On the Hunt: Part one- "I am a Llama"

"Hi there, I was just wondering if you are currently hiring?"
"Oh, I don't think so, but we are always accepting resumes."
"Oh, okay, well I guess I'll drop one off anyway..."
"Oh no, we don't actually accept them here, like in the store, you have to go online and fill out the application, and download it, and then do the online questionnaire. Then they usually call for a phone interview, and then maybe an in person interview. I mean, If you make it that far."
"Oh...Okay. Thanks."
"Thanks for stopping by David's Tea. Have a nice day."

So here's the deal. I am in a new city, in the middle of February, and I am looking for a job. Not exactly the most ideal time to find one, but 'tis the situation. I have been encountering some very interesting advertisements, to say the least, so I have decided to chronicle my job search by opening up the old blog here, and letting y'all laugh/cry/crawl into a hole and hide away from the world along with me!

To start it off, I would love to talk about my latest interview experience, which we will title: I am a llama.

It started the usual way, I found a job posting online, on an arts website that had a listing of arts-type jobs. Animator. It looked somewhat interesting, and was asking for people who were theatrically inclined and like working with children, and needed to have an interest in science- I really don't know anything about science but that doesn't mean I'm not "Interested" right? And since it paid 5$ more an hour than most of the jobs listed, I figured I could fake it-so it seemed perfect! I sent in the exhausted, copy and pasted cover letter with the right position inserted at the top, and an extra line about how much I love science, and I was done.

A couple of days later I received an email from the HR department saying that I had passed the first screening for the animator position. (Go me!) and they would like me to fill out a form to see if I qualified for the second stage. Okey doke. The form mainly consisted of what hours of availability I had, and if I was willing to work a variety of shifts, and some very basic information about me. Pfff Easy peazy! I sent it off feeling like a rock star who had definitely just passed the second screening.

A day later, I received another email from HR congratulating me for making it to the interview stage, offering me times that I could come in for the interview, and an attachment stating what I had to prepare for the interview.

So for this position, there was an attachment stating that as part of the hour long interview, I would be asked to perform a science experiment geared towards a grade 4-6 class, and I would have to explain the science behind the experiment in a fun way. Shit. At that moment I knew I could turn it down, but there is something inside of me that through the job application process turns into a competitive beast. "Lawyer? Psshh I could totally do that. Investment banker? No problem. Fire fighter? Just give me a hose, and I'll show you how it's done." I needed to get this job! So, I went online and found a whole bunch of science experiments.

As I browsed, I started to see how many of them required a ridiculous amount of equipment that I really didn't feel like finding. (Even though I was driven, I really didn't want it to take up my whole weekend.) So I started to dwindle the list down to the experiments that only required things I had in my house...like paper and markers, and then I found it. The bird cage experiment. The logistics of it are: you stare at a paper bird for 20 seconds and then look at a white paper with a cage on it and see an after image of the bird. So easy! Perfect. I set out my materials to start cutting out my birds and making the cage. I put on some netflix, to keep the mood light. Ooh "About Time" excellent choice... One and a half hours later I was crying like a baby, turned off the tv and realized that I had only cut out half a bird. I got down to business and before long the props were ready.

I re-read through the instructions and practiced my experiment, and then started reading the "how it works" section. Shit. This was some complicated anatomy/science stuff. Okay, I will do what I do best. Memorize!!

Two days later, after practicing on my mom, thanks mom, I was off to the interview. I felt more nervous than I have in a long time. It was so much worse than an audition. After talking myself out of camping out in the Tim Hortons instead of going, I finally arrived, set up my experiment and we were off.

To say it was awkward would be an understatement. I was up on the stage performing for two grown adults who were doing their best impression of annoying 10 year olds, blurting out information, and pretending to be bored. Regardless, I managed to get through it, forgetting one rather major part of the explanation, and being so out of breath in the middle that I had to pretend I was pausing for effect, but I got through it. It was done!

They asked me to tidy up my papers while they wrote a few notes, and then told me to pull the cloth off of a pile of objects on the table and pick one that I would improvise talking about to them. I pulled off the cloth to find 4 very science-y prop tools, and I didn't know anything about any of them. I felt like I was staring at a table of alien tools. I think one of them was some type of microscope? I was running out of time, so I picked up what looked like a globe, except it was all blue, and started asking them to tell me what shape it was. Before I knew it I was conducting an excursion to the middle of the Baltic sea, and I was asking them what we should bring along. It was a very long 3 minutes.

We were finally at the interview portion. Oh thank god. I'm really good at interviews. Seeing as I have had over 50 jobs in my life so far, I pretty much know what to expect...right???

At first it was the usual questions: "What would you bring to this position? What are your strengths? How did you hear about this job? Tell me about a time you dealt with an unruly customer? Can you tell me what the scientific process is?" Wait! what? The rest of that interaction went like this:

"Yes, the scientific process, do you know what it is?"
"Oh, yes, it is the process that a scientist, or anyone really, would go through when they're finding out if something is true or not"
"Okay, right, so can you tell me the steps of the scientific process?"

*This is where I was trying to will myself back to grade 9 science class with all of my might and remember the damn scientific process.*

"haha, well, I know you start with a question, and then do some experiments, and see if it works, and then there is a conclusion?"
"umm, okay, ya, kind of... Next question: Can you define Pseudo-Science?"

*Oh god!!*

"Oh, is that where something doesn't seem scientific but it is, or isn't science, but seems like science..."
"Okay, ya, that's kind of on the right path...Okay Kathy why don't you ask some questions."

*Thank you Kathy, for saving my life. *

"Yes, sure, so where do you see yourself in 5 years?"

I would like to rant about this question forever, but I won't. I will simply say, I think it's a stupid question. Even if I had a fantasy of where I would like to be in five years, I know that everything in my life could change tomorrow, so it's a ridiculous thing to ask. Not to mention that all I know they really want to hear, is that I have a potential for still working there in five years...which is bullshit, but hey, you gotta tell them what they want to hear.

