The other day my daughter asked me what I thought of hummers. Well, I knew she wasn’t talking about big ugly vehicles, but she’s in her 40’s for goodness sake and she’s asking me about that now? I do know a lot about humming, I will gladly admit. I hum when I’m enjoying myself. You know, like when I’m dancing, reading, writing, day dreaming, shopping or happily involved (with a hummable partner) in other miscellaneous pursuits…And being the creative gal that I am, I have tried out a few ways to improve my humming capabilities. So I answered her question by going into some detail on my past experiments in the oral pleasure realm. These were all before I had a tongue piercing. More about that later.

When I’m busy with humble tasks and endeavors, I absentmindedly think of stupid little songs. Tunes from girl scout camp like the Girl Scout Smile song or Make New Friends (but keep the old, one is silver and the other’s gold). Ugh, I hated going to camp. Why do I keep dredging up those songs from the deep dark recesses of my brain? Oh, so my experiments. Humming a chorale medley or a jaunty ballad work very nicely, especially if there is a full throated chorus leading up to a raucous grande finale. Mints and redhots were kind of ho-hum. Alka-seltzer was fun and also good for digestion. Ice cubes were okay but didn’t go over so big (if you know what I mean). The winner was Pop Rocks! Those tasty, snappy bits of candy that explode right inside your mouth. A sweet treat for all involved!

Then came the age of body piercing. Of course we will all want to shove a long hard bar of metal or a captive ring of steel through any available appendage or pinchable bit of skin! Why in the world wouldn’t we? Let’s discuss tongue piercings in particular, because that is why we are all here today, right?

Once you get through the healing process of a tongue piercing, there are many choices for jewelry to adorn your mouth organ with. Although this piercing is mostly done to enhance oral sexual encounters, it is also a uniquely decorative fashion statement. Barbells can be worn with various top balls. The “fidget” rings added to the barbell in my photo can spin and smack together funnily. (FYI, a tongue piercing can help the wearer quit smoking since the jewelry play can substitute for the oral habits involved with smoking!) Gems and jewels often sparkle and glitter when the wearer speaks. The “statement” balls say silly and/or raunchy things, if you want to lean in close enough to read the tiny letters! I always liked the glow in the dark stuff, so you could see where my tongue was headed at night. Then there are the rubber “ticklers” that can be added on top for, well, use your imagination.

The absolute ultimate contraption, for those very special occasions, would be the “vibrator” barbell. (Way better than humming show tunes) Yes, it is heavy and cumbersome and not for the faint of heart but it is well worth the effort. I will, however, issue a warning. I wore one of those damn vibrating things once, until my tongue went completely numb. I ended up badly biting my poor innocent tongue and it bled incessantly! That sure turned a sexy porn show into a bloody horror scene real quick, lemme tell ya.

I do not miss my tongue piercing. That big metal bar was always in the way. I like to do clever things with my tongue like tie cherry stems and clean my nostrils. I couldn’t whistle with the barbell in place nor could I swallow my tongue, which I safely learned to do long ago for shits and giggles. (I have no gag reflex, winkwink) I would much rather have a limber appendage, without a dangling piece of steel, that is deftly proficient in its playfully useful tasks. Having a huge repertoire of lively hummable songs is also a big benefit but, more importantly, I keep a good supply of Pop Rocks nearby!

Over the years, I have done a few of these strange little toilet flower tattoos. The one pictured above I just did recently, so I am all primed to share my home town “Toilet Gardens” story with you. Let’s plunge right in!

Potsdam has come to be known in some circles as Potty Town. A local resident has planted these toilet gardens on some of his properties around town. He feels he has a valid right to decorate his lawns in this way but has gotten a lot of crap from the many residents who think it smears their wholesome small town’s image. For close to 25 years, he has tended the flowers in his odd toilet gardens. It all began as a “porcelain protest” over a zoning dispute with the town government. Let me flush out the story a bit for you.

Hank Robar, a longtime Potsdam resident and property owner, wanted to rezone one of his parcels to sell. The town officials denied his request and continued to deny his subsequent petitions, some involving other properties he owns. So Hank, being the clever jolly fellow that he is ( I’ve known him for years), created his colorful bathroom displays not only in protest but also as artistic installations. The ensuing two decade debate in the local court system has been an argument over whether these repurposed fixtures are illegal under the “junk storage ordinance” or are protected under the first amendment as free artistic expression. Potsdam residents are very divided on the subject. It has, however, become somewhat of a tourist attraction so, let’s get a toilet think tank going and stir up some new marketing ideas!

