amount of reading up on a couple of other things that I can’t talk about yet so that’s definitely been educational.

I went to Bodypump on Thursday night for the first time in a couple of weeks due to work and the holidays and omg…I’m in a world of pain. I can barely sit down on the toilet…Do they make a greeting card for that? Congratulations on exercising to the point that you can no longer sit down to defecate!

Happy Year of the Horse to all (M and I celebrated the new year Japanese-style with pounded rice balls and red bean paste…mmm..)


Validation is an ugly word

Validation is something I’ve always craved in my life. The agreement with my opinion, the praise that I’ve done a good job, the affirmation that I’ve made the correct choice, are all things I’ve needed like air to breathe.

I hate that I can’t exist happily without the need for recognition from others. I hate that I can’t just be comfortable in my skin and have a ‘take me or leave me’ attitude. I’m not happy with myself or with what I do unless someone is happy with me or appreciates me and that leaves me living on the whims of others.

On the surface it just sounds like I have a crippling lack of confidence, but I think it’s a little bit more than that.

I don’t really want to turn this into a discussion about my father, but when I think about why I am like I am, the biggest influence I can put my finger on is him.

People wonder why I have such bitterness towards him. They ask me why I’ve carved him carefully out of my life with such a sharp blade. He never rose a hand against me or did anything that a father shouldn’t do, but there are other less obvious ways to hurt someone.

He was like a black hole in my life growing up. He would suck up anything within his sphere of influence and you would never get anything in return. You couldn’t even have a conversation with him, he’d be silent and just stare through you. His affection was alien. He never hugged or kissed me, never told me that he loved me, never wished me a happy birthday or tucked me into bed at night.

I found his interactions with me to be cripplingly uncomfortable. There was no ‘normal’, no banter, no ‘How was your day? What did you do at school?’ stuff with him.

I always remember coming home with my school report, generally with straight A’s and glowing comments from teachers and leaving it on the kitchen table where he would eat his dinner alone in silence so he could read it. I don’t even know if he looked at them. He never said anything about any of them. I don’t even know if he read them or not. But I cared whether he did.

I hated that I couldn’t stop caring.

I was always a bit ‘deep’. I liked playing with words and wrote poems and music. I wanted boundless passion and the kind of love that makes you want to burst. His love was skinny and wasn’t nearly enough to feed me.

I suppose it was the way he was and I guess we can be no more than we are, but I hate that I am the way I am.

I’m supposed to be some autonomous adult that after 36 years should have come to a place of knowing herself and accepting her limitations, of celebrating her achievements and fostering dreams for the future.

But I’m not there.

And I hate that I want validation about needing validation.

Because that’s what I’m doing by writing this. I’m fishing for comments that I’m a good girl  so that I can be satisfied with what I am. Tuck me into bed, smooth down my hair and tell me I did well. Tell me I’m enough. Tell me I’ve earned the right to be happy.

Needing validation is ugly and I want to walk in beauty.