Posts Tagged ‘lip service webzine’

In the last installment of the Gothic Charm School tour diary, I was still giddy from going to San Diego Comic-Con, wondering how I was going to re-adjust back to “Real Life” after that event, and then realizing I was back out on the road in two short days to go to Portland. During those two days at home, Seattle had record high temperatures. Which meant that finding the energy to do any of the needed chores was a bit difficult, because all I wanted to do was hide in a cool, dim room, eat ice cream, and read not-terribly-mentally-challenging vampire books.

But no! I unpacked, wrote emails, petted the cats, did laundry, and got everything done in time to pack and hit the road. Really hit the road, because The Husband and I were driving down to Portland, with a stop for some much needed iced coffee and a snack, because hungry and under-caffeinated is no way to do a road trip. (During the drive, The Husband commented that he had gotten used to traveling where all he had to do was read and nap; an alarming statement to hear from the driver!)

The drive down was uneventful, if a bit glaringly bright, and with only a few dead zones where my trusty iPhone pretended the Internet didn’t exist. We got to our friend’s apartment, dropped off our bags, petted her cats, freshened up, and then headed off to Powell’s. (Well, with a detour to Whole Foods for a quick snack of macaroni and cheese, because I apparently needed comfort food.)

Powell’s, oh Powell’s. It is possibly my favorite bookstore ever. It’s huge, and has the best mix of new and used books I’ve ever found. I can spend ages in the Horror section, browsing books I haven’t seen anywhere else. (I go to other sections, too, but the Horror section is where I head first.) But on this visit, we headed up to the third floor to meet with the event coordinator and get things set up. Well, The Husband got things set up, while I chatted with the staff, surreptitiously watched people choose seats for the reading, and looked longingly through the darkened windows of the closed Rare Book Room. (One of my Powell’s traditions is to go into the Rare Book Room and visit the signed first edition of Dark Carnival by Ray Bradbury.)

Speaking of surreptitiously watching people come in for the reading, I was happy to see the seats fill up! I’ll admit to having worried just a teensy bit about the turn-out, because Portland was suffering under the same heat wave that Seattle had been, and let’s face it, most Goths don’t deal well with hot sunny days. But there were rows of gothy types, dressed in lightweight black finery, who all smiled as I was introduced, and listened while I read sections of the book. (I made sure to read the excerpt about “Goth in Summer”, because it seemed very appropriate.)

During the Q&A, people asked me about what new Goth bands I’d been listening to (my answer was along the lines of “Um, not a lot, because I don’t know who all is out there right now. I dunno -  Creature Feature and Zombina and the Skeletones?“, about my outfit (a b&w striped skirt with petticoat, a black chemise, and a black lightweight lace top with pink buttons, because it’s hard to do full Victorian Cupcake Goth in 90+ heat), and about how to deal with co-workers who are perhaps not taking you seriously just because you are a Goth (I suggested the direct approach of talking to the co-worker about it). One of the audience members, when I called on her, said “I just wanted to say you’re adorable!“, and then hid her face in her hands and blushed. Which *I* found adorable!

That particular young lady was with a group of … well, I shouldn’t call them babybats, because most of them were 21 … let’s call them charming younger Goths, who asked me for hugs and photos. (One of them, when I gave him a hug, delightedly squeaked “Mommy!“, much to his and my amusement.) Amongst the audience were also people I used to talk to on alt.gothic.fashion waaaaaay back in the day, friends from Portland, and one couple who had driven all the way from Pullman to see me! (It’s apparently over a six-hour drive from Pullman to Portland, and I hope hope hope that they had fun on their trip!)

After all the books were signed, Powell’s was still open. You know what that means: I headed straight to the Horror section, because no trip to Portland is complete for me until I have an armful of new-to-me horror fiction. While browsing through the shelves, my friends and I had a discussion about deportment and balancing books on your head to improve your posture.

After books were purchased, we wandered off to a local restaurant for nibbly food (mmm, white miso soup with crab, mushrooms, and avocado!) and drinks. Then it was back to our friend’s apartment to try and sleep in spite of the still-sweltering weather.

The rest of the weekend was low-key, which was a nice break from the crazy (but fun!) pace other weekends had been. We took refuge in an air-conditioned theatre to see the latest Harry Potter movie, went out for food, watched paranormal dramas on BBC America (I now must see more episodes of Being Human!), watched a huge block of hair metal music videos (causing much eye-rolling from The Husband, but they made my friend and I repeatedly throw the devil horns in nostalgic glee), and visited my favorite Portland thrift store (where I found a couple of black blouses, a pretty black and pink choker, and a bunch of trashy vampire books that I wasn’t ever going to buy for full price).

The drive back to Seattle had some ridiculously slow traffic, but was uneventful enough that Clovis the Devilbunny was allowed at the wheel for a few minutes, which made him very happy.

For the next stop of the Gothic Charm School tour, I don’t have to leave the state! Next week I’ll tell you all about Innocente Seraphim, the Gothic Lolita and Ball-Jointed Doll convention I’m attending. Expect much geebling over frilly skirts and cute vampire dollies …

Jillian’s Gothic Charm School book tour continues next Wednesday (August 12) on the Lip Service ‘zine!

My boyfriend keeps joking around about us having a threesome with another woman, that it would be totally hot. I usually ignore him, but he’s talking about it a lot and even asked if I would seriously do it. He says he loves me and this will just spice things up, but I’m confused. Does this mean he’s over me? ~ Anaïs

Girl, my first question, Is this something you want to do? I mean, you said you’ve been ignoring him until now, so that just makes me think a threesome is not something you’re really all that into. Why the hell would you even consider a three-way after ignoring it for several months? You have to have some desire to have a threesome before blindly doing it. Just to please your boyfriend? Give me a fucking break! Would he be as easy if you wanted to bring another man home to “spice things up”?

You are a sexual being too with a mind of your own, right? So use it!

You should only get involved in a ménage a trios (that’s French for three-some) if you want to, not because you want to please him. That would be a mess. He’d get what he wants and you’d get lost somewhere in-between the sheets. Ewwww. Have some self-respect already.

Now, if it’s a two-way street? I mean, you guys can trade. Say, for example, if a threesome isn’t really your thing but you might be willing to do it if he is willing to do something sexy and HOT for you in return. Don’t give up the goods without making sure there is something in it for you in return. The days of concubines ended a long-ass time ago.

And, just for the record, threesomes can be scary, messy and complicated. Just by pure virtue of the physics, someone will be the “odd man out” and could wind up feeling left out or hurt. How will you feel if that’s you? Some people can handle threesomes. Hell, for some couples, it actually improves their relationship. But, if that’s not you, you need to level with yourself and right fucking now.

Jealousy and insecurity are relationship and passion killers and there is no room for that crap in bed. To have a threesome you gotta put that jealous, insecure, “I don’t know if he loves me,” bullshit aside. Can you do that? If you are in a trusting and stable relationship, you need to deal with jealousy openly before inviting more in. The thing is, with all that baggage, a threesome won’t be enjoyable for anyone, anyway, and that shit will stick around. These are pretty serious, heavy and deadly emotions to be hanging around in the air. Deadly.