They should make me Chamber Pot President and I would have a great time creating new and more dramatic toiletry presentations. The streets could have toilet seat framed name signs (being renamed as Latrine Lane or Privy Place for instance) and the street lights could have plunger-like lampshades. A town newsletter and event listing for visitors might be called The Potty Papers. (Free toilet brush pens as souvenirs!) There should be a Pottydam Day with a parade of floats decorated by streams of toilet paper and all sorts of crapper creations. (Free lemonade and urinal cakes for all!) And, of course we would build a Potty Park with a bidet fountain in the center to toss coins in. Oh, I could go on and on with this because, obviously, I love toilet humor (and especially outhouses) but I better put a lid on it for now.

Some local folks have jumped on the Potty Parade bandwagon. We have Tee-shirts and a board game that can purchased. And a fellow resident made a documentary about this whole story called Potty Town which was well received by critics and widely available to watch. There have been several national write-ups about it. It has become Potsdam’s own Game of Thrones!

Me? I will continue to be in my little castle doing occasional toilet flower tattoos on young ladies’ butts. And enjoying myself by writing about the interesting experiences I am lucky to be part of.

At my dentist appointment today I was surprised to learn that my broken-off crown would be not so simple to replace. The itinerary for the following year is: Craggy tongue slicing tooth pulled (done), heal that miserable mess (done), scrape and grind deep into my mouth skeleton and insert cadaver bone material (today’s fabulous experience done), graft that bad boy in for weeks and then determinedly screw in the steel posts for an implant, let these posts marinate in cadaver bone juice for a few months and next, go in for one of those fill-your-mouth-with-giant-globs-of-expanding-rubberized-clay impression trays til it hardens and sticks so badly that it feels like your teeth will get yanked out with it (I obviously harbor a pet peeve here). Then wait impatiently for a shiny new tooth to emerge from the laboratory (should I order a gold one?) to be pounded onto those posts at what I hope will be the final appointment.

So, as I sit tonight, carefully eating a boring gruel-like substance to not aggravate the pain (because I hate to take any pharmy meds) with my tooth hole now filled with some dead guy’s ground up bones, I mull over the marvels of modern dentistry. My dentist said that some of the bonebits could seep out from under the stitches (I can hardly wait!) that were laboriously dug with great force through my gum tissue in, what I can only guess was an effort to imprison dead guy’s DNA under the crisscross of that torturous stitchery until it mutates into my own DaNA genome.

Okay then, I have questions. Will I be eating dead guy bonebits? Can I then call myself a cannibal? What if I reject unknown human bonebits? What if I were a vegetarian (which I am not)? When I assimilate some of dead guy’s DNA will I develop new personality traits? Maybe I will have lucid nightmares of hanging from a meat hook at the morgue (like the tale my father continually regaled me with after he donated his body to science). Hmmm….

My dentist said I had a curious tongue. How sweet! He kept telling me to keep it out of the way. It was a difficult task! My tongue is pretty special and quite curious I will admit. I can swallow it at will, I can tie cherry stems in a knot, I can touch my nose and my chin with it (although not simultaneously). Cool, huh?

Well, I wrote this poem while dutifully waiting for the novocaine (that pharmy I will gladly use!) to wear off. Of course, I had to make a production out of it and create a poster design. I plan to give it to my dentist. He is the best!

Enjoy!

Oh, and I shall name my cadaver tooth Clarence. I know it’s manbone because guys are always trying to get in my mouth, one way or another!

My dear reader! Let me ask, do you have body piercings? Are you prone to one night stands, spontaneous hook ups or an occasional zipless fuck perhaps? Well, then, please do read on.

During my many years as a body artist, I have experienced a lot of unusual situations, most of which are quite entertaining to relate. I love to regale an audience with my true tales of these fond remembrances. I once had to assist two people who had their lip jewelry caught together. Luckily they were nearby and the trek to my shop, though embarrassingly funny to see, was safely accomplished and detanglement was performed successfully. There was the time I had to phone-talk two clients through the task of extricating his nipple barbell from her navel ring. This involved a selfie (which I can’t find now, dammit!) close up of the area for me to study so I could figure out the problem.

The subject of discussion here today, however, is a bit more serious — or could be. It pertains to body piercing jewelry that may be involved in various sexual acts, positions or experimentations. Do you know if that guy at the bar has a penis piercing tucked away down below? Does your new date have a surreptitiously placed piercing that she did not disclose on Tinder? This could be important information to know! Take the Jacob’s Ladder, for instance. This is several piercings along the underside of a penis, usually with barbells placed in a ladder-like position. (google it, winkwink) A very attractive display, I must say, and pleasurable for the wearer. For that person’s sexual partner, however, not so much. I have not had the opportunity to verify this (nor do I want to) but I have heard firsthand of the pain and discomfort it causes the person receiving that handsomely pierced cock. It has been described as “like getting fucked with a chainsaw”. Oh my oh my! Really? A condom could reduce the extreme “snagging”, though, and protect you from all sorts of other things as well. There are plenty of ways jewelry can get twisted and hooked, just use your imagination. My point is for folks to be informed, prepared and make sure you have your body piercer’s number on speed dial!