So I try to dodge it completely and say:
"Oh, haha, well I'd like to be happy."

*I pause as she laughs to see if I get away with just saying that...She's looking at me again, waiting for me to finish. Damn.*

"And, I mean, I'm guessing I'll still be in Winnipeg. I mean, I am pretty sure I'll be in Winnipeg, I mean, yes, I'll be in Winnipeg."
"Okay, great, and where will you be in ten years?"

If I was a cartoon, I think smoke would have come out of my ears at that point. So, this questioning continued on for 40 minutes, while my brain worked overtime coming up with answers to many different scenarios, explained the importance of childhood education programs, told them about "Who I am" and then we got to the final question:

"Okay, last question: If you were an animal. What animal would you be?"

I am pretty sure I laughed out loud at this one. I don't remember as it was all a little fuzzy by this point, but I tried to buy myself time to make it look like I was thinking, but at this point my brain was so tired, it just didn't want to. I was searching for an animal. Any animal...I finally came up with one:

"I am a llama."

*There was a long pause. *

"A llama? Why would you be a llama, they're pretty quiet aren't they?"

I had no idea, but I was suddenly tasked with trying to not only make the llama sound like a very likeable and desirable creature, but also tell them how I was similar to a llama.

"Well, yes, they are quiet...but they are full of personality. They are really smart, but they are also ...umm...cheerful animals, and easy to get along with."
"Yes, and they spit a lot."
"Yes, yes they do."
"Okay, thanks so much for coming in. We will be in touch."

As I walked out of the room, I felt like I had run a marathon with my face. My arms hung very limply by my sides as I tried to get out of the building as quickly as possible and seek refuge. I was definitely getting a cookie after that one.

Oh, and I'm not waiting by the phone.

Love and kindness all.

Second Virginity Volume two: Feminism and ingrown hairs

Okay, we are less than a week away, and it suddenly hit me this week that I have been feeling a little bit too relaxed about this whole routine, to the point where I have not practiced half as much as I did at this point last year. So from now on, any second I have to spare goes directly towards rehearsing. And that is that! Mama needs a little discipline.

 So the routine has been taking focus the last couple of days...although I have added a lot of elements this year that I haven't been able to practice with, so I'm afraid there will actually be quite a bit of improvisation... which is....exciting!! Yes, let's stick with "exciting." I won't give anything away, but let's just say I am proud to bring in an element of food as a pleasurable indulgence. Haha, it sounds really sexual when I say it like that. 

Anyway, the routine and more so the fundraising details have been occupying my mind these last few days until I noticed a little red bump near my bikini line, that is indeed an ingrown hair. I started to FREAK OUT. It's hard enough to get naked, but when you have an IMPERFECTION?? How can I go out there?? A million ideas ran through my mind: Just drop out now, say you're really sick with the flu, or contagious with something like... scarlet fever, is that still a thing? No, no, just... wear big shorts, it could be funny, right? No, we are just going to have to get rid of it.

I don't want to get too into the details that may be gross to some people, but we'll just say that I looked up every home remedy I could find on the internet and tried pretty much all of them. When I woke up the next morning, I kept my eyes closed just a little bit longer than normal, praying that it had just disappeared overnight. It hadn't. I spent the next hour and a half re-doing all of the home remedies and trying not to cry. I then stopped and looked at myself, and took a breath. It's a bump. It is almost 100% a sure thing it will be gone by Monday, but in the event that it is not, what are we going to do? Is it really the end of the world and worth this much mental energy? I think not. We shall cover it up with make-up and move on. End of issue.

 Along with that, I got out of the shower yesterday and suddenly felt a pang of anxiety- and these thoughts floating in my head "I am going to get naked again, and I feel like I looked better last year! What if people are comparing me to what I looked like before?" If this is not total psychosis, I don't know what is. I have gone so far off the deep end, I am worried about being compared to...myself!!!

It's quite funny to really take a moment and try to figure out what is actually going on in my brain, and I've discovered it is this: For some reason I cannot really see myself as I look most of the time. I see myself as I want to look, and it is almost like I am ignoring the actual image of myself because I am ashamed, and don't want to face reality. How sad is that? Sad on so many levels. I'm sad for myself, as much as for anyone else who feels this way. When I look at other people, I see them. I accept them, and I would hope to do the same for myself. 

Well, here and now, is my moment of truth. My promise and vow: "I promise to be brave. I promise to show myself, as I am, and make people feel good about themselves. I promise to do my darndest to quiet those little voices of negativity, and just be. To just BE! To except myself as I am, to love myself, and to give of myself as an act of service. No matter what."

Let's just remind myself why we are doing this in the first place: To change the images of what "sexy" is, to embrace unique body types and celebrate a variety of bodies, and to have fun accepting ourselves as we are, and being hilarious and sexy. Hell yes! Interestingly I was talking to a young man that I don't know very well about how scary it was to try this for the first time last year, and he asked me "Did you suddenly start thinking you were going to be going against your feminist self?" And the question actually took me aback, because I thought "No, the exact opposite actually. I think this is one of the most feminist acts I have ever done in my life"

How is that for something to be proud of?

Love and kindness all.

Second Virginity is a thing, right?

Well I haven't written since last year, and it is fitting that my inspiration once again is... our burlesque fundraiser the sequel!! I have agreed, again, to perform a burlesque number, and so we are off to the races with the emotional roller coaster that will ensue.

First up: How do you feel sexy again?

I feel like I had a lot of epiphanies last year about feeling sexy in my own skin, not trying to be someone else's version of what "sexy" was. I think that was all great, and awesome, and yet I can't quite remember how I got there. I feel like the first thing I need to do (other than plan and practice my routine, find a costume, take more classes...ppfff minor details) is get back to a place of feeling sexy in my own skin. So I decided to do what I usually do when I have a question: I googled it. I decided to try out all of the answers/ activities I found on google for this week's "Feel sexy" homework.

