Internet, let's play dress-up

Here's the deal: Against my better judgment, I've agreed to take part in a one-night-only performance of a one-act play written by one of my Rosemont peers. I say "against my better judgment" because I've protested being cast considering that I:

1. Can not act
   
2. Will be unable to get the lines out without laughing, because they're hilarious, and
   
3. Have to "cry" and be "frightened" with a certain degree of authenticity.

You see, a few months ago I took part in a script in hand reading of another play written by a Rosemont grad, and that apparently cemented me as an "actress." Which, let me repeat, I am not. There's a bit of a difference between reading with some inflection and actually, you know, acting. Still, Jillian, the playwright, implored me to take part in her show. "I have the perfect part for you! It's small! You'll like it!"

Of course I show up to the first table reading and discover that I've been cast as the whiny strumpet. I have to tart it up all over the place and plaster myself on the men in the cast. I have to say ridiculous lines with conviction and defend my character's erotic poetry. I have to CRY on DEMAND. Thanks a lot, Jillian.

ANYWAY, considering that I will suck for the duration, I might as well suck while looking good. Which brings me to the dress up: I need your help picking my costume.

The play takes place in the 1930s at a party. I've discovered, however, that the majority of 1930s dresses are slinky and dowdy, neither of which seems suitably sex-potish for an erotic poet nor anything that would particularly flatter my body type. Since we're not being entirely period, I'm drifting a bit more towards the 40s wear. And while Rosemont has offered to cover the expense of the costume, provided they can keep the dress afterward, I've decided to just buy it for myself, seeing that I have weddings to attend later in the year and will need a dress for those occasions.

Here are our choices:

The "Stop Staring Lula" Dress.



I like this dress. Swanky, sultry, shows off curves. Good for post-show wear as "little black dress" staple.

The Stop Staring True Blue Dress.



I love, love, LOVE this sweet little dress. However, I feel it might be a little too sweet and also creeping too close to the 50s for the purposed of this show.

The Stop Staring Red Lana Dress



Vampy! However, I'm worried about the crossing fabric across the bust line, which traditionally doesn't look good on me.

The Red Siren Dress



I like this one, but it feels a bit dressed down for the purposes of the show. Like, I need something a bit more fancy. For a point of reference, the men in the show will be wearing tuxes. So I feel like I might need to gussy up a bit more. Something like...

The Lace Maria Dress



Va-va-va-vooom! I like this one a lot. I'm just worried about looking, uh, too thick in it, you know. But the site seems to imply that they make the dresses for girls of all sizes (Bless you, Daddy-Os!), I'm just hesitant because internet shopping for clothes is always tricky.

So there are your choices. Let the voting begin! And feel free to suggest alternatives that you find on that site or elsewhere.

Oh, and for anyone who wants to come see me make an ass out of myself, the performance of "Murder!" a One-Act Murder Mystery/Comedy is on March 21, Rosemont's Main Building, 8PM, FREE.

My pants, they are very fancy

So get this craziness:

Remember the conference? Well. They're making a book of the conference proceedings and my paper is one of the ones they've selected for publication.

I KNOW.

Pardon me while I go off and Squuuuuuueeeeeeeee. And then bury my ass in revisions. Oh man, I have a lot of work to do.

Jiggly Bits

Recently, I noticed that I'm sort of...squishier than I used to be. Like, I've never been a bean pole or cut or anything (I've always been a bit plump), but I had skimmed down last spring (It all went to hell in late summer), and then re-adjusted slightly while I was in the UK because I was walking everywhere. But as the cold months blew in (along with the holidays), I have found myself where I am every winter: Curled up with something starchy and/or cheesy to help pack on blubber for these cold, cold winter months.

Not helping is the fact that it's also hibernation time — I get so lazy and blue this time of year. It's dark, it's cold, all I want to do is hunker down under blankets with books and kitties.

Normally I would let this phase pass and come spring jump into action eating better with more fresh produce and going out and doing shit. However...Brisket.

I find myself getting quite self-conscious. Like, using candles not because they're romantic, but because provide softer light and my cellulite isn't as easily visible. Doing that ridiculous stomach-suck thing to make him think that I do not, in fact, have a squashy fat roll of sadness around my middle.