The point is, you need to stand up to yourself and to your boyfriend. If you are going to even consider going there at all, you have to: 1. Know what you want and 2. Ask him what he wants.

What is his idea of a threesome? Does he mean penetration, oral sex, anal sex? Get the details out of him. Girl, you need to know this shit. Don’t let him push you around all willy-nilly. Let him know what you are and aren’t ok with. Maybe you don’t want him to kiss her. Maybe you don’t want him to fuck her doggy style but you are willing to watch a little from-the-behind action while he’s spooning her, and maybe you are interested in tasting her fruits but you just haven’t come to terms with your freaky side yet, which is something else you might need to address and own. Nobody knows this but you. You have to know what you want, and then own it. You have to know what you can and cannot handle and these limits (or lack there-of) really do need to be discussed, and defined, so you can both be satiated.

If your boyfriend says something like, “All these fucking rules will spoil the moment”, tell him to grow up and grow a real set of nuts. He needs to recognize that your relationship needs to be stable and on solid ground first for a threesome and your relationship to work. You two must be on the same page. The rest can and will happen spontaneously, and “in the moment.” The bottom line is that you want to please him and get your needs met too. What “man” wouldn’t want that? (Throw the word “man” in there to really drive the nail in…. men cannot handle women thinking they are somehow less than full grown…. To them size is everything..)

If he still does not want to define parameters with you, seems unwilling to meet you half way and/or thinks you are being overly sensitive/insecure/jealous/whatever? Then, honestly, he needs to fuck off and go have a three-some with his hand and some lotion, since his motives for having a threesome may not be as genuine as you’d like to think…. I have news for you sister, he might actually be one of those sleaze-balls looking to have his cake and eat it too…. Just tell him “Sorry, dude,” the threesome is not happening and neither are you!

In Awake, we meet Kat, a woman struggling with her feelings of isolation, and Max, her mysterious suitor. They share the same longing, a similar loneliness, and are drawn together by the hope of someone who can ease the pain they’ve felt, a love to fill the void in their souls. With absolute abandon, they explore their pain and desire in one fateful day that will change their lives forever.

From their first encounter in the picturesque St. Louis #1 cemetery of New Orleans, Kat and Max are brought together by fate. Or is it?

*          *          *          *          *          *          *           *          *          *          *

Three simple letters rose from the fog, M – A – X.

Max! That’s it!

She almost sighed with relief at the reward of her mental efforts. That is, if she felt she could sigh. Her chest was marble, still immobile, unyielding to her will. But, at least she had her mind … that was something.

Large swaths of memory were beginning to clear now, events and sensations flowing back in a rush of discovery. She had met Max while she was visiting St Louis. Kat focused on assembling the puzzle, piecing fleeting bits of memory together to recreate the past day.

*     *     *     *     *     *     *

*     *     *     *     *     *     *

“You gave me quite a start!” Kat scolded through a tentative smile. The stranger’s unexpected presence had unnerved her, but she didn’t want to be too harsh. He was quite intriguing, no need to risk putting him off.

He was apparently unphased, cocking his head slightly to the right while peering at her curiously, studying her. Something about him, about his manner, Kat found reassuring, comforting in some absurd way. His voice, when he finally spoke, was barely audible, yet she found herself startled by its intrusion into the calm silence.

“Who do you cry for?” he asked, looking deeply into her eyes. Never had she seen eyes quite that color, very light grey, almost silver. They were mere inches from her own and she could see her reflection within them, clear as mirrors. Reaching within her, his eyes were searching her, examining her, but she didn’t care. She wanted them to see her, see everything. It was as if they were touching her, wrapping their gaze around her, protecting her. Warm, she was so very warm in their embrace.

She had no answer she could think of. Jumbles of words gathered just behind her tongue, building a dam of all the things she wanted to tell him. Kat mutely opened her mouth but could not speak. The stranger’s eyes bore more deeply into hers, exploring her mind, measuring her reactions.

“There is a story about this tomb,” he began, softly. “There was a girl, ready to marry one of my family, but he was a bit of a rogue, they say. Her family refused the match … took her away … she lost hope. Her lover discovered the hiding place and restored her, but they were found out. A tragic story … ” His features were wrought with sadness. “I come here sometimes, when I feel lonely.”

Kat found her voice, though it escaped as little more than a tight gasp. “That’s terrible and, somehow, lovely,” she replied. “You asked me who I was crying for … ”

He held up his hand, stopping her. “I’m sorry, I had no right,” he apologized. “I’m not very good around people, you see. Not used to … ”

This time, Kat stopped him. She should have had reservations but, looking for them, found none. Opening herself to him felt so very natural, so right. “I want to tell you,” she whispered. His face brightened, tense jaw loosened with relief. “When I feel too much sadness to bear,” she began, “I come here … So many lost souls with no one, no one to mourn them, no one to cry for them.” She let the words tumble out, blurting out her story before she could stop herself. “It’s been so hard to bear, feeling alone. I come here almost every day, now. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve sat before that tomb, no idea who or what I was crying for.” A fresh tear moistened her eye, followed by another pushing the first down her cheek. She reached for a handkerchief, only to find one already offered to her. “Thank you,” she sniffed, dabbing softly at her salty eyes.

“I guess I never quite realized,” she sighed, “The person I’ve been crying for is me.” She looked downward, unable to face his searching eyes, her tears mingling with the dust at her feet. Falling into habit, Kat let doubt sneak into her thoughts, silent curses tearing at her. How could she have let all that out, to a total stranger? Worse yet, a stranger who might have been interested in her before she decided to confirm that she was, indeed, damaged goods. What man wanted to waste their time on an emotional wreck like her?  Her tears welled up again, each one a bitter recrimination of her lack of control.

A smooth hand brushed her cheek, cupped her chin. “Please,” a soft voice whispered, “look at me.” The hand caressed her, delicately stroking her hair before gently tilting her face toward his. “Let me see you.” A murmur, musical in its lilting sweetness, “So beautiful, yet so guarded. Why do you hide yourself?” She had no answer, but it was of little consequence, as it occurred to her she had momentarily forgotten how to speak. A pained sigh was all she could offer in response, to which he softly replied, “Shhh. Forgive me, I … ”

At first, it was a subtle suggestion of a kiss, lips barely brushing hers. She tilted her face toward his and welcomed him, hungry for contact. His fingers worked up the back of her neck, cradling her, pulling her  closer, lips pressing hers more urgently. Desire crested and flowed through her in waves of need, years of longing released in a single beat of her heart. Thoughts, instincts rather than words, flooded her in a rush of raw emotion. Was her pain, her sorrow, melting away, being pulled from her? She had the queerest notion he was taking her pain into himself, relieving her of her burden and leaving joy, acceptance, where it had been. Whatever it was, whatever magic she felt in his kiss, Kat never wanted it to end.

