New York Fashion Week: "Whips & Chains Excite Me"

In honor of NYFW (New York Fashion Week), I wanted to put in my two cents about some of the fashion trends for Fall 2011. I've gained my fashion education from years of being a dedicated reader of fashion magazines and fashion blogs. The progression started from Seventeen magazine (short stint at about 13 years old) and graduated to Vogue circa 1995. A couple years ago when a friend bought me a subscription to Elle for Christmas, I was hooked. And so when it came time to renew, with the recession dictating that my pocket book only keep one magazine subscription, it was the liberal, 30+ demographic of Elle that won out. Speaking from someone that once dreamed of being an editor for a fashion magazine, that is a tolerable accolade (aka endorsement).

So my favorite time of year is upon us. Fall brings so many good things (Leaves, my birthday, NYFW, fashion bibles arrive, Halloween) and that says a lot because I am a sun, pool junkie. So the ushering out of summer is tricky for the 'depressives' (I'm creating a 'sub type' for my brand of crazy so that I don't have to feel 'mentally hilarious' all by myself.) But it's difficult to be too sad when you read about how the designers have given you clearance to wear black by designating the S&M, bondage, Dominatrix inspired pieces as this seasons sex appeal.

It was most likely coincidental that just as I was contemplating how to 'subtly' incorporate this into my already rocker chic influenced style, I tuned into NPR's Fresh Air just in time to hear an interview with the author of the book "Whip Smart", a memoir of a Dominatrix who worked in a dungeon in Manhattan. Simultaneously fascinating and creepy? Yes. Shocking? No. Elements of this world have an erotic appeal. But ever since I was 16 wandering around the upper level of Purple East in downtown Grand Rapids, my curiosity was appeased. It was as if the mystery was revealed and it all seemed so obvious, so predictable, so structured. And then there was the graphic slide show in college, that my FBI Profiler professor showed us in our Criminal Profiling course. Actual photographs from cases he had worked. Suffice it to say, I saw the darkest side of the bondage fetish. Ever since, I have been drawn to more of the Agent Provocateur variety. It makes sense really that it would be mostly about the fashion for me. The black leather, stiletto boots, fishnet, corsets, lace-up bodices, metal, & chains. As I have all of these in some form or another, it seemed my only obstacle would be fashioning some S&M inspired outfits which assume the sex appeal without assuming the look of "I work in a dungeon".

Going to my closet and rifling through the lingerie, corsets, & fishnet, I started with risque and began layering. My influencing muses being flashbacks to Area 51 goth night in Salt Lake City pre-millennium, Lords of Acid, and Equestrian paraphernalia. I started with the fishnet shirt-dress, I bought as pregnancy lingerie (hey...it's stretchy), then added a blouse, a belt, and a drapey tunic. It was then that I realized in my attempt to pull this off with my "not quite back to normal after my 2nd baby bod", I was having to pull way too much influence from Stevie Nicks. I mean she is a style icon in her own right. In the gypsy, hippie kind of way, but not so much in the sex trade kind of way. Something tells me that this seasons poncho is not supposed to be paired with whips and chains. Yet despite my billowing layers, I must have tapped into my inner sadomasochist at some point. I exited my closet with some formidable options to rock this seasons domineering trend: black patent leather boots with a metal stiletto heel (aka, my hooker boots I bought in Vegas), a lace up bustier, a chain necklace, a black belt with metal rings, & some leather bracelets. And who knows, it may not even take a whole season of leather & chains for me to be ready to be hogtied.