From some of the horrors that I found (The internet can really be a scary place. I was pretty sure trying to talk in a low, husky voice all of the time wasn't going to work for me, and neither was masterbating in public...) I picked out a few that seemed like they were more likely to work a little better:
- wear sexy underwear
-wear clothes that are sexy and make you feel good
- use your body language to project more confidence
- flirt
- develop a strut
- spend more time naked
- make eye contact with strange men and don't shy away
- smell really good
- use your eyes to play with someone
- wear tights


Alright, here were the results:

Whoever said confidence is sexy was on to something. So, last week I decided to just try a whole bunch of these at once. I put on my sexiest pair of underwear, put on a pair of tights and a skirt that made me feel that my ass was rocking it, did my hair up all purdy, put on a pair of heels, sprayed on a little extra vanilla body spray and strutted to the bus stop. I switched from the bus to a streetcar, and of course it was short turned, as usual, but I begrudgingly got off, and luckily another one came by rather quickly. I scrambled on to find a seat and from the corner of my eye I saw a young man sit down next to me. It's an interesting feeling when you know you are being looked at, like really looked at. You would think as an actor I would be used to this feeling, but it is a much different situation when that person is sitting right next to you, knees touching. I pretended not to notice and studied my cell phone so hard that I was almost cross-eyed, waiting for this weird sensation to stop. Low and behold, the young man turned to me and said "hi." I said "hi" back. Without wasting any time he continued with "What's your name?" I looked at this young man, who was looking a little bit worse for wear with an old army-green jacket on, and the stench of sweat, smoke and some kind of meat steaming from his pores, but I looked him in the eye, and I told him my name. Without returning the courtesy of his own name, he quickly moved to "Would you like to hang out sometime?" Wow he moves fast. This is the moment I hate.

I need to digress for a moment to point out that this is not an everyday occurrence for me. Other than the odd crazy/desperate man, I am not flooded with random meetings on streetcars or invitations to dinner, but as a woman (and I dare say any woman, but you can correct me if I'm wrong) by the time you make it past age 30, you have had enough of even just those crazy/drunk/desperate encounters to know you have two choices in this circumstance, that is to say if you are not interested in this person- as obviously it would be much easier if you are! Two options, and neither of them are fun. One: "I'm sorry I'm just not interested." I mean you can leave out the I'm sorry part, but I feel like it takes a lot of courage to ask someone out, even if you are crazy or desperate. Two: "I'm seeing someone" or if you want to solidify it a bit more "I have a boyfriend." Obviously lying is not ideal, and ya it sucks to feel like you have to "be someone else's property" in order to have a man leave you alone, but in this case, with this smelly but sweet man, I didn't have the heart to shut it down completely, so I went with the more clean cut, fabricated "I'm seeing someone. Sorry." He quickly turned away and in a few minutes he was gone.

It took me a few minutes, sitting there with my new seat partner, a small Korean woman, to realize that this experiment was going hilariously well. I mean, the idea was to make myself feel more sexy, but within minutes of me leaving the house with an effort to feel sexy, I had caught the attention of the run down smelly man. It was kind of fun to feel powerful in my sexuality. That said, I very shortly after this reminded myself that I didn't want to feel sexier just because some man thought suddenly that I was attractive, NO! I wanted to feel sexier for me! This was just a side effect. Never the less, it did make me smile.

Spending more time naked seemed like a pretty fun idea, so off the clothes went. At first I was terrified that my roommate was going to walk in at any moment, just pull open my door and scream. A few seconds later, I had forgotten that thought and was pleasantly going about my business in the nude, until I realized I hadn't noticed that the curtain to my bedroom window was parted slightly open while I had been dancing around in my birthday suit. No idea if that was a public performance or not. Maybe for some people that would feel more sexy... not so much for me. I will say this: Sleeping naked= instant sexiness. Sliding into the sheets and feeling like a sexy little secret. I like that.

I tried keeping eye contact with several men on the subway the next day, neither of them made me feel much of anything. The first time I think he thought I knew him or something, so he kept looking back at me puzzled... not the effect I was going for. The second time, he seemed to be completely thrown off and stared directly at the floor until the moment he left the train. It did not feel sexy.

So what have I taken from this week? Well, I'm headed in the direction of noticing when I am feeling sexy or not, which is a lot more than I could say about the weeks previous, so that's a good start. It is exciting to me to think about wanting to feel sexy again, and making little secret changes in order to assist with that feeling. I feel like the cloud's are parting, and my sexy inner self is starting to peek through.

Love and kindness all.

Confessions of a virgin burlesque-er part 4: The finale and the reveal!

I feel like I should be writing this entry like a diary.

Dear Diary, Today I lost my burlesque virginity and I feel amazing and exhausted all at the same time. (Isn't that how everyone feels after their first time?... haha, right.)

My oh my, what a night. This last week has been a bit of a whirl wind in itself, as leading up to the event my mood swings went from confident to crawling under a coffee table and never coming out, very rapidly.

The day before the event, I was busy putting together raffle prizes and at the end of the night I started to feel crazy jitters, giant expanding Pterodactyl wing nerves, in my stomach, and I wasn't so sure I could do it. I was freaking out that I was under-rehearsed, because in my crazy brain, even if people didn't like my body, they would love my routine as long as it was well put-together, and well executed. So I thought I needed more rehearsal... despite the large amount I had already rehearsed...and I didn't have time for anymore... And therefore I lost my shit.