“You damn kids!” an angry voice called out. Jones, the caretaker, kept his distance, happy to make his point without having to get too close and be on his way. Those death-lovers, the ones who loomed like ghosts in his cemetery day after day, disturbed him, frightened him in ways he didn’t want to think about. “It’s closing, so, get yer jollies someplace else!” The two glanced furtively at each other, suddenly shy, and fell into a riot of giggling. Holding hands, they gathered themselves up and scurried toward the gate and out to the city beyond.

Breath in rapid gasps, she looked over at him. His cheeks, unlike her flushed face, were still flawless ivory. “Aren’t you embarrassed?” she asked, incredulous.

“Should I be?” he replied, eyebrow raised with rakish amusement.

Kat’s cheeks burned hotter, realizing the depth of her folly. “I should at least know your name,” she stammered.

“Max, very pleased to make your acquaintance,” he bowed slightly.

“I’m Kat,” she said, extending her hand in handshake mode out of habit. Max reached out, clasped it delicately, turned it to hold tenderly to his lips. It was an affectation, a bit over the top, but Kat thrilled at the gesture anyway. There was something so charming about his manner, reminding her of the boys at Jr. High dances, wanting so much to be suave but unable to shake off their youthful awkwardness.

“Well, Kat,” Max grinned sheepishly, “Considering the circumstances, maybe you would consent to allow me to treat you to a late lunch? Perhaps get more acquainted?” His boots shuffled nervously on the sidewalk.

How could she say no? She knew she should, weakly sputtering out a lame excuse, “I … I’m supposed to … to meet up with some friends …”

His eyes, once again, reached into hers, spying the desire beneath the surface coyness. “Would you rather be with me?” he asked, his musical voice insinuating its way through the cracks in her crumbling resistance.

The flame in her cheeks spread to her ears and neck. “Well, yes, but …” She tried to think of a reason, any reason, why he should deny herself Max’ company. She had only just met him, there was that, but how else did people get to know each other? Admittedly, he had an almost disturbingly freeing effect on her, a way of melting her false resolve to remain aloof. Kat wondered for a moment, why was he so persistent, before striking the thought. He wanted to be with her. Why was that so surprising to her? She didn’t want to fight it, fight herself, any more.

Answering his gaze, this time with self-assured confidence, she declared “Yes, I would love to have lunch with you.”

He beamed, all boyish glee and coltish energy. Reaching into his coat, he pulled out his phone and stabbed quickly at the buttons. “I have a wonderful idea!” He turned away to talk, his voice and manner taking on a different, more authoritative air. This was a completely different Max, unyieldingly in charge of the circumstances, and she secretly relished the idea of being at the yielding end of his will. But, as quickly as the in-charge Max appeared, he was replaced with his more charming self as the phone returned to its pocket.

“I think you’ll like my surprise,” he announced merrily.

“This whole day has been one big surprise!” Kat sighed as Max reached for her hand.

“Well then,” he answered, “No sense in stopping now!”

They strolled silently toward the Square, happily ensconced in the bubble only couples can construct to blur out all beside each other. Kat noticed an odd sensation or, rather a lack of one. There was no sense of eyes on her, their heaviness weighing her down as she walked. She was certain they had to be attracting quite a lot of attention; after all, they were quite an eccentric pair. Yet, she didn’t care if anyone looked at them. Actually, she hoped they did. Let them look. Let them see her brilliant smile, her topaz blonde curls bobbing in time with her jaunty steps at Max’ side. That was it, Kat realized, they were staring but could not dampen her spirits with their gawking.

Was this what being happy felt like? It had been so long since Kat’s heart had felt so light, so hopeful. Whatever it was, she wanted more.

As they passed Jackson toward the edge of the Square, open spaces behind them them, Max turned Kat to face him. “Would you indulge me a silly conceit?” he asked shyly. “Could you close your eyes? I really want to surprise you and, if you can see it, it won’t be very special at all.” Kat hesitated. “I promise, nothing funny … please?”

Kat froze. “Ummm,” she replied, giving a sound to her deliberation. What the hell should she do? She really wanted to trust him, but was this pushing it too far? Granted, she’d come along so far and, though her doubts tried to surface, Kat shoved them back down. Why the hell not go the rest of the way? He’d given her no cause to be nervous, no reason to think he was anything but a charming suitor wanting to win her over.

Tamping down the last shivers of indecision, Kat closed her eyes and let Max direct her. Across an open space, down a walk, and through a buzzing crowd they went, his arm encircling her waist. They reached a doorway, entered, and proceeded slowly up a flight of stairs, as Kat savored the safety she felt in Max’ protective embrace. When they reached the top of the stairs, a voice called out from the rooms beyond and Kat almost jumped at the shock of it.

“It’s all right, Kat,” Max cooed in her ear. “Please don’t be afraid. Just a little further.” He urged her on and, fighting the urge to open her eyes, Kat swallowed hard and hoped she hadn’t chosen poorly. Through an open area, out another doorway Max led her until she felt a breeze on her flushed cheek. They turned and she was deposited next to what felt like a table to her outstretched hand while Max stepped away for a few minutes. Her heart beat wildly in her chest. Should she sneak a peek? Before she could answer herself, Kat heard two sets of soft footsteps. One stopped, the other continuing to her side.

“Would you like to see your surprise?” Max whispered, his lips lightly tickling her ear. Kat nodded mutely and slowly let her eyes creep open. She was on the balcony of Upper Pontalba, a table exquisitely set before her and the noise and grime of the city below. The strange voice and footsteps belonged to a burly older man standing just outside the French doors, dressed in crisp chef’s whites.

“Sorry if I startled you, Miss, I didn’t expect I should be quiet,” the man spoke. “Mr. Calder has hired me away lots of times, but never with company … especially such lovely company.” He winked slyly at her, causing the blush to rush back to her cheeks. “I’m Beau. I’ll be taking care of y’all so, if you need anything at all, you just call on me.” Kat was taken aback, just nodding slightly with a surprised stare.

Max, obviously pleased by her reaction, addressed the chef. “He wasn’t too put out, was he?”

Beau smiled, a hearty laugh exploding from his broad chest. “I’ve never seen him so worked up! Cursing a blue streak, he was! But, here I am anyway.” He slapped a beefy thigh for punctuation. “You do have some pull, my friend, but next time, I’d give him a little more than a half-hour. The man is a wreck, I’m telling you!”

Max grinned, satisfied with his coup. “Well, this is special. Couldn’t wait.” He gazed at Kat, his crooked grin expanding across his boyish face.

The chef nodded, winked once more in her direction, and settled into a more professional demeanor. “I pulled the bottle you requested from your collection. If you need me, Mr. Calder, I’ll be right in the kitchen. First course in, shall we say, 20 minutes?”

“Thank you, Beau. That would be wonderful.” Once again alone, Max turned to Kat, peering thoughtfully into her eyes. “How do you like it so far?”

Barely able to control her voice, her eyes large green question marks, she blurted out, “How in the world?”

Max glanced down briefly before returning to her. “Well, it helps to be the latest in a long line of Maxwell Calders with the trust that comes with it,” he confessed, a crackle of embarrassment sneaking into his tone. “Now you know one of my dirty secrets. I’m a terrible, overindulged dilettante. Still like me?”