And now shall we move on to the particular subject matter dearest to my heart and to my own ladyparts? The IUD vs. The Penis Ring.

My personal relationship with IUDs (contraceptive intrauterine devices) happily spans the many years that I put to good use three types of IUDs. All these devices are placed in a uterus by a Doctor and can be worn for several years to avoid pregnancy. It hurts going in and it hurts coming out. In between, it is a carefree delight. There is a length of stringlike material that hangs from the cervix and vagina so that the position of the IUD can be continually checked. Now entering this scenario is a long stiff cock sporting a heavy, steel ring or barbell on the end of it and moving in and out, forward and backward, up and down — you get the picture I’m sure. Do you truly believe that the dangling string will not get wrapped and caught around barbell balls or ring curves during this frenetic process?! I never wanted to risk it. No thanks! Take your damn jewelry off first, Mister. Can you imagine the excruciating surprise of getting a painfully inserted piece of metal-wrapped plastic ripped violently through your tiny cervix opening? Well, I can. And, yes, this is from a woman’s point of view but it would be mighty painful for you fellows too.

For any fans of Grey’s Anatomy, there was an episode where this exact thing happened to a couple. It wasn’t very realistically done but it was an amusing depiction of a very possible situation. So I urge you all to be forewarned, be prepared and be informed in this age of sexual freedom and prevalent body piercings. It sure does lend new meaning to the term “hooking up”.

And especially for this post, I have written a cute little limerick for your added enjoyment.

Cheers!

Once in awhile a body piercing bleeds a lot more than expected. I am usually watchful and ready for those certain areas that tend to bleed, like noses, ears and maybe an eyebrow. Also, there are a number of factors that affect how much a piercing or tattoo bleeds. Is the client taking meds or supplements that thin their blood? Have they been drinking alcohol? Are they anemic? There is some anecdotal evidence that redheads bleed more as well as scientific studies that have found that redheads are more difficult to anesthetize and feel pain differently. I can personally vouch for that! One tattoo I did on a big fellow’s arm (not a redhead) bled profusely to the point where it was hard to see and the ink was not holding well. I was asking him my standard questions with no luck in figuring out the issue. It dawned on me that, given his size and ruddy complexion, he might have high blood pressure. Sure enough, he and his family members all had high blood pressure! That was a new one for me. (I did struggle through the tattoo successfully.)

The one cause that I am particularly fond of notating, is the phase that the moon is in when I am doing a procedure. For many years, I have been documenting this. The moon’s position and phases are known to rule ocean tides our waterfilled bodies in various ways. Women’s birthing processes are definitely affected plus studies have found that women’s ovulation and menstrual cycles are also impacted. I have found that my clients generally bleed more just before the full moon. Although I have yet to chart how the barometric pressure at the time of a procedure might also be influenced, I believe that it is. All this is good for everybody to consider before scheduling a piercing or tattoo and, most importantly, hospital operations and surgeries!

Anyway, there isn’t much more of a story here. Hannah came in for a bridge piercing which I performed efficiently, surprised though I was by the gushing of blood. (And it was a day before a full moon, I should have checked!!) She was very happy, kept smiling throughout and was pleased with the result.

On second thought, after seeing this photo of her again, that might actually be more of a grimace than a smile though.

A Pierced Tongue-in-Cheek Discussion

Today, my friends, I would love to delve into an oft neglected subject in piercingdom. Odiferous secretions. The topic is usually avoided but I, for one, was curious and therefore did some investigating. This phenomenon which is found offensive to some, embarrassing to most, but fascinating to me is the occurrence of a smelly, seeping condition where skin has been pierced and jewelry is being worn. We here at Alchemistress Body Arts affectionately coined the term “mung” many years ago. As bodily secretions go, mung is by far more pleasant than the frightful smegma or the noxious phlegm, but a bit more problematic than a sloppy goober or some innocuous gunk (see also gleet). Lots of g’s in them thar words ……. At any rate, I myself am rather fond of mung (or at least my own mung that is!) but then I bury my nose in the crack of any book, huff on kerosene lamps and hang out in cellars a lot.

So what is this infamous mung, you might ask? Well, it is an innocent byproduct of exudation which is the slow discharge of fluid, cells or serums from cells or blood vessels through small pores or breaks in the membranes. This natural process can occur long after a piercing is healed if the site becomes inflamed or irritated. Mung is created from the accumulation and occlusion of these substances and develops a distinctive smell when it remains trapped by tight jewelry, flaps of skin or heavy clothing where bacteria can flourish. In other words, if you don’t clean and aerate it, it will stink! To what extent can be dependent on such things as your own particular body chemistry, the type and placement of your piercing and/or what kind of jewelry you choose to wear.

