Someone brought this up on Second Life and I'm pissed off enough to go over it here. She was roleplaying a courtesan because, as she said, "I don't like what escort or prostitute sounds like." I looked at her profile. "I'm a geisha courtesan and trained in the art of companionship." This does NOT make any sense. I brought it up to her. She told me I didn't know what a geisha was. I fumed, and then the sim crashed, so I wasn't able to say this to her, but it bears a posting here for the sake of refreshing my own memory, and for everyone else's information.
The Differences Between Geisha and Courtesans:
Geisha
- Exclusively Japanese
- Belong to a house
- Owe a massive debt to their house for the use of the kimonos and makeup and training which is paid off over the course of their lives
- Obi ties in the back
- Trained in many arts for the sake of entertaining clients of the Geisha house
Courtesans
- Primarily European
- Independant
- No debt to anyone
- Vast majority are not formally trained in any art
- All flash and show, geared towards sexual fulfillment and often took the place of wives in public as well as in private
I'm aware that one of the few similarities between the two was that they had specific gentlemen callers who would give them gifts, but the gifts almost always went to the geisha house and not the individual. On top of this, courtesans held no higher standing in public and due to their sexual nature were not considered on par with the men who sought them out, nor did they rise in the courtesan ranks over time, like a geisha would. There were no courtesan ranks! Geisha means trained in the arts, for fuck's sake. Courtesans were originally female groupies of whoever was in power/held the court at the time.
You CANNOT be a "geisha courtesan." It makes no sense.
...Bitch.
P.S. To the person whom I told to read my archives. I bet you were confused, eh? I forgot I took them down. My apologies.
P.P.S. Mario Batali is fantastic.
3.17.2006
3.15.2006
- You're going back to school at the end of the year and will be in school for the next three, four, seven years.
- You'll be in Japan in two years.
- After you're back in the states, you'll be in Japan again for a few years at least, and you do NOT want to raise children in Japan.
- Your mother would flip.
- Your father's lineage would continue.
- They'd be related to Lael. Not only that, but they might turn out like his parents.
- You don't like the human race and don't want it to exist in the first place.
- Your feelings of needing to clean up after your fellow humans in the form of adoption would never be sated.
- You don't know three languages yet to teach to them.
- You're not even of legal drinking age yet. Not like you care, but maybe you will.
- Your mother has ovarian cysts and had to have C-sections. You have no idea whether you're genetically okay to do this.
- You're poor, you need to save up money first.
- Those jokes about you and him giving birth to the devil himself are still true.
- Finishing college will be very difficult, nigh impossible, and will make your mommy sad.
- You just used the word mommy.
For babies:
- Josiah's getting to that age.
- His parents would probably have a reason to like me. Or pretend to.
- Josiah doesn't want to adopt.
- The younger you are, the more likely the kid won't have defects.
- You'll have more energy.
- Your mom didn't do too bad, being 21 and all.
- Babies. With Josiah. Little Josiah babies. Taisawa babies. Cute little brown-eyed baby people. Blonde, even, perhaps. Brown hair grey eyes, blonde hair brown eyes. Yours. Made of Josiah. Together.
- On the beach, picking them up and swinging them into the ocean. Their open hands full of baby crabs and sand. Grinning, laughing, screaming, chasing each other.
- Oh God, what's wrong with me.
When more things slop into the for rather than the against, we'll talk. Otherwise, Adrienne, keep your head on straight.
3.13.2006
I pine for the day when Missy's abortion of a marriage fails spectacularly and I crush her underneath my success.
Mmmmmm. Delicious hate.
Moving on, I was recommended a Japanese novel to get me started with hardcore nihongo learningz. Kokoro by Natsume Soseki. Sounds good.
Josiiiaaahh beeebbiieesss. :3
...Holy God, I want to get married and have bebbies and buy a house. Where the FUCK is this coming from?
>_o Agh.
...Xavier sounds nice...
Mmmmmm. Delicious hate.
Josiiiaaahh beeebbiieesss. :3
...Holy God, I want to get married and have bebbies and buy a house. Where the FUCK is this coming from?
>_o Agh.
...Xavier sounds nice...
3.04.2006
Thoughts right now:
Ugh, fucking cramps. This period will never end.
That story about the box of kittens still haunts me.
Clover can be posed in a variety of ways when she's very sleepy.
Josiah hates how young I am.
Good, now we're all caught up with right now. How about today?
I hurt my back in the same way I hurt it at Camp Sealth. Something's wrong with the muscles, strained them or something, but my upper back and shoulders ache and there's nothing I can do about it short of giving it a rest. So I'm giving it a rest by quitting that inconsequential retail job at Goodwill. It was the customers, and the pains in my body, and the mismanagement, and the $8/hr using exactly zero of my marketable skills and being a little retail robot with nary a thought in my head. I was aware of the metamorphosis, and let it happen. I let it happen to myself, I let the robot take over. It's the only way I could get through the day.
The first day on register was painful. Slow. Static. I was trapped in a glass barricade with baubles from the last century as ammo. (Part of me is afraid that Josiah has now grown tired of me and reads this as if it were some sort of ancient Egyptian tablet of hieroglyphs. He was right. Which one was it?) The two patient gentle Indian women took care of me, but by and large I was on my own. Supervisor tells me I get a spontaneous raise for no reason. Great. Who cares? All I wanted to get through was the day. I had no idea how my body could have energy stores large enough to do this all over again the next day.