His expression, hopeful and yet nervous for her reaction, melted what little resistance might have tried to creep into her heart. She had no words to express the growing warmth spreading through her, the joyful sparkle lighting her eyes. She stepped toward him, wrapping her arms around his neck and letting her lips return where they’d been aching to go since they left St. Louis.

With no one to stop them, they melted into each other with abandon. Max’ cool, soft lips pressed against hers eagerly, his hands reaching up to pull her more firmly to him. Heated desire pumped like warm honey through Kat’s veins as she explored Max, nibbling his lower lip, grazing her tongue lightly against his. With each renewed crest of passion, their bodies clung more tightly to each other with ecstatic longing to be closer, and closer still. The hooting and catcalls from below did nothing to deter them, only driving them further into each other, reaching for a place where they could be above it all, only the two of them and their need for each other.

Slowly, their heated urgency abated to sweet, soft seduction. Max cupped her face tenderly, his lips kissing her chin, her cheeks, her softly closed eyelids. Kat’s eyes slowly opened to meet his. Warmth, need mingled together in their glimmering depths, reflecting hers. They turned to face the open Square, onlookers still staring unabashedly at the shameless lovers caught in the throes of their romantic spell. Kat had already grown to love the feel of Max’s embrace, his arms wrapped around her waist as she leaned back to nestle into his chest.

“Are you glad you came?” he whispered softly, his lips grazing the back of her neck.

Nuzzling closer to him, utterly content, she purred, “There is nowhere else I’d rather be.”

As he held her tighter, Kat could feel just the slightest trace of moisture against her cheek. “I’ve been searching for so long … I’m so happy you’re here.”

The conclusion of Awake will be available Wednesday, August 12

My name is Philip and I am the singer for a band Called STEADLUR. I’m sure you are thinking, “Why am I reading this?” or “I never heard of your band and I don’t care!” Well, it’s too late. You’re in too deep now and I’m about to tell you a short but sweet story of me and my traveling stretch fucking jeans…

I uploaded some pictures for you of me wandering around Portland Oregon, hopping from bar to bar with my lady and some random friends I have met in Portland. After chugging a sparks (YUCK!), I made my way over to a bar called Mulligans but fell in love with a brick wall painted blue. So. I had to take some pictures in front of it. The people around me stared like I was crazy. but I told them, “Don’t be alarmed; I’m a professional”.

After that, I headed to a popular bar called The East end (if you haven’t got it yet… I like to drink). Some rad people work there that play punk rock, some rad rock or punk bands play there also. I took some bathroom photos ’cause the walls were covered in flyers. Plus, who doesn’t take pictures in the bathroom?

The weather was amazing, so we walked to a place that was having 1 dollar pbr & corn dogs. I put, like, 10 dollars in the juke box and played everything from Motorhead to Weezer while sitting outside taking pictures.

After, we headed to my friend’s house because he had guitars, wine, drugs and air conditioning! It was hotter the hell but I love summer nights. We proceeded to jam, drink wine and draw on his wall, which is a gigantic chalk board. Not too much later, I passed out from a mixture of substances…

Yep. I love how people will come up to me or go out of their way to try in pick on me for wearing tight jeans, like its cool to be wearing flip flops, cargo shorts or a college football hat. The best part is their fake compliments. “Hey, those are really cool jeans–where could I get a pair?” I’ll tell them stores, web sites, everything and they try to stop the conversation, but I’m like, “No, you asked, so I’ll inform you and your entire Fraternity.”

I think frat boys like baggy pants because it covers their lack of bulge.

Everyone in my band wears stretch jeans, but I’m not saying that’s the cool thing to do. It’s just what we are into; not bell bottoms, not boot-cut or what ever, just stretch fucking jeans. Anyways, before I go on and on about douchebags picking on guys with long hair and tight jeans, I’ll shut my big mouth.

Every wednesday I will be leaving huge blogs about what me and my lip service jeans have been up to. I’ll post pictures, videos, links and whatever else I feel like but, in the mean time, you should make your way over to my band’s myspace page and check us out or whatever!

2 be continued …

Philip Steadlur On the Road with Stretch Fuck’n Jeans will be back next Wednedsay, August 5

Our flight to San Diego left at a far more civilized hour than the NYC trip, thank goodness. As a bonus, it was leaving from the gate in the shiny new wing of the SeaTac airport, which meant we were able to get coffee (oh, blessed coffee) from the Dilettante Chocolate Cafe, and I indulged in a few pieces of chocolate. While we were getting (very tasty!) organic breakfast sandwiches from a different cafe, a lady looked me up and down and asked, “What are you supposed to be?”

“Myself!” I cheerfully answered. “I look like this all the time!”

The lady blinked and said, “Oh. Well that’s great!” I don’t know if she believed me, but that’s her problem, not mine.

The flight was uneventful, getting our baggage went smoothly, and the cab ride to the hotel was just fine … until we got close to the convention center. Then all traffic slowed to crawl, and it took us ages to get to our hotel. But finally we did; as we were checking in, the clerk asked if we were okay with our room overlooking the “very industrial” part of the landscape, or did we want to pay $15 extra a night to have a room on the side of the hotel with the view? We went with the “very industrial” vista as we knew we wouldn’t be spending a lot of time gazing out of our windows. So up we went to the 27th floor, quickly unpacked, and then walked the less-than a block to the convention center to pick up our badges.

Now mind you, this was Thursday. ComicCon hadn’t really gotten into full swing yet. But we walked past an enormous line outside full of people waiting to get into the panel about James Cameron’s Avatar movie. People who had been standing in line for probably half a day or more. I admire their dedication; I can’t think of anything I would be willing to stand outside in the sun that long for. I don’t even go to outdoor music festivals, for heaven’s sake!

Another astonishing thing was the number of people we saw in elaborate costumes. This was not my first time at ComicCon, I knew that people go all out on their costumes. I just didn’t expect to see that many people fully dressed-up on the first full day of the show. I saw a lot of Stormtroopers, a couple of Darth Vaders, some Boba Fetts, swarms of Batmans, Supermans, and Wonder Women, costumes that I assume were from video games or manga that I didn’t know, small frilly packs of Gothic Lolitas, zombies, and many, many Steampunks. (What is the collective noun for a group of Steampunks? A cog? An engine?) I saw more Steampunks than Goths, which struck me as a little odd, for some reason. But then I guess it makes sense, for in my mind Steampunk is more of a “costume”, what with the preference for creating personas to go along with the cogs and goggles, than Goth.

Speaking of Steampunk: while wandering through the Exhibition Hall, a lady behind me started chanting “Steampunk! Steampunk!” at me, and then asked if I made my costume because it looked great. For the record, I was wearing a black knee-length full skirt with petticoats, boots, a black ribbon-trimmed chemise, a pink and black striped blazer, and my usual top hat. So, not something *I* would consider particularly Steampunk. Maybe the top hat confused her. But I explained that no, I was a Goth, and that I wasn’t in costume, but did thank her for the compliment on my wardrobe.

