Warning: This blog would probably be viewed as containing TMI (too much information) so please turn back now if that offends you. For the good of this "experiment" I feel it is only fair to include all the details. You have been warned!
Okay, we are ONE WEEK away and the reality has officially set in: It is crunch time!
The last couple of weeks have been a whole mix of putting a costume together, finding the right songs, learning (very slowly) how to edit these songs together, and of course, setting the routine!
In the middle of that, I have discovered even MORE wonderful fears! Yay! Also, the difficulty involved in the art of being sexy. Let me explain this with a story. One of my lovely company members and I decided it would be a good idea to attend another burlesque class with a new instructor to switch things up, so we went to a drop in class. It turned out, we were the only two who showed up on this muggy, sunny Monday afternoon, so we had a private class. We were excited.
The instructor was sarcastic, voluptuous, strong and saucy, and I was instantly terrified of her. We decided to learn some more glove moves (you can never have too many glove moves it seems) and she overwhelmed us with massive amounts of tips, techniques and information, woven with stories of her success and sex appeal as a professional burlesque dancer. As I watched her demonstrate with absolute ease, like she could actually do it in her sleep, I was mesmerized by her opposing hand and leg. What really struck me was that she seemed to know intuitively what to do with her limbs to ALWAYS look sexy. It was an art. A gift. A gift that I unfortunately do not naturally possess.
At the end of the class, she turned on some random music and told us to demonstrate what we had learned with gloves. Right at that moment, the next class came in, an advanced class of burlesque dancers who were now our impromptu audience, and suddenly I couldn't remember any of the moves she had showed us. I glanced at my partner in crime, and with a little grin of encouragement, I bit the bullet and displayed, teased, removed, flourished, and discarded those gloves, with a teeny bit of sex appeal.
When we left the class the question that kept coming back to me was "how did she look so sexy no matter what she did?" I mean, she could just put her foot and hip in the right spot and BAM, sexy, where as I would try the same move, look in the mirror and BAM awkward. It really was an art form, and one that I cannot hope to learn in the
remaining days before the show, so all I can do is try to emulate the
art of being sexy. Respect.
In other news, I had a sudden realization last week that I was not exactly properly groomed in certain areas for the skimpy things I would be wearing in public, and if I left it to the last minute I would inevitably have a skin reaction and be even more embarrassed, and we don't need that. I don't want to repeat myself, as I have blogged about this before, but I have an issue with full hair removal, down there. I frankly feel prepubescent without any hair. I am a strong believer that real women have hair, but in these particular circumstance, I needed more of it off than normal.
Sadly, my usual lady was all booked up, so I looked for other alternatives and ended up at the ten spot. Hey, they are known for their waxing. So, I stroll in for my appointment, and was led down 2 flights of stairs into the dungeon of waxing, fit with cement hallways and all, and into the very usual-looking little room, and the very nice lady told me I could turn on netflix to whatever I liked. What?? Alright this age we live in is pretty darn cool. I chose to watch Sherlock Holmes while the nice lady ripped hair off of some sensitive areas.
What an interesting thing it is to realize, as I am spread eagle on the table, that this strange woman whom I just met five minutes ago, has a very close look at my intimate parts. Talk about vulnerability. Well, I thought, if I can do this, I guess I can strip too!
Anyway, it turned out to not be too painful at all, thank goodness, and after a couple of days of CRAZED itching, I'm doing just fine.
Now, it is all about practice, practice, practice. I made a deal with myself that I had to finally set the moves, and then be done with it, which has worked out pretty well. Confidence has been pretty good until the moment yesterday when I realized just how many stretch marks I could find on my jiggly thighs and butt. In the middle of my rehearsal I found myself becoming obsessed with it, starring, and feeling violently ill. I sat down defeated and decided that I could not do this after all. No one wants to see that. After a ten minute pity party, I forced myself to look in the mirror again, and remind myself that no one is expecting perfection. Imperfection is beautiful. Imagine how many people would feel shitty about themselves if they saw that my body was absolutely perfect, right? I'm doing it for US, all of US! WARTS AND ALL! (Luckily I don't actually have warts, but you know what I mean.) Let's love our bodies with our imperfections, and that starts with me taking my clothes off to show that I am not perfect, but I can still be sexy.
Here we go!
Love and kindness all.
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