"The Old Magic Room"

At the end of June we moved from our 'temporary relocation apartment' into a house. Since the move I have had a few friends request pictures of our new home. To which I've silently thought "Pictures? Of what? We've nearly got everything unpacked and organized, but that doesn't mean that anything has stayed put!" A chaos of children's toys, and mounds of clean but unfolded laundry are continually procreating at a rate that would make any red blooded sexoholic insanely jealous. The book that I once found motivational "Clear your clutter with Feng Shui", now seems comically preposterous. Forget Feng Shui, we would need a combination of Mary Poppins, with magic wands, on Aderol to even approximate a photo op. Yet somehow, mid week, the stars, pre-school, laundry & naps aligned and I was able to get one small corner of my house presentable. I figured at least once a week I should showcase the throws, pillows, duvets, & linens that decorate my bed. After 20 minutes of stretching, pulling, tucking, smoothing, fluffing, folding, and propping, this is what you get. A terribly focused picture taken with my phone camera, complete with distorted colors & a nonexistent view of the room. "And here we are at the old magic room. We put a lot of miles on that mattress, huh?" (quote from one of my self nominated classic movies "Overboard" with Goldie Hawn & Kurt Russell.)

It wasn't preserved long. 45 minutes later I came in just as it was undergoing a transformation into a lions cave, where the 'rocks' (aka throw pillows) had been strewn around the bed and a boy had covered himself with the fluffy brown throw blanket as a coat of fur. At least the integrity of the linens themselves were sustained until this morning when both of our children decided that our Saturday would begin with 3 loads of laundry. Zayne had made a stop at the cookie jar in route from his bedroom. He had only taken a few bites and left the remaining portion on the kitchen table but somehow he still managed to smear chocolate all over the sheets & duvet cover. At this point, I'm sleepily making my way to get a beckoning Pender from his crib. I lift him out and immediately shuffle back to my bed, and lay him down next to a jabbering Zayne, & a dazed John in order to go grab a diaper. Just as I release him from my embrace I realize that we were too late. I look at my arm, and this time it's not chocolate. Nothing is sacred, or unscathed. The one corner of my world that had been arranged harmoniously had been desecrated in a matter of minutes. The only consolation while spot cleaning and applying Spray & Wash was that the sheets bore some vague remnants of love stains... At least we got to take the clean sheets for a ride before the kids got to them ;-)

Hate Mongers

Last week I was sickened when reading the news that a man had been assaulted outside a gay club in Salt Lake City. We aren't talking "roughed up" either. He was 'curb checked'. Curb checking for those of you that don't know, is when a person is placed on the edge of a curb with their mouth open. Teeth against the concrete. Then the assailant kicks or stomps the back of the other persons head. Gruesome, and can result in death. I should know, I've spent time with guys while they were serving time for killing someone this way.
This week when reading that another assault had occurred, this time in Utah County, I was floored. Then I realized that the victim was an old friend from my college years. Cam. My heart just sank.

Cam, who no matter how long you'd been taken in different directions of the globe or life, he would greet you as warmly as there had never been a distance. Like at a wedding reception I attended when I was 7 months pregnant with my son Zayne. We noticed one another at the same time. He didn't miss a beat. "Janelle", he said in sincere relief, as he embraced my outstretched arms. "You don't know how great it was to see your beautiful smile, I've been getting crusty looks all night. It was like a stunning pregnant beacon was here to save me." Blush.

Cam, who I've seen turn a room full of people into a captivated audience. With each one of us hanging expectantly to each word. Just by telling us about his day at school. Flamboyant? Yes. Fabulous? Without a doubt.

Cam, who sees beauty in a dark world, and tries to capture it and bring it out. Whether it be by gracefully dancing his way around a stage, seeing the aesthetic possibility for a photograph, or seeing the beauty in people, and knowing how to embellish on their strengths by glamorizing their hair, make-up, or fashion.



As my heart broke for him, I was mixed with sadness, concern, and outrage. I felt helpless though. Helpless to him, helpless in preventing the further perpetuation of hate. Hate is an infectious world wide rampancy. One that infiltrates organizations and individuals and becomes the source for rationalization. Whether that be widespread terrorist attacks on the people for their politics or hate crimes assailing an individual for their sexuality. This week this has acutely been brought to light by the almost exhaustive coverage on the upcoming 10 year anniversary of 9/11. Then again, by the hate mongers who attacked my friend. Then I realized the correlation. 10 years ago, hate, when propagated brought a nation to a standstill in front of their TV's, radios, and computers, two skyscrapers to rubble, and the lives of 2,751 victims. It may be trite but if we want any chance of living in a world where hate does not thrive, we have to start with ourselves. Taking caution to not allow hate to infect our personal stereotypes, and then raising our voice against hate when it breeds in front of us.