The Exhibition Hall was almost overwhelming in the amount of noise and semi-controlled chaos going on. And crowded, even though Thursday was one of the “light” days. But The Husband and I traipsed up and down the aisles, looking at all sorts of art and enticing collectible goodies (noticing several things we planned on purchasing later), and finding our friends who were working at the show. After taking about three and a half hours to walk around the entire hall, we shuffled back to our hotel, had dinner, and collapsed for some much-needed sleep.

(A Helpful Tip if you ever attend SDCC: bring your most comfortable footwear. I made sure to bring the most comfortable pair of boots I owned, and was very thankful for that every night when we finally stopped walking around.)

Friday was the Big Day for us – our Gothic Charm School autograph session was scheduled for 3:00 that afternoon. So I put on petticoats, a knee-length bustle skirt, chemise, my customized Lip Service “Black Tales White Lies jacket (I hand-colored all of the b&w striped trim and buttons pink. Yes, I am that crazy.), and my top hat, and headed to the jam-packed Exhibition Hall.

Where there were even more people in fantastic costumes, and … a lot of people wearing “FREE HUGS!” t-shirts. Now, I consider myself a friendly and outgoing person. But the idea of wearing a t-shirt offering hugs to that many complete strangers freaks me right out, and made me feel mildly uncomfortable (on the shirt-wearer’s behalf!) at times.

Speaking of mildly uncomfortable – my recurring thought from wandering around the Exhibition Hall was “I’m too tired to summon up a sense of feminist outrage”. Why yes, half-naked booth babes and anatomically impossible art were everywhere, along with herds of geek boys who were obviously giddy to be near them. I know, I know, sex sells, but there were times that I wanted to go up to artists and ask them if they realized that the woman they had drawn wouldn’t be able to stand up if she were flesh & blood.

But other than the FREE HUGS and the feminist eye-rolling, roaming the Exhibition Hall was grand fun. Costumes! People-watching! Oooh, did I need to buy a Victorian-esque ray gun? (I eventually decided that no, I didn’t. But my goodness, it was very decorative.) Random people would stop me, compliment me on my costume and ask if they could take my photo.

(A note for Goths, Punks, and other eccentrically-dressed subculture types: At an event like San Diego Comic-con, if you’re not wearing “normal” casual clothing, people are going to assume you’re in some sort of costume. Just let it go. I stopped trying to explain I wasn’t in costume after the first day.)

(Also, if you are trying to dress in a gothy or punk style, underwear should not always be worn as outerwear. Really. Most petticoats look even better with a skirt over them, and if you want to expose your garters and stocking tops, make sure you aren’t stopping every few yards to adjust them. It makes you look like you’re not confident in what you’re wearing, and that’s not flattering to anyone.)

I was also stopped by a handful of people who recognized me as the Lady of the Manners, which was very exciting! I made sure to give them Gothic Charm School cards, tell them about the autograph session, and tried very hard not to flail too much in glee at being recognized. (What? It’s exciting!)

The autograph session itself went very well. The Mysterious Galaxy bookstore was there with copies of the book for sale at the table, and I got to meet all sorts of fans. One young lady was so excited that she was barely able to bring herself to speak to me, which I found both endearing and perplexing. (Really, I’m not scary or difficult to talk to!) She brought me some of her artwork that was based off of some of my favorite YA books, the Vampire Kisses series by Ellen Schreiber. I was touched that she gave me the art, and am planning on putting it in the Gothic Charm School book tour scrapbook. I also met people I had only ever “talked” to online, and spent some time gossiping about fashion with some very nice Gothic Lolitas.

After our stint at the autograph table was done, it was time to scamper back downstairs to the Exhibition Hall to see if my determined collecting of raffle tickets won me one of the coveted wristbands for the Gabriel Bá & Gerard Way signing at the Dark Horse booth. I was in luck! So I stood in a very long line, and got to meet one of my pop idols. (Meet again, I should say, because I had been lucky enough to meet Gerard earlier that day at the Dark Horse booth and give him a copy of the Gothic Charm School book. Will he ever read it? I have no idea. But I’m glad I got a chance to meet him.)

If you didn’t know, San Diego Comic-Con is a great place for celebrity sighting. In addition to Gerard Way (and his brother Mikey), we saw people like Glenn Danzig, Joss Whedon, John Landis, Juliet Landau, and … Ron Jeremy. Yes, that Ron Jeremy, waiting in line at the Starbucks at the Exhibition Hall. My husband and I discussed whether I should go ask him if I could get a photo with him (as other people were doing), but we decided that a photo of the Lady of the Manners and the rather infamous Mr. Jeremy would quite possibly cause the universe to explode, so we didn’t risk it.

But oh, the photo ops! I made sure to get my photo taken with the very fierce-looking Nosferatu-style vampire that was stalking around (he was utterly charming), and with the equally charming Capt. Jack Sparrow. In fact, the strangest photo I was part of was myself, Capt. Jack Sparrow, Snake Eyes from G.I. Joe, and Spiderman in a black & silver costume. (Don’t ask me to explain it, because I can’t. But Spiderman was quite insistent that he needed a photo with all of us.)

Saturday passed in much the same way as Friday did, in a blur of walking around taking photos and attending panels. (Ray Bradbury! My favorite author of all time! Oh, it was wonderful to get a chance to see him and hear him speak.) However, Saturday night turned out to be more magical than I could have hoped for. We were at dinner with some friends when I received a text from another friend, telling me about some sort of tea party or exhibit for Tim Burton’s Alice In Wonderland movie. Being a fan of all things Alice In Wonderland and Tim Burton, I did some quick Googling on my handy iPhone, and discovered the address where this mysterious thing was supposedly happening. So after dinner, my companions kindly indulged me in strolling by there. Oh look, a giant poster for the movie! And people standing in line! I asked the gentleman who was the last person in line what was going on. He informed me that it was a exhibit of props, sets, and costumes from the upcoming movie, that you needed one of the special tags and keys to get in …. and that they weren’t giving away any more of the special keys. I sighed, expressed my dejection, and possibly stamped my tiny feet, because it was something that I really wanted to see, but alas, was not going to be able to.

“Do you really want to see it?” asked the last guy in the line.

“Well, yes, I answered, “Because I love Alice In Wonderland and Tim Burton.”

“Okay, here you go”, he said, handing his key to me.

I jumped up and down in glee, thanked him profusely, and waited in line with a huge grin on my face. The exhibit was breathtaking, and I am now even more excited for the movie. And also covet all of the costumes for the Red Queen and the Mad Hatter.

Sunday, the last day of the show, was low-key in a frenzied sort of way. Low-key because everyone was tired, and many people had already packed up and left. Frenzied, because everyone wanted to get in as much last-minute browsing and shopping as possible. The Husband and I dithered about assorted knick-knacks we might want (I made sure to purchase him a t-shirt that read Low on whimsy), and actually left the Exhibition Hall before it closed, in order to beat the stampeding crowds.

Going back to “real life” after San Diego Comic-Con is hard. It felt very strange to pack our bags and not wander over to the convention center to see the sights and look for random celebrities. Lucky for me that this current round of “real life” will last for about, oh, two days before I’m back on the road to Portland!