Generally, the more you stretch a body piercing the more you will experience those noticeable “mung moments”, especially if you are wearing jewelry that is held in close contact to the expanded skin. Since earlobes are a frequently stretched piercing, the preponderance of mungi produced is found on the ears. Hence earmung-as opposed to navelmung or nipplemung-is the most pertinent to this discussion. Septummung can be particularly fragrant to the wearer for obvious reasons of course. I like to move my septum jewelry a tiny bit to enjoy the aroma, but I suppose that could just be me. Unlike septummung, which you will most often be aware of yourself, earmung can be frustratingly capricious. Right when you think it’s safely confined between the flanges of your shiny earlets, a nod of the head, a tossing of hair or just chewing gum can, before you know it, send mungus fumes wafting about your personal space. That quick hug at the family reunion, a peck on the cheek at graduation or even a whispered comment in the theater will have you wondering, “When was the last time I washed my ears?”

What can one do besides constantly brandishing a handiwipe and risk smelling like disinfectant? Well, adequate care and maintenance is the trick. I suggest an herbal soap with antimicrobial properties like tea tree, neem or lemon for cleansing. Then you can apply essential oils to inhibit bacterial growth. I favor a coconut/lavender concoction myself. On days when the mungidity is high, I dose the site with a hefty shot of a tea tree oil mix and then replace my washed and essential oil soaked jewelry. I believe natural health care goods from a reputable source are the best to use.

For those of you out there with critical mung issues, there are some simple behavioral modifications that you can adopt to alleviate your situation. Wear your hair loose, stand downwind during conversations, avoid unnecessary embraces and never, I repeat, never play with your ears in public. Seriously though, you can choose jewelry that is less mung friendly such as wood, horn or bone products. Acrylic items harbor bacteria and promote mung formation as do things with crevices and edges like o-rings and screw-on steel flesh tunnels. Someone should invent antimung material for ear plugs or make large gauge jewelry perforated with air holes. Or how about a unique mung deodorizer?

All in all, I think mung is an intriguing subject worthy of further scrutiny. For when reflecting on my own personal “mung moments”, I often find them to be endearingly special. Like the mung produced after my flesh tunnels served as finger pulls during…hmmm. Well, anyway, there are always new mungerities to discover in the future. For instance, have you ever noticed that more mung forms during the full moon? Again, that’s probably just me, but you folks could do me a favor and keep track of your own memorable mung moments and other mungabilia. Send me a report! I do hope you will all embrace your own individual mungessences to better learn your personal mungal phases and nuances. Timing is everything in life-which reminds me-I’ve got to go clean my ears!!

[ This was originally published in Pain Magazine in May of 2005. I have edited it a bit for this publication ]

Potsdam is a small town with four colleges nearby so most of my clients were, and still are, students wanting to get their first tattoo. This means I need to deal with the various fears and reactions of these young newbies. Over the years, there have been screams and tears, jerking and jumping, drooling and boogers, fainting and seizures, bleeding and puking and, well, this particular situation. A very shy girl came in with a boy friend one day. I don’t remember her name but, as always, I remember the tattoo. It was a sun and stars on the back of her neck. At that time, my daughter watched the front counter while I was doing procedures in the back rooms. I always try to make customers feel welcome and comfortable when visiting my shop. This girl did not seem overly nervous but she was very quiet. I put her in the chair and sat down behind her to start the tattoo. Her friend sat nearby. Things progressed nicely until she suddenly stiffened and began seizing. This in and of itself was not a big issue as I am great at all facets of nursing so I held her and kept her safe where she sat. Her friend freaked, though, and my daughter had to make him sit quietly and breathe in the next room.

This was my first of two seizure experiences, most people only faint or get woozy. It did get a little crazy for a minute! She came back around in a totally confused and embarrassed state, of course, confiding awkwardly to me that her boy friend was new. Then, absolutely mortified, she whispered that, you guessed it, she had peed her pants. Thus ensued a quick scrabble on my part to ensure her privacy while remedying the matter. I made up excuses, shut the door and set about cleaning the pee puddled chair seat. Now, as you might remember, I happened to have had a lovely selection of unique attire at hand. So I discreetly chose a suitable pair of pants for her to change into. Those colorful pants, named Penelope, were once worn by a slightly eccentric artist in the 60’s who was known for splashy, kinetic art installations. I thought them rather appropriate.

There was no saving the wet tattoo chair. I stowed it away and, bless her heart, we began anew (lying down in case of a repeat occurrence). All’s well that ends well they say, and she successfully completed her sunny yellow tattoo while holding the new boyfriend’s sympathetic — yet unaware of the circumstances — hand. My sweet, shy client went home with a nice new tattoo plus a matching pair of vintage Penny pants. I would venture to say that the experience was her own personal Nightmare on Elm Street!