What was happening? My highly over-loaded brain couldn't compute that even though I have come a LONG way with being able to feel sexy, and love myself and my body, I was going to allow other people into my vulnerable place, and leave room for judgement. That is a whole other beast into itself! And one over which I had absolutely no control. Luckily I was in the presence of a calm, wonderful company member who graciously offered to watch my routine, as it would help a lot to do it in front of someone. She was right. It helped a lot. But there was still a lingering fear...

So, the big day arrived. I woke up before my alarm, super excited, shaved everything that needed to be shaved, made sure I had everything on my list to bring, curled my hair, and headed out to my cab with my load full of stuff. The first thing I see when I'm out the door, is my adorable old caretaker watering the garden.

"Oh, what lovely packages you've got there." It was at this moment that I realized I was carrying 2 large gift baskets full of dildos, lube, and naughty videos. Before my mortification could set in, and before he could get a better look, I ran into the cab and wished him a good day safely hidden in the back seat.

There were plenty of things to be done during the day, and therefore I had a lot to busy my mind with. It was about 2 hours before the doors opened that I suddenly started worrying about my pasties. I had this day-mere of getting down to my bra in front of the crowd, and exposing my breasts to see that I forgot to put them on, or they fell right off.

I should mention here that a few days before this, I had decided to practice my routine with the pasties glued on. I used spirit gum, as a couple of burlesque pros had recommended it. For those of you who don't know, spirit gum is used generally with actors for facial hair, fake lesions, etc. So, I had some around from my old U of W days. Anyway, I was told to apply it, and wait until it was sticky, then put them on. The problem was, I didn't know how much to use. I figured the more, the better, so I coated both pasties in a layer of the stuff, and off we went. After rehearsal, I took my bra off to discover there was glue ALL OVER. It was covering my bra, and basically my entire breasts. I started freaking out, trying to wash it off with soap, to no avail. I remembered that I had a bottle of spirit gum remover in my stage make-up, so I was throwing things out from under my bed trying to find it. (comically, I had put on a robe in case my roommate came home, so it continued to get stuck, and I was intermittently ripping it off of my poor glue-coated chest. At last I found the bottle to find... it was empty. Crap. I know we used something else to remove it in school, but I couldn't remember, so I googled it. Rubbing alcohol. Did I have any? After another drastic search, SUCCESS! I went on to spend the next 45 minutes watching "Orange is the new black" and de-gluing myself, but at least it was working.

So, you can imagine why I would be nervous. Luckily after a brief consultation with a seasoned professional, I decided to put them on right away, and get it over with, with the ability to check before the number, that all was well. It is the oddest sensation to sit topless in a public bathroom stall. I felt strangely giddy as I sat there half-naked, applying my glue in calculated amounts.

Through a mediocre amount of chaos, we managed to get everything set, ourselves dressed, and the show began! The only difficulty came when we realized we would have to clear the bar off completely to make sure it was safe for us to get up there. I volunteered to go out and check, and was surprised to find there were about 12 people sitting right at it. Shit. I went up to the first couple and tried desperately to communicate quickly that we would need them to move because we needed the bar for the first number. They were appalled. The lady turned to me and said "well, where do you expect us to sit, then?" This was not the answer I was expecting. For a few seconds my brain could not comprehend that these people were being so ridiculous.  I had no reply except "I don't really know, but I assure you that you can have your seat back when the number is done." I saw them begrudgingly get up mumbling "Leave your coat on the bar to save it." I couldn't believe it. I picked up the coat, at this point having lost all patience, and handed it to them saying "We will need the bar clear, sorry." The look on their faces told me that our neediness in performance was really getting on their nerves. Luckily all other people were very compliant, and the clown number went off without  hitch.

Intermission hit, and my number was first up in the next act. This is when my fears began to creep in once again. I checked on my girls, pasties were still in place and holding strong, and then started to put my costume on, when I suddenly realized that I did not have my gloves, as I had thrown them on the bartenders' head in the first number. Again, Shit. I ran over to our kitten, but she did not have them, I ran to the bar but they did not have them, I ran over to the door as I had misheard someone say they might have them, and then made my way backstage, this time, in full freak out mode. Luckily they were lying at the bottom of a pile of clothes retrieved backstage. And I was back in business. Outfit on. A little rehearsal with my lovely opening partner, and I was ready. Before I knew what was happening, I was introduced, and the music started, and we were out. Thank god I had another person in my introduction, as it gave me a very friendly and safe way in.

I got to the beginning of the actual number, and I could already feel the encouragement. The audience was with me. As I got up to take off my first glove, I started to feel relaxed in my routine. I was starting to enjoy it. I stopped worrying... that is until I caught a familiar eye in the audience and then began the moves to throw my stocking before I had actually taken it off... whoops. Deep breath, went back into my zone, and we were back at it.

I cannot fully describe the exhilaration of having a room full of people cheer you on as you flirt and tease and take off a couple of items, and watch the excitement grow as more and more interesting things come off. It was amazing.

Now, I was at the point that I was regretting the most...I was about to show off, pretty much, my entire butt to a crowd full of people. It wasn't until rehearsal the day before that I had found out I was the only one who would be wearing a thong in the show. I started to really regret it, but my costume was all put together, and it was too late for changes now! It was around then that I remembered how I had planned on putting make-up all over my butt, to feel a bit better about it. I had some bruises, and faded stretch marks, and I thought it would give me more confidence, but, alas, I had forgotten that little detail in the craziness of looking for gloves. It was too late now. I was holding my skirt, teasing for a little bit more than I had planned in rehearsal. I took a deep breath, and let it drop to the floor, as the audience got more excited, I turned around, gave a little shake, and they cheered like crazy! They loved my bare butt!

The rest of the routine is a bit of a blur, as I found myself getting ahead of the music a few times, so I was playing with the audience much more than I had planned, and I have no idea what I did. All I can say, is in the last moments, when I dropped the bra, turned around, and did a little shimmy, I have never felt more like a rock star in my life. I felt good. I felt sexy, whether I looked it or not, is not even relevant. I felt it. And I liked it.