Check for more of Jillian’s Gothic Charm School book tour adventures next Wednesday, August 5!

There is nothing we love more than giving you the heads up on cool stuff other Fashion Freaks are doing! That’s why every month on the ‘zine, we’ll be spotlighting someone out there in the Lip Service universe doing something creative. This month, we aim our bright light at Belfast and Wayne Simmons.

About Wayne:

Belfast born, Wayne Simmons, has been loitering with intent around the horror underground for some years. Having scribbled reviews and interviews for the likes of Pretty Scary, ZOMBIE-A-GOGO and REVENANT MAGAZINE , Wayne is now delighted to release his debut (zombie-ish) horror novel, DROP DEAD GORGEOUS, through PERMUTED PRESS…

In what little spare time Wayne has left, he enjoys walks by the shore, getting tattooed and listening to all manner of unseemly screeches on his BOOM-BOOM Box…

About Drop Dead Gorgeous

From Permuted Press:
While Star, shorn-headed and black-eyed tattooist, began inking her first client of a warm, spring Sunday morning, the world died…

All across Belfast, the hungover majority lapsed into a deeper sleep than normal. Something changed gear, Mother Nature’s darker side rampant throughout the unholy mess of crashing cars, smouldering televisions and falling aircraft.

DROP DEAD GORGEOUS spits out the story of a shell-shocked group of post-apocalyptic survivors as they search for purpose in a broken-down city. In a world stifled by the very smell of death, they scrape out a new life, fear and desperation giving rise to new tensions and old habits…

… But a new threat, as beautiful as it is deadly, crawls out of life’s wreckage, fuelled only by feral hunger and several shades of chaos…

Heavily inspired by Asian Horror cinema, blending fantasy with dark sci-fi, Drop Dead Gorgeous promises the gore-hungry hordes the finest in tattooed Horror. As visceral as it is delicious, this is one apocalyptic shocker you won’t want to miss…

What’s our take?
If your thing is politely worded tomes about fragile heroines, Drop Dead Gorgeous is probably a bit harsh for your delicate sensibilities. BUT, if you’re into action-laced horror filled with choice vulgarity, vivid gore, and full-tilt, ass-kicking chicks out to, not just survive, but live with a vengeance sporting a cranked up attitude, Drop Dead Gorgeous is your kind of read.

Visit the official site of Drop Dead Gorgeous

When looking over the hellscape that is mainstream comedy film, it may feel like there is nothing but cheap laughs from cruelty, dick & fart jokes aimed at 12 year olds, and lame sight gags. Where are the clever films with scathing wit, intelligence, and realistic human interaction? Well, in the less-publicized world of indie film, of course. We’ve found one of these hidden gems and, as luck would have it, it’s scheduled for a limited engagement right here in Los Angeles!

12 in a Box was shown earlier this year at the Brittish Film Festival (in LA), where it won the Best UK Film award. My husband and I were fortunate to have been invited to the festival and have a chance to see this smart, funny film. Though we tend to only go to a limited number of movies in the theater, much less ones we’ve already seen, 12 in a Box is on our calendar for a second go-round during its run at the Laemmle early next month.

Farce can go a lot of ways, few which manage to fully capture the art with wit and nuance. Happily for those of us who can’t get enough of classic Brittish farces and great screwball comedies of the 30s, 12 in a Box finds just the right balance between believability and absurdity. And, like the films it celebrates, it lets that balance subtly tilt off kilter as the story builds. There is never a moment when you doubt the characters or the strange situations that ensue. Even near the end of the film, when the comic tension and wits of the characters have reached a fever pitch, the odd developments feel right and somehow natural.

The premise of the film is simple, twelve people are invited to a stately mansion for a school reunion dinner and offered 1 million pounds cash each if they stay there, cut off from the outside world, for 96 hours. Of course, in the great tradition of farce, this simple goal becomes increasingly complicated rather quickly. Alliances are forged and broken, relationships tested, and no one is quite what what they seem. What begins as a single unpleasant wrench in the plan, sets off a chain of events that wind up the manic tension toward and ending that will, literally, have you gasping out loud and jumping up from your seat.

Granted, this is not one of those formulaic “with a twist” films. In 12 in a Box, writer/director John McKenzie has crafted an entertaining story, rich with believably quirky characters, witty dialogue, and strange complications which build organically on each other throughout the film. Standouts in the cast are Belle Hithersay as the seemingly sweet and pious Alice and Kenneth Collard as Barry, who will need to skip his own wedding to earn his million pound nest egg, but the entire ensemble truly deserves a lot of credit. It’s obvious a lot of love and care went into creating the story and bringing it to life.

Certainly, there are a lot of comedies vying for your film-going dollar during the summer. Great independent films like 12 in a Box can be harder to find behind the giant hype bubble surrounding much of mainstream Hollywood’s churn ‘em out dreck. But, as in life, seeking out something better is always worth the effort.

Check out 12 in a Box during its week-long engagement (premiers August 7, 2009) at:
Laemmle’s Music Hall 3
9036 Wilshire Blvd.
Beverly Hills, 90211
310-274-6869

For info and tickets: view Laemmle’s 12 in a Box page

View The official 12 in a Box website

So you’ve got this new sweetie and you are wondering how to please him/her in bed?  Or maybe you two have been together for a million years but, geez, the sex just feels so monotonous, and seems to lag. Sure, there are a million ways and a million of ideas of how you should spice up your life in the bedroom, how you should dress, what toys you should buy, and a million answers to your questions, how do I please my partner in bed?  But talking dirty is one of the oldest, easiest, sexiest, kinkiest and quickest ways to bring your partner to the maximum density of arousal. I just got an email question about this very thing, so let’s talk about the importance of sexy talk, dirty talk and of basically just talking the talk.

My girlfriend is really into talking dirty and seems disappointed when I don’t join in with her. I want to please her, but I’m kinda uncomfortable and afraid I might say something to spoil the mood and fuck everything up. What should I do? ~ Marcel Marceau

Spoil the moment.  WHAT?!?  Are you kidding me?  If I could tell you how many times I heard that….  WRONG, let me let you in on a little dirty secret.  There is nothing worse than silence.  You think those ooohs, and aaahs are enough?  Nope, brother, and sisters, (this is true for all genders) if you want to really get yourself and your partner off you need to speak up.  Sure, coyness is cute for a while, but if you really want to knock the socks off your partner, then speak up. Trust me when I say, nothing gets tired faster than trying to get your groove on to a sound effects loop. Man up, dude, and open your mouth. No woman’s mood will be spoiled by hearing how fucking hot she’s making you. Trust me, we live for that shit!

Speaking up can come in many forms too.  I have broken them down into categories for ease of understanding.

