Under Pressure...

I'm a procrastinator. It has ranked very highly on my vice list in life, right above spending money at delectable thrift stores downtown. I have denied it, hated it, and as of late embraced it, even trying to justify my ways to people.

"See, that IS my strategy. To wait until the last minute and then bam! A fire lights under my ass and I get everything done in record time!"

"Uh-huh..."

Most people don't really procrastinate on things regarding their wedding. But here I am, two weeks away from standing in front of our friends and family reading vows and....I STILL haven't written them. Yes, I am sans vows at the moment. I just haven't found the best words to express yet. Words that are both sentimental without being sticky with sappiness. Once I do, I'll let you know, and hopefully soon, because...you know..the clock's kind of ticking...like really loud.

Along with the little devils in the details of the wedding, I find myself scrambling to pull together a badass routine for my first burlesque performance at The Surly Wench's 5th Anniversary/Birthday. I desperately want it to go perfectly, which is probably too much to expect for a first timer. But I'm a perfectionist when it comes to any art that I do, so we'll see.

All this- the wedding, the show, costume making, house hunting, choreogaphy working, etc, is happening NOW. And it isn't going to wait, I know, I have the calendar full of filled in boxes to prove it. So maybe now is as good as a time as any to scratch "procrastinating" off of my vices.

I'm still going to continue the thrift store perusing though. They can't take that away from me. No, no they can't take that away from me.

Rhinestone brassieres and things that go bitch in the night...

As you've read from the last post I've been getting into burlesque quite a bit. Since our last couple classes Colleen (the aforementioned friend who is my partner-in-crime on shimmying and corset tying) and I are now Black Cherry Burlesque's new recruits. My first show is in June and I await it with baited breath. I've always loved burlesque and am absolutely ecstatic to be living the dream. It doesn't come without questions and self-righteous smirks from people who try and bait me into debates about the difference between burlesque and stripping and moral values of either activity. But that's another blog entirely.

I've been working on strategically gluing well over a hundred red rhinestones on a bra for the debut. My back is killing me. I sit on the floor so I can see any rhinestones that may fall and because I use E6000 glue which has the magical ability to attach itself on anything within a five foot radius. So there I am for hours, tail bone a'crampin' and posture like that of a jumbo shrimp. I'll probably need glasses and a hardcore shiatsu treatment after all this. But it's for the art! The show must go on come hell or astigmatism.

Despite my euphoria in my personal life, things of a more social nature have been a sore on my ass lately. I've tried to remain calm, carry on, be above it, handle with care, but I feel I'm being stepped on and I've really had enough. So I'll just say this-

In what world do get off on being two-faced and not owning up to it? If you're going to post shit about your roomates on your little Twitter account and newfound blog, maybe you should, oh I don't know, make them private! Unless of course you're just asking for a confrontation. The same person then goes on masquerading themselves as a caring individual, a friend even, and countinues to talk shit behind your back. The same person who goes on and on about being respected and taking the high road, being "mature" and having higher morals goes on to prove themselves to be a hypocrite, and if there is one thing I don't tolerate in my life it's hypocrisy, let alone from someone who plays innocent and cries "FOUL!" when the truth is exposed. Greg had had a blowout with said person, and I had enough compassion (or maybe nievette) to stick up for them, despite the fact that more than plenty of the things Greg lashed out at her for were valid and long overdue. Turns out he wasn't just mad, he was right. Here I am, discovering this persons true colors, and frankly, I don't want to be under the same roof. It literally makes me ill.



I'm done being "nice." Like many people before this person, they've abused it. I'll stick to people that practise what they preach and are who they appear to be.



AND that's the end of that little tirade. Be sure to tune in next week.



Here's a picture of something cute to take the bad taste out of your mouth due to the last paragraph-

How A Feather Boa Saved My Life

It started off as an idea. My friend sent me a flyer about a burlsque dance class, with a note stating 'WE HAVE TO DO THIS!"