I hadn't even planned an exit from the stage, so I stood in shock for a second, boobies forward, and then excitedly, and speedily made my way into the back changing curtain.

Holy shit. I did it. I was still ablaze with a rush of excitement. My fingers were shaking as I tried to put some clothes on. I did it. I did it. I DID IT!

Through the rest of the night, I had a lot of lovely people show their support, and compliment me on various parts of my anatomy. It was a strange thing to walk into a room and know that everyone there has seen my money maker and my ta tas. You'd think that would be enough to keep me from getting into my head, but I could feel little thoughts creep in that "everyone was really grossed out by my ass, they were just being nice, they thought I was fat..." I heard them, but you know what? I wouldn't let them stay. I made the decision to enjoy my night. And I did.

The truth is, I don't think I could have done this a couple of years ago, or maybe even a year ago. This was one of my biggest but also most enticing fears I had, and I proved to myself that I have really grown as a person to get out there and do it. And sober at that! That is truly astonishing.

There were several moments near the end of the night when I looked around that room, overwhelmed with emotion. Overwhelmed that there were so many supportive friends and Theatre comrades out there, overwhelmed by the caliber of performers who agreed to use their talents to help us with the night, the supportive colleagues and friends who helped us run the show, and the fact that we, inamorata,  actually made this happen. We did it. And I did it.

Not only that, here's to another baby step forward into changing the views on female body image and sexuality. I am very proud. 

I encourage y'all to try doing something that scares the poop out of you. It is quite an empowering experience.

Love and kindness all. 

Confessions of a virgin Burlesque-er part 3: The art of sexy, warts and all

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. 

Confessions of Virgin Burlesque-er part 2: learning the ropes

We are now less than one month away from the big burlesque day!! What an exciting and scary thought!!!

As the journey into burlesque continues, the four of us of Theatre Inamorata decided to hire a burlesque coach to give us an introductory lesson into the world of burlesque. This, in retrospect, was a very, very smart idea. Here is the main thing that I learned: I have a LOT to learn!!

It was a fabulous session, starting off with some history, tips, and basics to planning a routine. We then got on our feet, and geared up in our feather boas and high heels, and we started to learn some basic walks. It was at this point, as I was watching myself prance effortfully in the crack between the dance mirrors, that I realized I have had very few instances in my life where I took myself seriously when I was trying to be "sexy." I started to feel that this could be a little bit more difficult than I thought. As I tried to emulate the amazing ease and skill of our sexy instructor, I had a little trouble not tripping over my own high-heeled feet. After a few more tries, I looked a little bit graceful, and slightly stylish, but I think it would be a stretch to say in the sexy realm.

So what is so different between the sexy ladies that I have had the pleasure of watching, and me? First, I think talent is definitely important, so that means taking the time to really learn the moves, and practice, practice, practice. Second, I'd say playing the part, really committing to the character I'm playing, and choosing a scenario that allows me to DO something (since nothing makes me more nervous, as an actor, than being on stage without knowing what to do). Lastly, and most importantly, CONFIDENCE! I think it is clear that this is the main hurdle I'm dealing with here. I am very good at making fun of myself, at playing at sexy, knowing it is a joke, but I need to practice having confidence that I am sexy. That I can be sexy, and it doesn't have to be a joke.

So, as my next weekly goal, leading up to this exciting event, I need to practice feeling confident, and sexy. I don't know exactly how I'm going to accomplish this yet, but I will come up with a few ideas. I'll report back, of course.

The rest of the lesson was hilarious as we all attempted to fling various pieces of clothing sexily throughout the room, and learned little tricks of the trade along the way. I think I have a knack for shoe flinging, so y'all better watch out!

In terms of progress on the body image front, I hit one little snag: at the lesson I learned that using garter belts may be a little bit too difficult at this virginal point of my burlesquing... which ruined my little plan of covering up the one part of my body I am nervous about showing- my stomach. It is pretty funny to me that I would rather show my boobs, my butt, and more... before I would ever think of showing my stomach. I guess we all have our thing! In my head, I thought that I could cleverly hide my belly by wearing a high-wasted garter belt, and just not take it off. Foiled! After a consoling chat with one of my lovely company members, I was given a choice: I can either find some clever way to hide that belly that I am so embarrassed by, or I can show it proudly as part of the beautiful woman I am. I am really hoping I can brave it enough to accomplish number two. I was also told to do a little strip tease for myself... and no laughing... so that's what I am about to do! Wish me luck!

Love and kindness all.

Confessions of a virgin Burlesque-er part 1

My beautiful Theatre company ladies and I came up with the idea to do a burlesque show for our second fundraising venture. It was a super exciting and intriguing idea that interests people from MANY walks of life, which is a great solution to finding people to come from outside of the Theatre community. Wooowhooo!

I have decided to keep a mini-series within my blog about the whole burlesque-prepping and burlesque-performing experience. I have a feeling it could get a little bumpy!

Speaking of bumps...I had a huge realization moment earlier this week that the fundraiser is now just over a month away, and I'M ACTUALLY GOING TO BE TAKING MY CLOTHES OFF IN FRONT OF PEOPLE!! This of course brought on a whole wave of anxiety. Not to say that I didn't logically know this information before, but it is slowly becoming more and more of a reality. Granted, this was my choice, and no one is pushing me to perform, so it is voluntary anxiety, if you will.

This wave of anxiety is that I am not completely thrilled with what my body looks like at this point in time. Not to say that I am ever really truly satisfied, but I haven't been getting to the gym at all lately, and my eating habits have been on the mediocre side. So, I of course started some crazy plans to eat nothing but apples and lemon water and go to the gym every day until the dreaded 9th day of June.