First of all, there is what I call sexy talk.  This is saying things that are sweet, yummy and desirable and let your partner know that you think of them not just as the wonderful and fabulous person that they are, but that you desire them, want to kiss them, smell them, take off their clothes, etc…  Sending them text messages throughout the day “I’m thinking about kissing your ______ (name body part here),” or “I’m touching myself thinking about you,”  I don’t really care what it says, but letting your partner know throughout your hectic and busy days filled with annoying co-workers and deadlines and you are still able to think about them being sexy, is a turn on.  Not just “I miss u,” or “I love u” but “I want 2 x u,” “I want 2 rip ur clothes off,” “get home so I can fuck u.” You know what I am saying.  See the thing about this kind of talk throughout the day is that it in and of itself is a form of foreplay. It not only lets your partner know you desire them and think about them, it gets you and your partner thinking sexy, thinking dirty so when you two finally see each other, guess what?  All this pressure has already built up, and you find yourself in the throes of passion and you haven’t even touched one another. Mmmm, delicious, exquisite anticipation! It’s the best way to totally guarantee yourself a lust-crazed woman ready to jump your bones the second you walk through the door.  Give her something to think about all day beside work, let him fantasize about all the nasty things you want to do to him as soon as you’re together. By the end of the day you’ll both be thinking about nothing but how much you are craving each other!

And there is more to come.  No pun intended, but now that you are in each other’s presence and you really need to turn up the heat just a few sexy words and dirty phrases can really kick the moment into high gear.  This is what I call dirty talk. Saying things like, “I want to feel you inside of me,” or “I want you to cum on my cock,” “You’re driving me crazy,” seriously (and no laughing either!) this makes your partner 1) feel desired and 2) is music to the ears, the only problem you might encounter is arousal, erections, orgasms and ejaculations….Guys, if you don’t think hearing just how hot you are for your partner will send her into hyperdrive lust, let me tell you … THINK AGAIN!  Hell, the most important sex organ is … no, neither of those … the brain. If you want to go from hot to inferno, give her some aural before the oral.

The third very important aspect of all this talk talk talk, is communication.  How can your partner please you properly if you don’t tell them what you want, need and like? It’s all communication, telling your partner where to put his/her hand, how you like it, to go faster or slower, are all forms of sexy talk and dirty talk too, except that this type of talk also serves the purpose of letting your partner know what to do, and what you like.  Sex isn’t a science, it’s an art. And, what better show off your creativity than to let your partner in on the unique ways in which to please you. There is no special form of telepathy during sex to mystically tell you what’s getting each other off and what’s rubbing the wrong way, read: WE ARE NOT MIND READERS! Want to hit each others’ buttons? Don’t dick around with guessing when you can hand each other the owner’s manual! If you think it’s embarrassing to talk about or during sex, seriously, get a grip. Is becoming a better lover embarrassing? Nope … thought not.  Why not please your partner and get what you want at the same time?  You can both be happy, turned on and satisfied at the same time. Really.

All is possible just by increasing the sexy talk, the dirty talk, the pillow talk or whatever you want to call it talk, it’s general communication about sex in your relationships and in your lives.  I mean, you already walk the walk so now, talk the talk.  For crying out loud, Speak up already!

Want some Sex, Love & Rock ‘n Roll Therapy? Send your question to webzine@lip-service.com!

All cliches about Goths being creatures of the night aside, I am not a morning person, to put it mildly. So having to get up at 5:30 in the morning to catch a plane to New York was a bit of a daunting prospect. (I still wonder if staying up all night would have been the better option. But my beloved husband is not as much of a nocturnal creature as I am, and he really didn’t want to try that trick. Oh well, maybe next time?)

Even though I didn’t feel particularly awake or chipper, I still Dressed for the trip. Oh yes, I wear full skirts with petticoats, tailored black jackets (the Lippy “Dark Desires” jacket from Blacklist Core, as a matter of fact!) and a top hat while traveling. For one thing, it’s easier to wear a petticoat than pack it, and for another thing, that’s just who I am. If I leave the house, that’s what I look like, and no ridiculously early flight time is going to stop me.

While I did manage to doze some on the plane, I was sleep-deprived enough that at one point during our subway trip from Newark Airport to NYC, I saw what I thought was a forearm clawing its way up out of the ground. A second startled glance, and I realized it was a pipe sticking up with the end raggedly taped off. But that, combined with my musing on Newark as the set for a zombie movie, made the trip into NYC entertainingly surreal.

On Friday, The Husband and I wandered around NYC in the wilting heat and humidity. While I don’t consider myself a delicate flower, I was extremely thankful I had packed my folding parasol, and still worried as to whether my SPF 100 and eyeliner were going to hold up all day. (As an aside, I have finally figured out why the fashion media is always so fond of promoting a “dewy” look for cosmetics. They’re all based in New York, aren’t they? It would be self-defeating to try and convince everyone that perfectly powdered skin is worth maintaining in that sticky summer climate.)

And then it was time for the reading! The Mysterious Bookshop has skeletons hanging from the rafters, and the walls are covered with bookcases which stretch from the floor to the ceiling. All it needed were some velvet couches,  candelabras, and black & white stripy accents, and I’d move right in. Especially since they had dug out a Goth/Industrial compilation CD, and I was greeted by the opening drums of “Bela Lugosi’s Dead”.

The event attendees were wonderful. One gentleman was attending because he had found my book by complete accident at Barnes & Noble, and it had helped him explain his interests to his family, and to feel like he wasn’t alone. There were also adorable babybats in the audience. Another person who stood out was young boy of about 8 or 9, who was wearing the cutest pair of shorts I’ve ever seen with skull and crossbones embroidered in a repeating pattern across the fabric. He was there with his extremely supportive mom, who proudly snapped photos of him with me. There was also a girl of 18 (I suppose I shouldn’t call her a babybat, but oh well) there by herself, and almost too nervous to talk to me. She asked for advice on how to explain “the whole Goth thing” to kids, because she works with children. (I suggested that using the Addams Family, Nightmare Before Christmas, or Halloween were good starting points, and I pointed out that I did address the subject in the book.)

After the store closed, my friends and I were standing around trying to decide where we wanted to go when a lady out for an evening stroll came up and asked why we were all dressed up. I explained about the Gothic Charm School book, and that I had just done a reading at the bookshop. She seemed very interested and congratulated me. I gave her a postcard (yes, I keep a stash of them in my purse), and I hope she picked up the book! As we wandered off in quest of snacks and drinks, we passed the fire station that was used as the headquarters in Ghostbusters. The door was up, allowing us to see the big Ghostbusters sign on the wall, which made me grin in geeky delight.

The picnic at Green-Wood Cemetery the next day was sort of event you idly daydream about when you’re a wee babybat (or older, because heaven knows I still dream of such events): an Addams Family-esque reunion in the best sort of way. People all dressed up! In a gorgeous historic cemetery! Eating delightful nibbly food, socializing, and posing for photos! The weather wasn’t sweltering, thanks to a rainstorm the night before, and there was a gentle breeze, which meant that the exquisitely dressed attendees weren’t in danger of collapsing from heat stroke. (I used a trick taught to me by Renn-Faire friends, and had an ice pack stuck down the front of my corset. That is a trick I am going to use again and again all summer. As a matter of fact, I may add pockets to the insides of my usual petticoats to better hold ice packs.)