Third gay Utahn attacked in two weeks

By Gina Barker

The Salt Lake Tribune

First published Sep 08 2011 04:17PM

Early Thursday morning, Cameron Nelson became the third gay Utahn in less than two weeks to report being attacked because of their sexual identity.

Nelson was on the job at an American Fork hair salon when he said two or three people began beating him up and yelling anti-gay slurs at him.

The 32-year-old was taking out the garbage at the salon near Center Street and 100 North at 12:45 a.m. when the assault began. Nelson said he is gay and that he believes that was why the attackers, whom he did not know, targeted him.

Sgt. Gregg Ludlow of the American Fork Police Department called the remarks made toward Nelson "disgusting" and said the actions of Nelson’s attackers were "quite repugnant."

Nelson was taken to a hospital and treated for minor injuries and a broken nose, Ludlow said.

Police in Salt Lake City are still investigating attacks on two other gay men.

The two were attacked in separate incidents on Aug. 26. Dane Hall, 20, was assaulted by four men as he left a club. The suspects repeatedly punched Hall and stomped the side of his head. His cheekbone was shattered and he lost six teeth.

In the other assault, a group of men broke into a gay man’s apartment near 33 W. 200 South and beat up his boyfriend. http://www.sltrib.com/sltrib/news/52546372-78/gay-nelson-lake-salt.html.csp

Barbies & Babies

The last month or so has sparked a few of the inquiries as to whether or not I am planning on having anymore kids. I'll be honest, the last 8 months have not incited me to procreate again. At least this was what I thought my stance was...

On my trip to Utah last month my mother informed me that she had salvaged & stored my Barbie and The Rockers collection I played with as a girl. I'm not sure she expected my 30 year old rocker chic reaction of intense excitement at this revelation. As we unpacked the box, I was so giddy at finding the stage, I nearly had to slap myself. Guitars, keyboards, microphones, leggings, fringe, and wardrobes, all the makings of a rockstar fantasy! My mom told me to take it home and store it for myself. I hug her for knowing that out of all my childhood toys, this would be the one set I would have kept.

A couple of days later Zayne, Pender, and I are at "Toys 2 Us" with my aunt Deb. As we are bee-lining it for the legos, we pass an end display with Barbies. It was probably my recent rediscovery of my own vintage set that caused me to even take a second look. But look I did, and saw one last "Ladies of the 80's" Barbie on clearance. It seemed almost fate like that it was one of my style icons Debbie Harry (Blondie). Zayne immediatly noticed the similarity (bless that child) when he remarked "Mom, that doll has your hair". Well, yes son, but technically I have her hair. So as my aunt Deb lovingly spoiled my son with Star Wars legos, I checked out with the Debbie Harry Barbie. As I was walking away from the counter, bag in hand, I realized I was storing Barbies for whom????......ah hell!!!, I'm going to be one of THOSE Mormons with all the kids by the time I get that baby girl! Yet, I still readied and packaged the Barbies for my mom to ship down to us.

But Zayne came to my rescue once again. The package of Barbies arrived, packed amongst the plethora of Lego prizes he received from all of his aunts & uncles. So as we are unpacking it all, he sees the stage, the guitars, and the "dolls". He knew immediately it was a rock star set up (he's my mini me after-all). After playing for a few hours with the Legos he came up to me tentatively and inquired "Mom, I've never played dolls before. Can we set up the rock star doll stage? I will hold the man rock star". I have to admit, I was a little excited to branch out from ninja warriors, Star Wars, and super heroes (all of which I've only been introduced & acclimated to in the last couple years). So I showed him how to play Barbie & The Rockers. He chose Debbie Harry for his guy to marry. And the Rockers played an awesome wedding set of covers (all chosen by Zayne) including Tom Petty's "Won't Back Down", Journeys "Separate Ways Worlds Apart", and Def Leppard "Animal". As we belted out "And I want, and I need, and I lust animal!", I realized that I already have a little rocker and so maybe I won't have to be one of THOSE Mormons with all the babies after-all. But then again, Barbies were kind of fun...