After the wave of anxiety subsided, and I was thinking ever-so-slightly with clarity, I started to think about more of the reasons for why we decided to do this fundraiser in the first place: women, body image, sexuality, sexual desire, woman as objects of sexual desire, women being in control of their sexuality and how they are seen as a sexual being, and the plethora of other subjects that are being explored through this genre. To me, it comes down to a celebration of the female body, in all of its' glory, and embracing our own female sexuality. I love this idea!

Of course, that means acceptance of our bodies with all of their "flaws" (as I for one seem to always be looking for.) Really though, accepting that perfection does not equal sexy. (In my skewed judgement meaning Skinny with no flab is not the only "sexy" or a better "sexy") I can be a sexual being, I can appear sexy with a little bit of extra tummy, and jiggly thighs. I can embrace my sexuality without feeling I am inferior. So, THIS IS THE GOAL!

With that in mind, I have started to try to put together costume ideas, as I need an idea of what I am wearing before I can cement my routine down. And I am fairly certain I would like to explore the fun of garter belts... along with other goodies, but I've decided to make the garter belt the centre of my ensemble. Thus begins the garter belt search.

This led me to my first experience in an upscale lingerie store. I had some time to kill before a meeting downtown, so I popped into a teeny tiny little fancy-looking boutique with a rainbow of lace panties on display on manikins outside. Right away I was greeted by a slightly skeptical grin on the mouth of an older lady who crept our from behind the counter, and in an indistinguishable European accent asked "Is there something you want to look at?" I was suddenly transported to being 13 again and watching a snickering teenage boy ring through the tampons that I was hiding between 2 boxes of kleenex on the grocery belt at shoppers drug mart. After that embarrassment surpassed, I reminded myself that I am a thirty year old woman, despite my appearance, and I can shop for lingerie if I want to. Damn it. So I caught my breath and with my most drawn-up confidence, and with a stiff attempt at casualness, asked "Yes, what do you have for garter belts, please?"

She did not seem surprised, as I was watching her face for any sign of it, but instead, she sighed and said "I only have a couple of kinds, here. This one is very precious lace, imported." It was gorgeous. I didn't think I would have that reaction to a garter belt, but it was a mix of cream and light blue with dainty pink lace. I imagined a fairytale princess would have wore something similar if Disney wasn't G-rated. The other styles were too small, so I focused on this one, until I flipped over the price tag in my hand and saw that it was "on sale" for 125$!!! Ya, there's no way that was going to happen.

I pretended to be thinking about it, and put it down on the counter. I didn't want her to know that I was thrown by the price. Some weird pride in me wanted the strange lady to think that the price didn't phase me one bit, so I greased up my acting chops and pulled out my cell phone to check the time and fained (not too poorly if you ask me) that I was suddenly late for something important. "Oh, I have to go, would you be able to hold this for me until tomorrow?" I rushed with the words, to back up my hurried lie. "Yes, yes, no problem." She put the precious piece on the counter, and I silently wished it goodbye as she wrote down my name, and I thanked her and left.

I will be searching for something slightly on the lower-end, but all in all a good first step, I would say, to embracing this sexuality of mine!

Love and kindness all.

An actor's third-life crisis methinks

Maybe it's because it's my birthday into a new decade next week, or maybe it's the usual time of year for thinking about change, but I find myself weeding through a familiar web of questions this April.

First, and foremost, what do I really want to do with this life, ie: what is my purpose. I have heard the phrase "finding your purpose is the purpose of life" and although I do agree that the journey is the important part, I find myself really analyzing this life I lead.

I think it can be a very easy thing to let ideals slide away in this biz of show. I see it happening everyday, and I am not immune.

As an actor in this big city of Toronto, I am grasping at any opportunity to act, because I am so starving for it. If it happens to pay, I am salivating at the bit, so that I find myself ready to drop EVERYTHING for a callback for a staples commercial where the extent of my acting is to look up and notice another human, and then go back to looking at the floor. I know I am not alone in this. It is really easy to lose sight, because in a game where opportunity passes me by hundreds of times, I just want someone to say "yes", and I am so excited by the prospect of someone saying "yes", that I will do (almost) anything!

So, let's just step back for a second. Why did I decide to be an actor int he first place? Well that's an interesting question. I was 9, and I auditioned for a school play, and turned out to be decently good at it, so my mom put me into acting lessons. When I was 12 I landed my first professional gig, and I kind of just kept going! Now that I am (more of) an adult, I have more reasoning behind my choice. I believe in art (and specifically Theatre/film) as a necessity for growth, for beauty, for culture, for entertainment, for laughter, for heart ache, for a mirror into ourselves, for a peek hole into a world unknown, for depth, for nurturing the younger generation, for a glorious escape into the beauty of story telling, to open our stereotyped minds, a means to change the way we view beauty/ideal body types/mass media garbage, to see women and men in a new and interesting light.

But is that all? I do believe in the creation of great art, for all of the reasons listed above, and I love acting, but maybe I love acting because it fulfills a very selfish need? Maybe I could be of better use/ purpose working at a task that directly helps others?

So, here's the deal: Do I REALLY believe that creating Theatre/ Film, and my reasons behind it, are important enough to devote my life to? If the answer is yes, then it's about time to be truly MAKING the work I want to see, and making that the priority, and stop letting shitty commercial auditions have a power over me like no other! If the answer is no, it is time to start thinking about what really is important enough to put my life energy into.

And lastly, to have faith. Faith that I can make a difference, whatever way I choose, and the right way to do it will become clear. 

In all honesty, I know that the answers will become clear to me, I just also know it is important to ask the questions.

Love and kindness all.

Why I hate Toronto

So a few months ago I was set to leave the good ol' T-dot. I had decided that I hated everything about it, and it was just not the place for me.

Fair enough.

I had lot's of good reasons, hundreds of justifications, a lot of wonderful support either way. Until a lovely friend of mine asked me this question: Have you done everything you can to change it?

