Bees, you say?
23 April 2010
22 April 2010
And accidental poetry!
I just noticed that one line in my list of labels reads as follows:
bad lesbian brunch camping sucks cocktails
I'm not sure what brunch camping is (sounds rude), but I reckon that it's probably a true statement however you choose to interpret it.
20 April 2010
Having been through therapy once or twice (fuck off, I'm a Gen X American and as such it is my birthright), I have been led to the idea that a turning point in any break-up is when you look back at the erstwhile object of your affection and say, 'I miss you, but I don't want you back, not the way things were.' I got hit with this tonight. I've been having a teary day for no particular reason - I suspect PMS is involved, but god knows I've still got a few tears to shed over recent events, so it happens - and I was talking a bit with one of the clinicians at my temp job. After she left, I was getting back to work when the thought came to me unbidden: I don't want my life in Sydney back, not the way it was. I miss so much about it, about all of you, and when I think about those things I feel like a part of me has died. But you guys, it was so hard not knowing anything about my future. It was exhausting worrying all the time. It was breaking me down way worse even than I realised, I think. And that's the only life I could have down there, at least as things are now and would be in the foreseeable future.
To wit: fuck all that.
Don't mistake this for a miracle cure. As a lovely person I don't really know yet recently said to me, transition is not a linear process. There are good days and bad days, and the whole mess will go on for a long time. A long, long time. But it took me by such surprise, that thought, that I wanted to write it down mostly to remind myself of it later.
XOXO
To wit: fuck all that.
Don't mistake this for a miracle cure. As a lovely person I don't really know yet recently said to me, transition is not a linear process. There are good days and bad days, and the whole mess will go on for a long time. A long, long time. But it took me by such surprise, that thought, that I wanted to write it down mostly to remind myself of it later.
XOXO
13 April 2010
A whole class on stockings? Bien sûr!
I'm sorry it's been so long: I didn't realise how much time had passed since my last post. I'm trying to keep to two a week, but it's harder to fit that in that it seems like it should be.
Specifically, I owe you guys a wrap-up of the Burlesque Expo.
It was... an adventure. I had a great time, and a lot of the people I met were really nice. The classes were fascinating: in addition to the aforementioned stockings and heels workshop (focused on how to take them off, of course), I studied how to eye-flirt with the audience and how to do perfect pin-up make-up. I also sat in on a panel discussion of race in burlesque, which was awesome right up until an older man who was attending the workshop (for reasons that eluded us all) started sharing his opinions, and... well. His heart was in the right place, but his vocabulary hadn't quite caught up.
Apart from that, though, it was a riot. Most of the women there were a fucking riot, and it was great to be a part of that energy. Of course, there were a few That Girls getting underfoot, but that's only to be expected. Some cruel people will tell you that burlesque is stripping for ugly girls; I disagree with that on a variety of levels (those bitches were HOT, just for a start), but there's no denying that burlesque has become an outlet for the sort of oversexed girl who back in our day simply would have been BISEXUAL!!! until she found a boy patient enough not to care about her daddy issues. So, you know, there was a bit of that. What was sad was how blatantly - and unflatteringly - they stuck out against the girls who were legitimately confident in and comfortable with their sex appeal, and how utterly they seemed to fail to recognise this.
I haven't decided yet if I'll pursue burlesque myself, but it was great fun to dip a (stockinged) toe in. For now I'm enjoying belly dancing way too much to think about doing anything else, apart from maybe some hula-hooping classes - those will at least compliment each other.
I have to pull myself together for work now, yuck. Still temping. The second interview for the other job seemed to go well, but again, it's very hard to know. We'll see what happens.
XOXO
Link du jour: All about That Guy.
01 April 2010
Spring takes winter.
That's a Darren Hanlon reference, by the way. (Excuse me, indie-pop sensation Darren Hanlon.)
The weather here has been tortuous. It's been raining almost without a break for two solid weeks. What's weird is that it doesn't feel like particularly rough rain to me, accustomed as I now am to Sydney's semi-tropical electric downpours; it's much softer and the drops are small, and if the wind isn't up and you've got an umbrella and waterproof shoes you can be outside without too much trouble. It totally takes Sydney in stamina, though: it just goes on and on and on, and on, and then on some more, until finally you walk downstairs to find that your basement is buried under half a metre of water. (Not ours, fortunately, but entire towns have been flooded out and the Governor of Massachusetts called a state of emergency - and that was before the most recent series of storms.) Jamaica Pond is creeping over its banks minute by minute, and if it's not soon appeased it may well swallow the neighbourhood whole. We have awakened the Kraken.