Titty Twist Tuesday

My experience has shown that a "day in the life" can suddenly or unexpectedly evolve from the mundane to one of the most extraordinary and diverse plots if orchestrated with the help of a 4 year old or by a twist of raw-embarrassing-real life-comedy. Such was my experience on a recent Tuesday. The day began ordinarily. 6:30 wake-up by the human alarms, maybe Zayne slept until 7. Sleep is a precious commodity at our house, for the adults at least. Our children don't seem to grasp its value. Nor do they grasp the desperate futility in my attempts to extend my morning "snooze", using questionable methods including Baby Einstein Dvd's and chocolate chip cookies.

After a few failed attempts at "snoozing", I reconcile myself to the reality of morning. As my bleary eyes adjust, I focus in on two of the most bright eyed, lively, smiling, happy faces and can't help but push away my exhaustion to hug my little boys. I perform all necessary & obligatory efforts for the baby, and then begin supervising and dictating the basics for Zayne (aka. repeating myself for the next 30 minutes.) Breakfast is next. I shield my eyes from the havoc wreaked in a matter of 15 minutes by what I thought were two small children eating, but by the remnants strewn everywhere it appears a pack of wild animals have pillaged through the dining room. Two hours into the morning and I situate the boys with some puzzles, books, and toys to attempt my first P90X workout. I make it 15 min, barely through the warm up, and Pender is voicing his displeasure with my diverted attention, simultaneously alerting me that he is now ready for his morning nap. 30 minutes later, with Pender asleep, I resume the weights and watch & listen to the plot unfold around me involving The Green Lantern & Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, complete with nun-chucks constructed from 2 baby rattles and the baby ring clips.



As I'm still glistening with sweat post workout, I get Zayne settled with some projects and paper to practice writing letters. I speed clean the kitchen, dining room, & family room from the breakfast & workout upheaval. Pender wakes up (after 35 minutes), so we get us all ready to head to the pool. Towels check. Grapes, water, & Diet Coke, check. Sunscreen, check. Pool bag, check. An hour of sun and swimming, Ahhhh. I enjoy watching my Zayne break into a group of 5 kids to join in their play. It took a little longer than usual about 10 minutes till he had them all involved in some sort of plot regarding water lasers and Batman. By comparison It took me almost 45 min to engage in a conversation with the other moms. About noon, we head back home. A semi helpful snake assists me in getting lunch together and then Pender is ready to nap. I get him down, and I give Zayne the go ahead to play some Lego Starwars on the Wii while I take my 15 minutes of solitary rejuvenation (aka. A "real shower", you know one complete with exfoliating, shaving, lotion, etc... opposed to a 3 min Mom shower (aka. the basics). I throw on my SAHM uniform of cut off jean shorts, concert t-shirt, and a hat. Then speed clean my bathroom & bedroom just before Pender wakes up.

Next I rearrange furniture in the boys room, both boys help me move books back to the book shelf. Pender mainly plays with the board books on the floor (I mean suck and chew on them.) After everything is in place, we get cozy on the floor with books and blankets. We make it through The Little Engine That Could, That's Not My Car, and a few others until we find The Giving Tree. Had I known what trauma lay in wait, we would have disbanded our cozy little reading circle and turned on one of Zayne's "comfort" movies such as Tim Burton's Nightmare Before Christmas, Charlie & The Chocolate Factory, or something equally dark. But instead we opened up that Shel Silverstien classic and began to read. For those of you not familiar with The Giving Tree it is a story of love, friendship, sacrificing ourselves for someone elses happiness. We made it to the part where the tree tells the boy to cut him down to use his trunk for a boat. That is when all hell broke loose. My tender hearted 4 year old just lost it. Sobbing hysterically and inconsolably about the loss of the tree friend. So I'm hugging a boy shaking with tears, and thinking "so much for lovely stories about trees & friendship, where are the zombie stories when you need them!?"