At first I wanted to punch him in the neck. (That tends to be my usual thought reaction to people hitting a nerve, although I have yet to actually act on the impulse... thank goodness) After I took a breath, I realized that I absolutely had not. I argued that no one could do EVERYTHING they possibly could, and that not everything can change... but as I heard these arguments slip through my mouth, I knew that I had nothing. No answer except: No.

So, Toronto, here's to giving it a real try. A trial of true change, and acceptance. A trial of finding my love for this wonderful city in every way I can. With the perfect advice from my friend, I wrote a resentment list about Toronto. A list of everything I hate about it, and then a chance to see what I can do to change it. I HIGHLY recommend this as a problem-solving strategy by the way. It takes out the heated emotions and allows me to see where I'm being completely petty.

For example: I wrote that the people here are all egotistical and brash. So, in seeing that in writing, I see that it may be just a tad of a generalization ;) I mean, is it true that everyone who lives in "friendly Manitoba" is a welcoming beacon of sunshine? Obviously I know from experience this is not true.

Yes, people in TO tend to be a little bit more focused, and there are a lot of people rushing to get from place to place (hell, I fall into that category half of the time) but it does not mean they are bad or mean or sociopathic people. Being a different personality from me does not make someone bad. You'd think that is something I would have learned from all of my years of sesame street and Mr. Rogers, but for some of us, it takes a little longer ;)

So, I brace myself with a good book and some music (in case someone is being too obnoxious for my taste) as I head out to the TTC (which, by the way, for all the complaints I hear, and may partake in on a daily basis, is a hell of a lot better that waiting in minus 40 for 20 minutes for a bus. ) I wait my 4-7 minutes underground for the subway, and I try to appreciate it.

Toronto: I don't know how long I'm going to live here, but for the time being, I'm going to try to appreciate you for all you are. Eat at your thousands of restaurants, go to your many music shows/ theatre events/ movies playing at any time of the day, take your classes with your hundreds of well-trained and wonderfully talented people, and enjoy myself.

And I will learn to avoid rush-hour downtown. At all costs. 

Love and kindness all.

Pants on Fire

With the new year nipping at my heels, I have been doing some thinking.

Specifically, today, I was thinking about honesty. This came about because I was writing a preliminary list of new years resolutions. (Yes you read that correctly. I have a passion for writing lists, so I was writing a list of what I will be writing a list about... oy) Anyway, one of my bullet points was "try to become more honest."

In the last few months of my life I have been consciously making an effort to be more honest with myself and other people. Man is it hard. I have become completely aware of the amount of times I catch myself wanting to lie. It's funny, considering the fact that I am a terribly liar, you'd think that honesty wouldn't be a problem for me. Somehow, that isn't the case. It's not usually what I would call "outright lying" per se, more like tiny stretches of the truth... let me give you an example:

A few months ago I had a doctors appointment. Nothing major, nothing pressing, really just a follow-up. I woke up the morning of my appointment and I felt like shit. Not really completely physically sick, but exhausted, and emotionally stripped down. I decided that I really did not want to go to my 9 AM appointment, so I made the executive decision to call and cancel.

I don't like to cancel things. Especially not last minute. It happens enough in my life that I am forced to change plans due to auditions and other such things that come up, that I really try to keep the plans I have if I can, but sometimes I don't. This was one of those times.

I called up the office, and as the secretary answered, I felt my heart start racing. I was terrified. In a panic, I mumbled something about being really sick into the phone and coughed and weezed, and said I would not be able to make it to my appointment. The secretary replied with a simple "okay, thanks for letting us know" and it was over.

After a moment, I sat there in my bed and thought about what crazy demon had just possessed me into pretending to be sick over the phone. It was fear. (My old friend.) I was terrified that this woman (a stranger) would think I was rude or irresponsible for not going to my appointment. Isn't that interesting. In my reflection I started to think through how ridiculous that was. Why did it matter what this stranger thought of me? If I felt that bad about it, maybe I should have just gone? If it was important enough for me to stay home, why would I feel bad about that? Why did I feel the need to lie?

So there you have it. A simple, needless lie.

In this new year, of 2014, I propose an effort to stop this needless lying. Would it have been that terrible to just say "I can't come in to the appointment today?" Of course not. When the grocery store clerk asks me if I have plans for new years, I could just say "no," I don't need to squeak out a "yes" as to not make her feel sorry for me, and appease the situation. Of course, there's also a need to be more honest with myself. Do I really need to buy that pair of boots just because they are on sale? Am I really happy with my job? Maybe I do need another scoop of coconut bliss?

Stand up with me people! Let's let 2014 be the year of honesty!

Love and kindness all.

Thank you for lettin' me be myself again

Ahoy hoy! I won't even say how long it's been since I have written because it is too depressing and makes me feel a whole series of shame, guilt and needless justification, so let's just skip that and celebrate the fact that I felt the need to write a blog again! Woot!

This year has been a pretty remarkable one for me for many reasons. I am changing my views, my habits, and also accepting the parts of myself that will never change. Through this process I have developed many tools, and the main one I have come to see as necessary is the gratitude list.

I was watching "America's Sweethearts" on netflix. Yes, I watch a lot of cheesy chick flicks (or romantic comedies for those of you who prefer I would not segregate based on gender.) I find them an amazing relaxation technique/mood lifter, so I have no shame! Anyway, I was watching "America's Sweethearts" the other week and giggled as John Cusack's character (who is coming out of some form of a treatment centre) continues to repeat a mantra of what he is thankful for throughout the film. It is such a stereptypical treatment solution, but there is a darn good reason why: because it works.

The first time someone told me to write a gratitude list I literally rolled my eyes, like an eight grade valley girl, and thought to myself "my problems are big, and important, and no little list is going to make me feel better." However, I indulged, and within minutes I actually calmed down. The key is to actually do it.