The post-picnic dinner involved cheese. No, not the dairy product, but cheese in the sense of B-movie kitsch: we went to Jekyll & Hyde’s Club for dinner. For some people, J & H would be pure torture, a Chuck-E-Cheese of the Damned.But for me, going to a theme restaurant full of mad scientists, spooky butlers, murderous socialites, and an animatronic zombie band was a delight. Contrived, over-the-top, and silly, yes, but so much fun!

The fact that other diners kept mistaking me for one of the cast members just added to my amusement. One gentleman asked if he could take a photo with me. I looked at him and said, “You know I don’t work here, right?” He laughed and said, “I don’t care! You look cool!” So I grinned, and posed for the photo.

Sunday was spent running around with friends, visiting Alice’s Tea Cup (an Alice In Wonderland -themed tea shop full of yummy things) and going to the Museum of Natural History to gawk at the dinosaurs. And packing, also known as “I was able to fit all of this in here on the trip out, right?”

As I write this on the plane back to Seattle, my still sleep-deprived self (because I never did quite adapt to East Coast time) is starting to contemplate the upcoming trip to San Diego Comic-Con! The Husband and I haven’t been to SDCC in 10 years, so things should be very interesting. If you’re at San Diego Comic-Con and happen to see me, please come over and introduce yourself! But for now, I need to start figuring out my packing list, and offering up pleas to the Powers That Be that the weather in San Diego won’t be as sticky as it was in NYC …

Come back next Wednesday (July 29) for Jillian’s adventures in the wild, weird world of San Diego Comic-Con!

You’ve had a chance to meet Jillian Venters, Lip Service Webzine’s newest colunist. Now, enjoy an excerpt she selected from her book to share with all the other Fashion Freaks, complimented with beautiful illustrations by Jillian’s husband, noted fantasy artist Pete Venters. Thanks again to Jillian and Harper Collins for letting us share with you.

You can read more about Jillian and check out the dates of her book tour on her Lip Service Webzine profile feature.

Jillian (aka The Lady of the Manners)  has been graciously providing advice and tips on her website, Gothic-Charm-School.com, since 1998. Now her essays on the lifestyle and etiquette of the subculture have been compiled into her new book, Gothic Charm School: An Essential Guide For Goths And Those Who Love Them. In this practical guide to good manners, dark decorum and etiquette, Jillian answers questions such as how to dress with a dark flair while going to job interviews; if there is such a thing as “too old” to be a Goth; how to deal with questions and comments from non-Goths; and how to communicate with parents who might be concerned about the new black and spooky wardrobe their child is sporting. The Lady of the Manners also offers detailed answers to some of the more commonly asked questions that Non-Goths may have.

In this excerpt addresses the long-standing love/hate relationship between Goths and the mainstream media. What’s a Goth to do when they find themself the new darling of fashion? As always, The Lady of the Manners has the sensible answer, colored with her trademark wit.

What to do when Goth becomes the darling of the fashion industry

The mainstream fashion industry seems to have a recurring fondness for borrowing from the Goth subculture. Every couple of years, the stores are full of velvet jackets, fl owing skirts, and
lace blouses. So what should any self-respecting Goth do in the face of this? Wait for the clearance sales, of course!

Oh, all right, that was a bit on the short and flippant side, wasn’t it? But that doesn’t mean it’s
a wrong answer. The Lady of the Manners has seen this sort of thing happen before, and mainstream fashion’s fascination with black lace and velvet usually lasts for about three months. If you can hang on that long, the clearance racks, thrift stores, and re-sale boutiques will be filled with all sorts of lovely things.

Of course, that’s only one part of the dilemma. Whenever the gothic style becomes more popular, complete strangers will increasingly stop you in the street to ask questions, usually about what you’re wearing and where they can find something just like it.

No, you may not snarl or snap at the well-meaning trendy people. Not even if you’re having a particularly bad day. However, your answers don’t have to be overwhelmingly helpful either. The
Lady of the Manners has answered recent “Where did you get it?!” questions with “I found it at a thrift store” or “Oh, I don’t remember. I’ve had it for years and years,” which leaves the trendy people blinking confusedly.

Now, the Lady of the Manners can see some of you getting very fierce and uncomfortable with the idea that people can scamper down to the mall and, with a bit of determined spending,
disguise themselves as a Real Goth. “Tourists!” The Lady of the Manners can hear you cry derisively. “They’re just doing it because it’s trendy!” There, there, it’s all right. Have you gotten
that out of your system? Now, pay attention. Yes, it’s true, there will be more people disguised as one of us for a little bit. However, just because someone is wearing head-to-toe Gothic Victorian
ruffl es doesn’t mean her disguise is perfect. People dressing that way because it’s the latest trend never seem quite comfortable with it; they have that faint but unmistakable air of someone
wearing a costume, someone who is following what the media tells her to do instead of dressing that way because that’s who she is. It’s a subtle but unmistakable distinction.

Every time popular culture or fashion borrows from the darker side of the subcultural map, some people get very cross and territorial about their look and their scene. The Lady of the Manners finds such fervor endearing but on the whole not terribly helpful. You see, each and every person involved in the Goth scene had to start somewhere, and some of those people discovered their bat wings later than others. Yes, roll your eyes at people wearing “Gothic Fashion Savvy” T-shirts, but don’t automatically dismiss everyone who dabbles in darker fashions.

As an example, the Lady of the Manners merely has to point to the proliferation of skull-festooned clothing, jewelry, and home decor items that have become readily available. How much power can a symbol retain if it is so (if you’ll pardon the phrase) defanged that it is turning up in teen accessory stores across the land?

The Lady of the Manners does not believe that a person must provide proof of his or her subcultural “cred” before being allowed to own skull-festooned goodies. Not at all. But the Lady of the Manners does admit to occasionally having to quash an impulse to ask complete strangers what drew them to the skull necklace, shirt, or rain boots they’re wearing. Was it because they are interested in the symbolic meaning of the skull (or skull and crossbones)? Was it because they thought it was “edgy” and “fashion forward” (buzzwords the Lady of the Manners despises)? Or was it simply that they are big fans of the Pirates of the Caribbean movies? The Lady of the Manners would like to think that the ever-growing crop of cute skull merchandise is a sign that mainstream society is finally accepting the Goth and other alternative subcultures. (Trust the
Lady of the Manners on this, Snarklings. The way mainstream society shows its acceptance is through readily available consumer goods targeted at one’s particular subculture.)

While the Lady of the Manners is completely in favor of taking advantage of the fashion industry’s seasonal dabblings in darkness, the Lady of the Manners is also all in favor of being an informed
consumer. Do some research, read reviews, and take a close look at items before purchasing them. Just because something is made by a name brand doesn’t automatically make it any better than the old standbys; in fact, sometimes it means the quality is worse because those name brands are trying to cash in on what they think is a short-lived trend.

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Excerpt of Gothic Charm School: An Essential Guide For Goths And Those Who Love Them by Jillian Venters courtesy of Harper Collins. Text copyright (c) Jillian Venters 2009. Printed with kind permission of Harper Collins and Jillian Venters.