With summer coming, all this rainfall is theoretically a good thing, as it means we're less likely to have a water shortage (yes, we have them here too). In fact, this is not the case: because of all of the flooding, many areas of the state have had their emergency reservoirs polluted with outside water. Those people are now in the confounding situation of being on water restrictions while having the firies pumping floodwater out of their houses.
But finally, finally, a change is coming. In Sydney, seasons change with the calendar, and the second you flip that page the weather follows. I don't understand it, but clearly a deal was struck somewhere along the line and you all just go with it. But in Boston, you know the seasons by their smell. No matter how many cool days you have, it's not autumn until you wake up to that smell of wood and cinnamon and crumbled leaves; no matter how much snow you get, it's not winter until there's cold tin in the air; and no matter how many times you see the sun, it's not spring until you smell the earth waking up again.
And you can smell it. Everyone can. And it changes people: they smile more, they're suddenly outside in droves. Everything's a celebration. A couple of weeks ago we had two beautiful 70˚ days, and on Friday afternoon in Jamaica Plain it was like the entire neighbourhood was having a street party: the rush hour traffic stuck around with the cars just cruising playing soul and Motown and soca and reggae, and all loud with the windows down; people of every age standing around on street corners laughing and talking and flirting with strangers; no coats or scarves or mittens to be seen. Sydney may have better weather, but it's almost a fair trade when you get this much more joy out of it when it comes.
Oh, and I learned today that I got a second interview for the job I'm going for. As the first interview lasted two hours and involved four people, I can't imagine what they've got left to ask me, but as this one is scheduled for 90 minutes clearly it's something significant. That's not until next week, though, and there's a whole lot of burlesque between now and then!
XOXO
The weather here has been tortuous. It's been raining almost without a break for two solid weeks. What's weird is that it doesn't feel like particularly rough rain to me, accustomed as I now am to Sydney's semi-tropical electric downpours; it's much softer and the drops are small, and if the wind isn't up and you've got an umbrella and waterproof shoes you can be outside without too much trouble. It totally takes Sydney in stamina, though: it just goes on and on and on, and on, and then on some more, until finally you walk downstairs to find that your basement is buried under half a metre of water. (Not ours, fortunately, but entire towns have been flooded out and the Governor of Massachusetts called a state of emergency - and that was before the most recent series of storms.) Jamaica Pond is creeping over its banks minute by minute, and if it's not soon appeased it may well swallow the neighbourhood whole. We have awakened the Kraken.
With summer coming, all this rainfall is theoretically a good thing, as it means we're less likely to have a water shortage (yes, we have them here too). In fact, this is not the case: because of all of the flooding, many areas of the state have had their emergency reservoirs polluted with outside water. Those people are now in the confounding situation of being on water restrictions while having the firies pumping floodwater out of their houses.
But finally, finally, a change is coming. In Sydney, seasons change with the calendar, and the second you flip that page the weather follows. I don't understand it, but clearly a deal was struck somewhere along the line and you all just go with it. But in Boston, you know the seasons by their smell. No matter how many cool days you have, it's not autumn until you wake up to that smell of wood and cinnamon and crumbled leaves; no matter how much snow you get, it's not winter until there's cold tin in the air; and no matter how many times you see the sun, it's not spring until you smell the earth waking up again.
And you can smell it. Everyone can. And it changes people: they smile more, they're suddenly outside in droves. Everything's a celebration. A couple of weeks ago we had two beautiful 70˚ days, and on Friday afternoon in Jamaica Plain it was like the entire neighbourhood was having a street party: the rush hour traffic stuck around with the cars just cruising playing soul and Motown and soca and reggae, and all loud with the windows down; people of every age standing around on street corners laughing and talking and flirting with strangers; no coats or scarves or mittens to be seen. Sydney may have better weather, but it's almost a fair trade when you get this much more joy out of it when it comes.
Oh, and I learned today that I got a second interview for the job I'm going for. As the first interview lasted two hours and involved four people, I can't imagine what they've got left to ask me, but as this one is scheduled for 90 minutes clearly it's something significant. That's not until next week, though, and there's a whole lot of burlesque between now and then!
XOXO
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