Brisket, of course, hasn't said anything nor behaved in any manner that would make me think he's noticed nor cared if he did. Someone once told me that sexiness is about confidence, which I believe is true. If I work what I got, he won't notice what I don't have (namely, a tiny waist). However, it's hard to be confident when we're snuggling and all of the sudden his hand finds his way to my stomach and ohmygod he's TOUCHING the ROLL and the CREASE and Christ, I'm all lardy and oh god oh god. And then I have a mental freak out followed by a mini come-to-Jesus with myself, all silent and secret-like in the space of 25 seconds so he won't think I'm a neurotic freak show. Which of course, I am.

All of this by way of saying that I've signed up for this* in May and starting TONIGHT, DAMNIT, I am beginning training. Jiggly bits shall be no more.

Any help and motivation you can give me — aside from 80s telling me I'm a fatty because I know I'm a fatty, I mean something constructive — would be appreciated.

*The 5K. Not the Half-marathon. I'm not completely insane.

Obamarama!

FINALLY!



I wish I was there. As it is, I'll be watching the inauguration during my lunch break, and possibly crying tears of joy and relief.

Mikey Likes It forwarded me this story from The Onion from about 8 years ago. I had seen it before, but re-reading it made me shudder with how prophetic it was. Vanity Fair has a wonderful oral history of the Bush Administration.

Man, I can't tell you how relieved I feel now with the knowledge that these long 8 years are finally fucking over. As Vanity Fair says, farewell to all that. So long to that shit-eating "I just smelled a fart" grin of Bush's, all while fucking up the country and our status in the world. Farewell to juvenile nicknames for respected world leaders. Goodbye to cowboy politics and arrogant "I'm the decider" agendas. Auf Wiedersehen to keeping your father's buddies in your pocket and making a cabinet up of Yes Men and unqualified buddies. See ya later, to collectively spending over two years of your 8 years in office on vacation, including the days leading up to 9/11 and during Katrina, to say nothing of your most recent vacation during the conflict in Gaza (which you refused to interrupt your vacation to make a statement about). So long to constantly feeling downtrodden and apathetic. Farewell, you weenie-dicked piss ants of the Bush Administration.

I have no doubt that Obama will make mistakes. I harbor no illusions about this Presidency — the people of the Obama administration are not miracle workers, and they won't be able to magically fix the state the country is in come Jan. 21. They will make mistakes, they will "spin," and they will pass legislation I disagree with. They are politicians, not saints.

However, I firmly believe they are going forward with competency and the desire to do good. I believe they want to show America's might not with guns and military force, but with diplomacy and responsible leadership. I believe that when they make mistakes, they will be willing to stand up and be held accountable.

And most importantly, just by being elected, this administration had restored our faith in ourselves. The ability to stand up and make a change, to mobilize and get things done. WE did that, the voters, the American people. Yes we can, indeed.

Lunchtime conversation at SuTao

Sarah: I want cobbler. Why do they have it in the fridge and not out on the table?

Me: They're probably saving it for the dinner buffet.

Sarah: They'd better stop. There is a recession. People are hungry.

(This made me laugh for, like, 10 minutes.)

Said and unsaid

I came to the realization that I haven't really been blogging much. And when I have blogged, it's been mostly photos. Which, is cool and all, but as Mare said to me on Saturday, "I like your writing."

Partly, I've been just busy and boring, not having anything too exciting or earth-shattering to write about. The regular holiday bustle, running to and fro getting ready for my last semester in school (!), helping my brother out, and your general winter blahs.

On the other hand, I've been censoring myself. Because there is something going on in my life, but I'm unsure about how to share it or if I should. I've made coy hints, which most of my friends in real life were able to decipher and guess at, despite how subtle I thought I was being. For the first time, I've become hyper-aware of certain readers and possible readers and I'm trying my best to balance it all and figure out what I want to divulge to who.

It's stupid, because the whole reason I started this thing was to write and share and be uninhibited and I sort of hate that I now dread coming here to write things because I have to leave huge chunks out or I'm left with very little to write about and then I feel like I'm cheating all of you readers and doing cop-out posts, but on the other hand it's my damn blog and I can write or not write about whatever the fuck I want to and when I damn well please, and clearly I am a woman with Issues Already so leave me alone.