My heart flickered and then fell. I had always been in love with burlesque, the 40's, 50's (hell the 60's, 70's & 80's), vintage glamour, and the overall vibe they evoked. However, as much as I wanted to leap after the opportunity, as mch as it would be a dream realized, a wave of self-conciousness fell over me.

"Well, as long as we aren't taking it all off. I'm not even in shape for a bikini. Pregnancy was not kind to my body." I replied.

We walked into our first class quiet and unsure. We had quickly realized that all the women in the class/teaching were already in Black Cherry Burlesque. We were pretty much the only complete novices. And we were scared. How do we hold our own with these master vixens? These beautiful professionals at the art of the tease.

We would try.

It's been about 4 weeks since our first class, and with every new class came a new sense of confidence.

"I can't believe I'm finally doing this" I told Colleen. "It's always been just an idea in my head and now we're actually here doing this."

Every night after our class I come home smiling. Every night after our class there is a bit more spring (or bump) in my step.

"How was it," Greg will greet me."Awesome, as usual....did you know..." and I gab on and on until he throws his arms around me and says- "I'm so happy you found something you love doing."

At our last class, we finally commited. We decided we'd try to take it to the next level and join the troupe. We still have a lot of practises, history learning, costume constructing, and music selecting before we finally audition. Before those ruby stage lights illuminate us. But we're there, taking it all in and enjoying every second of it.

"Well, how does a class change your life," you may wonder.

But it's more than just a class. It has become a lifestyle. A place to go to for refuge. A place where you are allowed to have more jiggle in your step, stretch marks, or cellulite AND you're still beautiful. A place where you can give the finger to what society has deemed "the norm" (i.e.- a size 2 and below and manufactured looks) and you can celebrate being a WOMAN. A woman with curves. A woman who celebrates her sensuality and individuality. Empowered.

The women in my class inspire me. They are strong, feminine and wonderful. They are the types of women I've been seeking out for friendships for so long, but was always too shy to approach. Islands in a sea of catty, back-stabbing, girls. I had had little to no confidence in the female until March 11th, and now I'm actually happy to be one again. I haven't found a way to thank them yet.

"How's the dancing going" a friend IMed me last night.

"Fantastic. I think I've found a whole new lease. I'm so happy. I'm in love," I gushed.

"That's so great! I knew you had it in you" they replied.

Maybe I have had it in me all along. I suppose it was just hiding behind the curtain waiting.

I'm ready now.

Summer, summer, summertime...

I suppose it's technically "spring" in the Old Pueblo, but when you wake up to 64 degree temperatures outside and a sun that just keeps on keeping on, you tend to think "summer."

I bought Jack some new swim trunks yesterday, and although we're waiting until the move to buy a little pool for him, I can't help but want to frolic in sprinklers and drink lemonade on our porch anyway. This is odd behavior for me, as I usually avoid the sun, heat and the consiquental redness both bring. I suppose I just enjoy life more these days.

I want to explore and show Jack the world. I want to pick ladybugs off of bushes, watch them crawl up on the tip of my finger and make wishes when they fly off. I want to lick raspberry flavored popsicles and watch cotton giraffes in the sky. I want the smell of sunscreen and long afternoons. Straw hats and sunglasses.

Last year at this time I was in the throughs of new motherhood. Learning the ropes and holeing up in our apartment because it was so hot. There was nothing I wanted more than A.C., sleep, and the 40 lbs post-baby to fall off as fast as the sweat from my brow did. This year I plan on making things different. I want the summers I had as a kid, and what more of a reason to do it now that I HAVE a kid!

This has been one of the most fun parts of parenthood. Dusting off the memories you had as a kid and recycling them into something new for your child. I am beyond thankful for this. For my parents for making my childhood so great with so little. I hope Jack will be able to say the same one day.

Until then, we'll keep searching for ladybugs and staring at the sky.