Seriously, my back is killing me. I'm too ashamed of hating this job so much to ask for anyone to rub it. Like I should be wearing this knot as punishment for being stupid or unreasonable or just plain young.
I brought that new black book with me, and tarnished it with some mumbling about how, when I'm famous, they'll look back on all my writing without dates for reference. That had been one of the reasons I had made this in the first place. Needing a date for my writings, babbling, doodles, whatever I made.
Angel's going to be seven on April second. Amazing. Time falls away so fast.
I feel twelve and awkward, too skinny legs (which I never had) and all thumbs. Tripping myself with myself. Bleeeeeeeeding, so tired of blood everywhere, on my hands sometimes even, having to wash it and the metallic scent of money off my hands. There was a really nice shirt there that I was thinking about buying my mother. Too bad eh? I couldn't have afforded it anyway, she would've wanted me to spend it on the car payment.
I have no idea what I'm going to do with this credit card. I feel so ashamed for having one and not being able to pay it off immediately. How did I get here, I demand of myself, but I already know. It started with that stupid hand-made curtain I dried. My huge mistake costing everyone money. Again, picking a job that I like but that has no security. My huge mistake. My huge fuck ups, all of them all around me like keepsakes, reminding me all the time of why I'm here and that it's no one else's fault but me.
One of those things, Josiah, that you were looking for me to learn? Some of my best everything comes from hardships and hard times. I'm aware of this. I would never intentionally put myself in a very bad situation in order to drawn inspiration out of it, however, because the only bad time that ever drew such beauty from such a garish wound is when you and I go down into the shitter. Nothing else is worth much. I have a few memories from that job, a few things I was asked, conversations, people I met or never met.
Dancing's what makes me whole
"I like your hair. Are you an artist?"
How flattering. That smile was genuine, let me tell you what.
I tried to convince myself that I liked it and that I was there for a reason, but something crawled out from inside me and I was left with an answer without a question or reason.
Not much of a difference between unloading like this and babbling, I suppose. Josiah's probably falling asleep or waiting for me to so he can slip back to his computer.
Oh God, have I gained some of that weight back? What a crushing defeat.
That story about the box of kittens still haunts me.
Clover can be posed in a variety of ways when she's very sleepy.
Josiah hates how young I am.
I hurt my back in the same way I hurt it at Camp Sealth. Something's wrong with the muscles, strained them or something, but my upper back and shoulders ache and there's nothing I can do about it short of giving it a rest. So I'm giving it a rest by quitting that inconsequential retail job at Goodwill. It was the customers, and the pains in my body, and the mismanagement, and the $8/hr using exactly zero of my marketable skills and being a little retail robot with nary a thought in my head. I was aware of the metamorphosis, and let it happen. I let it happen to myself, I let the robot take over. It's the only way I could get through the day.
The first day on register was painful. Slow. Static. I was trapped in a glass barricade with baubles from the last century as ammo. (Part of me is afraid that Josiah has now grown tired of me and reads this as if it were some sort of ancient Egyptian tablet of hieroglyphs. He was right. Which one was it?) The two patient gentle Indian women took care of me, but by and large I was on my own. Supervisor tells me I get a spontaneous raise for no reason. Great. Who cares? All I wanted to get through was the day. I had no idea how my body could have energy stores large enough to do this all over again the next day.
Seriously, my back is killing me. I'm too ashamed of hating this job so much to ask for anyone to rub it. Like I should be wearing this knot as punishment for being stupid or unreasonable or just plain young.
I brought that new black book with me, and tarnished it with some mumbling about how, when I'm famous, they'll look back on all my writing without dates for reference. That had been one of the reasons I had made this in the first place. Needing a date for my writings, babbling, doodles, whatever I made.
Angel's going to be seven on April second. Amazing. Time falls away so fast.
I feel twelve and awkward, too skinny legs (which I never had) and all thumbs. Tripping myself with myself. Bleeeeeeeeding, so tired of blood everywhere, on my hands sometimes even, having to wash it and the metallic scent of money off my hands. There was a really nice shirt there that I was thinking about buying my mother. Too bad eh? I couldn't have afforded it anyway, she would've wanted me to spend it on the car payment.
I have no idea what I'm going to do with this credit card. I feel so ashamed for having one and not being able to pay it off immediately. How did I get here, I demand of myself, but I already know. It started with that stupid hand-made curtain I dried. My huge mistake costing everyone money. Again, picking a job that I like but that has no security. My huge mistake. My huge fuck ups, all of them all around me like keepsakes, reminding me all the time of why I'm here and that it's no one else's fault but me.
One of those things, Josiah, that you were looking for me to learn? Some of my best everything comes from hardships and hard times. I'm aware of this. I would never intentionally put myself in a very bad situation in order to drawn inspiration out of it, however, because the only bad time that ever drew such beauty from such a garish wound is when you and I go down into the shitter. Nothing else is worth much. I have a few memories from that job, a few things I was asked, conversations, people I met or never met.
Dancing's what makes me whole
"I like your hair. Are you an artist?"
How flattering. That smile was genuine, let me tell you what.
I tried to convince myself that I liked it and that I was there for a reason, but something crawled out from inside me and I was left with an answer without a question or reason.
Not much of a difference between unloading like this and babbling, I suppose. Josiah's probably falling asleep or waiting for me to so he can slip back to his computer.
Oh God, have I gained some of that weight back?
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