So. Deep Breath.

There is a Boy. I shall henceforth refer to him as Brisket, for no good reason other than I like the sound of it, and also I think it's funny that I'm referring to him as a piece of meat. OK, it's not that funny. WHATEVER, PEOPLE. My blog, my nicknames. Shut up.

Brisket is not my boyfriend. This is an important fact, and I want to be very clear about it. I have not the time nor the emotional space for a serious boyfriend. I get annoyed whenever Gary refers to Brisket as my boyfriend or "beau." Beau especially, because seriously What The Fuck? It's not 1909, nor are we sipping mint juleps on the veranda, and I've always hated that word. It's stupid.

I've come to the conclusion that Brisket and I are more than just dicking around, though. Originally, I thought that it was going to be a quick fling, a couple of weeks of fun and then we'd part ways. Or he'd get sick of me or meet someone hotter or whatever. But it's been some months now, so obviously we get along and like each other and it's fun. There's no good term for what we're doing. I don't have a definition. I'm OK with not having one. For simplicity, when he's come up in conversation, I've referred to him as This Guy I've Been Seeing, which might well be his Indian name.

Brisket, a.k.a. This Guy I've Been Seeing, is cute, practically too cute for me. Brisket is also a huge dork, which may explain why we get along so well. I chatted him up with some sexy sci-fi talk. He bought me a Battlestar Galactica DVD for Christmas, and he starts sentences out by saying things like, "In this dimension..." Make outs and swoons, people.

I feel good, we laugh a lot, and I'm having a lot of fun. Those are the things you need to know. And as long-time readers of this blog can attest, IT WAS ABOUT FREAKIN TIME, because I was well on my way to Homely Spinsterville and now I feel like I've made a nice detour to GettinItOn Datestown or wherever.

I feel so much better having cleared the air. Let's never keep secrets again, Internet.

Ew

nataliedee.com

I've got the death cough. At least it's not whopping cough.

Skin Deep

Skin Deep is a thriller set in the Dublin art world, inspired by artists like Damien Hirst and the new greed of Ireland. Karl, a struggling artist, owes money to his landlord, a photographer called Dan. Karl is stuck for inspiration, when one day he hits upon an idea, involving a huge favor from Susan, a medical student moonlighting in a hospital morgue. Dan's girlfriend Ruth writes a weekly column on her love life. As Karl's new work elevates him to celebrity status, Ruth becomes suspicious of the secret to his success. All this... and a mysterious foot!

Skin Deep by Paul Meade
THE AMERICAN PREMIERE!

Directed by Tom Reing
Starring Charlie DelMarcell, Jared Michael Delaney, Corinna Burns and Melissa Lynch.

January 6-18
The Adrienne
2030 Samson Street

Ticket reservations online or 215-454-9776













Philly kids, you know you want to go!

Shocking twists and horrifying developments!

You know what you need? A new calendar.

Oh look, here's one I designed for my class this last semester.

It was this whole concept involving B-movies related to office work. It's sort of silly, but I had fun doing it.

Favorite shots, 2008

Hot damn you guys. I took an ass load of photos in 2008. One of my resolutions for 2009 is to actually sell some of my photography and services (something which I have found out will really happen, since Haven and Mike are insisting on paying me for my services) and to be published or in a show again. However, this morning, I was notified that JPG magazine is closing, which makes me so sad. JPG was probably the most likely publication the publish me — I had made it to the semi-final round several times for past submissions. I can't help but be depressed about this magazine loss, not just on the photography level, but also on the publishing level. The rapid disappearance of print is scaring me.

Anyway. Favorite shots of 08, in reverse order:





These two shots are from a photoshoot I did last week, for my brother's up coming show, Skin Deep. The shots I took will be used in the play, projected upon a screen. I took about 200 frames for my brother in 45 minutes, so I don't know which ones will be used in the show, but I know that these are two of my favorites from that day.















I so rarely take self-portraits. I like this one because I'm all paganed up and also it reminds me that I need to shell out for contacts one of these days.







































































All told, I uploaded 5,429 photos in 2008, and probably took at least 1000 more. 2009, let's get started.