Hot chocolate at our "kitchen cafe" is also appropriate for overcoming the trauma induced by The Giving Tree. I'm the barista and Zayne is the customer. He decided that the "cafe" was so nice, that he wanted to move in and live there. Crisis averted...temporarily. Soon enough, I was to introduce another form of the Arts to accost the senses of my children. As I'm preparing to start making dinner, I begin an impromptu dance party in the family room. We sway & dance, twist & turn to Guns n Roses "Patience", and Led Zepplins "Stairway to Heaven". But several chords into AC/DC " You Shook me All Night" and Pender gets completely bent out of shape. He complains even louder about Motley Crue. So I switch the Pandora station to something more mellow. Instant smile and calm, my 7 month old has his Dads taste in music. Vetoed my hard rock, and approved Frightened Rabbit.

Dinnertime at our house can range from two polar ends of the spectrum. One being a fresh, innovative delve into the culinary arts. The other being cereal, canned soup, pbj's, or take-out. That particular Tuesday night was somewhere in between. Penne with pesto, chicken, and green beans. In between each preparatory step, I situate Pender in front of a new cupboard to empty in order to appease his desire to be close to mom, but allow me the use of my limbs. By the time I am finishing up the pasta, it looks as if the cupboards have expelled every possible dish onto the floor (which inevitably means more dishes to wash.) All the while, Zayne makes timely reappearances in order to cast me in my new role & instruct me on the way in which I should "play" the character. While preparing dinner, I am cast as a dragon, a witch, and eventually I am attacked by a snake (which obviously calls for me feigning a fear induced seizure on the floor, while avoiding the tupperware that has been strewn everywhere).

Post dinner clean up is actually one of those predictable serene times of the day that I can count on for a few minutes of uninterrupted calm. Johnathan will usually take the boys and play, wrestle, tease, & be loud and crazy. But it is all muted as I throw on my headphones and Ipod and wash the dishes, load the dishwasher, clean the counters, sweep, wipe, & sanitize to a playlist entitled "Dishes & Laundry". Currently an eclectic sampling of Elton John, Metallica, Jane's Addiction, The Dead Weather, Jenny Lewis, Avenged Sevenfold, Radiohead, and other randomness.

Next is bedtime prep. As a new parent I remember being blind sighted by the amount of preparation, patience, perserverance, and sheer exhaustive effort that is required to prime children for bedtime, & sleep. I have spent hours in this process, at times thinking that I had fallen into an infinite cyclical warp zone of sleepless children. At least now I know I am not alone. I have the "children's book" written by Adam Mansbach and narrated by Samuel L. Jackson to thank for that. (Actually NOT a childrens book but written satirically for parents of sleepless children entitled "Go the F#%@ to Sleep") www.youtube.com/watch?v=OW0A6L9kx4c

With the kids in bed, Johnathan and I collapse and invariably both revert into our Iphones for "20 last minutes" of imperative gaming, surfing, facebooking, & texting (aka "the vortex".) We both ended up retreating to bed about the same time and this was where the day took on the twist of raw-embarrassing-real life-comedy. As all good stories go it started with us fooling around. The light was uncharacteristically off, so visibility was diminished. But that wasn't stopping anything from rapidly progressing. It was then, amidst the heavy breathing, skin slapping sounds of sex, and forceful groping/twisting that the day was brought to an encapsulating climax (though not in the way we would have hoped) when my breastfeeding titties began to expel milk everywhere. Shooting "mommy milk" into Johnathan's face, his eye, the comforter, the wall, the pillow...you get the drift. It's always funny to see opposite responses to the same action. Me, laughing hysterically. John, horrifically traumatized and disgusted, and making it perfectly clear that this day-to-day, climax free Tuesday was "game over".