So here is a public gratitude list for today (in case anyone needs a model for ideas)
I am grateful for:
-having a place to live
-having a job
-making enough money to eat
-having found acting: something that gives me complete joy
-my family
-my friends
-my healing community
-jelly beans
-tea
-fluffy comforters
-gluten free vegan chocolate cake
- the internet
-ziploc bags
- the beautiful fall weather
-comfy socks
- organic rootbeer
- the subway
- running water
- once upon a time and netflix in general
- tv sitcom bloopers
- love. My ability to give it and receive it.
-My higher Power, whatever that may be.

And I feel calm. I also really want to crawl into bed with some chocolate cake and watch netflix. Anyway, I can't say enough how much this simple thing has made a difference in my life. In case you are still a skeptic, here is a link with a guy in a lab coat talking about how gratitude increases happiness. How can you argue with that?

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oHv6vTKD6lg

Love and Kindness all. 

burn baby burn

I joined a gym this week. I feel a whole mix of emotions surrounding this decision, which from the outside seems very simple.

I had a consultation with some guy named Justice. It was quite funny, I walked up to the front desk and said that I had an introductory consult, and the girl at the desk said "Ok, you have an appointment with Justice." I laughed and said "Well that sounds ominous" and she just kind of blinked at me. Tough crowd.

Anyway, Justice showed me the gym and did his job trying to sell it to me, and he did a good enough job despite his over enthusiasm and obvious manipulation that I did in fact join. One of the things they gave me is a free personal training consultation. Now, there are two things about this that have bothered me in the past. The last gym I went to I refused the beginning consult because I knew that they would 1) be trying to sell me personal training and 2) that I would have to actually have someone measure and witness my overall weight/body fat index. That thought was terrifying. I didn't even want to know what it was. This time, however, I said yes.

I showed up for my first ever personal training session.. well 5 minutes late. I realized as I was running down the block to get there in time that I had forgotten to bring a lock for my locker, and I would need one for sure. I ran into a dollar store and bought the first one I saw, and then ran back to the gym (I was getting a head-start on my work out.... sorry bad joke.) I got changed, wrote my lock combo on a piece of paper and stuck it the only place I felt was safe: in my shoe, and I strolled off to meet my trainer. He was a lovely guy, very charming but also down to earth and I was put at ease in a matter of minutes. He also quickly dropped that he had a girlfriend which also helped to defuse any of those crazy thoughts wondering "is he flirting with me or doing his job? Should I be less friendly, I don't want to give him the wrong idea? Will he still flirt with me once he sees how out of shape I am?" Thank god.

I won't go into full detail of how much of a fool I made of myself, but let's just say that I am a teensy bit out of shape, and when I was shown how to actually properly do a push up and use the muscles I am meant to, I collapsed on the bar and almost choked myself on it. The ab work outs were pretty funny too, and one upper body strength exercise on an exercise ball went so poorly that I fell very awkwardly onto the ground, kind of along the lines of a flapping fish out of water, and he decided we should just move on to the next exercise. In any case, it was informative, and I see that I am definitely starting at the beginning.  

Anyway, some of the questions that he asked me were ridiculous, and I found it amusing how difficult it was to explain my actor-y lifestyle on this teeny little form. However some of the questions actually hit me quite hard. I was asked by Justice the day before what celebrity I would like my body to look like and I was stunned. I couldn't believe that they were asking me that. It felt like they were asking me if I was getting a nose job, who's nose would I want. It seemed ridiculous, but I was too shocked to come up with an intelligent answer, however when it came up with my trainer today I simply said "I don't want to try to look like anyone but me. I know that I will never look like a certain celebrity as I have a different body type than them, and so it would only be unrealistic." luckily my cool trainer loved this answer, and we moved on.

This is what brings me to one of my many whirling emotions about joining a gym. There is a part of me that feels bad, like I am betraying who I am by saying that I want to change my body. I am such a believer that the television and film industry does not come even CLOSE to representing the body types of the real world, particularly women, and I have always said that I will not conform. Now, that said, I also think that part of that voice is completely right, and part of that voice is fear. Part of that voice is an excuse that I give to myself so that I can't possibly fail. I also know in my heart that I will never be a crazy skinny hollywood lady, so I really don't have to worry about feeling that I am conforming, as I can control that.

The part of me that is coming from fear knows that I am not at my healthiest. It knows that I am terrified by the idea of making a goal and not being able to reach it. It knows that in my heart, up until today, I never thought it could be possible for me to be anything but the slightly chubby, but not huge girl lacking in muscle and athleticism. It wasn't until I heard my trainer say that it would be absolutely possible for me to reach my goals that I ever considered it possible. That's pretty cool.

Now as for the actual beginning measurements, I was still hesitant, but my trainer said it best when he explained "You are already what you are, and not knowing the numbers won't change that, but knowing the numbers will bring it into your awareness." Basically, ignoring the problems does not make them go away. Smart man.

Of course I still have some issue with some gym techniques, and manners, and I cannot afford to continue personal training, and I have been taught through Alexander technique and movement work that I have to be aware of my own body and keep tabs that I am not over-using any of my muscles in the wrong way. So I will not be entirely drinking the kool-aid, is what I'm saying. However, I have never seen the experience in such a positive light before. I have also never asked for help with it, and now I have.

As for my last main issue, it is simply this: I have been working hard at accepting myself and loving myself just the way I am. If that is true, isn't it wrong to say that I need to get into better shape? In fact that is the justification I have given myself. The true answer is: no. By truly loving myself I can accept myself no matter what I look like, or how in shape I am. That is independent of the fact that because I truly love myself, I want to do what I can to keep my body healthy and strong, to be a vessel to work with and carry out whatever it is that I am supposed to do. Because I love myself, I am making changes. The true blessing in this is that I want to succeed, but there is no need to fear if I fail, because I will still always love myself no matter what.

 

Love and kindness all.