Washing Machine.... or Time Machine???



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I am probably a douchebag.    After an all-out, Mr. Toad-like, no-holds-barred mad spree at the local consignment shop, I loaded up a full load of colored clothing into my parents' front-loading LE washer.   Cycle finished, and I put it in the dryer.    Now, in a rare-ish moment of douchebaggery, I put two white tops into the washer, set it to 'gentle', and 'low-soil', where it was supposed to be done in 28 minutes.     So yes.   I am, in fact, running an entire washload, for two pieces of clothing.    Because I want to wear one of the tops tomorrow, and everything that is left for whites, has Boston Terrier hair all over it.    Washing clothes with dog-towels sort of makes the washing pointless.

You can blame me for global warming if you like, but Boston Terrier hair = super-itchy me.

So.   When I went to use the dryer, I found it already occupied with a full load of damp towels and clothing belonging to my parents.   So I re-ran the dryer.    And waited.   And waited.   And finally I pulled everything out to fold it....

I always do that when I empty a dryer and put my stuff in.   It always made me feel like less of a douchebag in college, when I wanted the dryer, but someone had left their stuff in it.    (For some reason, I am not quite fully able to accept that the greater part of the douchebaggery could and should be assigned to the person who is tying up a perfectly good dryer with laundry that is already finished.   Obviously my parents are exempt from this, as it is their house, and their dryer.)

When I unloaded the dryer... there was 18 minutes left on those two tops.    I folded all the dry clothes, sorted them, re-loaded them into the laundry basket put it on the kitchen table (so that the aforementioned Boston Terriers cannot make themselves a clean, freshly-warmed bed of finished laundry), poured myself a glass of water, took a benadryl (did I mention Boston Terrier hair?), and checked on the washing machine.

17 minutes left.

Clearly this early-generation front-loading LE washer knows a few tricks about space-time, important information that was not conveyed to later models, including JC's.   

And speaking of time...  I really do believe that - despite how closely I resemble both of my parents - that I was, in fact, switched at birth.    Or else I am a pod-person, and the original me was abducted and cloned by aliens, and I am, in fact, the replacement me.


I say this, because I, the person who adores beautiful clothing and lovely underpinnings, just folded my parents' underwear, and I never saw anything more pitiful.    The whites were pinky-grey and the colors looked like the colors FLDS women wear.    Sad, overstretched elastic.    I think the homeless people on Ellis Street would turn their nose up at these and say 'no thanks, I'll just keep going commando'.   And I shall not speak of the socks, except to say this:  if socks are supposed to protect your heels from blisters, and keep your toes warm, these have failed grandly on both counts.




Captain von Trapp: It's the dress. You'll have to put on another one before you meet the children.


Maria: But I don't have another one. When we entered the abbey our worldly clothes were given to the poor.
 
 


Captain von Trapp: What about this one?  

Maria: The poor didn't want this one. 


I have taken note of sizes, and when I get back to the ATL, I am going to do some shopping and mailing.  I cannot let my parents run amok in boxcar-hobo underpinnings.

Yeouch.



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First flamenco class of the new semester, and Malita brought the funk and the pain.   I was not expecting that.  This is an advanced class.    But tonight, I got to re-learn the difference between an intermediate-advanced class, and an advanced-professional class.   It means that, once again, my toenails' days are numbered...


And if I had been expecting that, I would have thought ahead, and realized that when class finished, I was going to have to stuff my battered feet back into the four-inch, not-yet-broken-in Cole Haan Dominatrix-heels.   And that those battered feet would have to hike four blocks  from the parking garage to the condo.   Had I foreseen any of this, I would have worn something flat and padded vaguely orthopedic.   Alas... tonight I lived in a blonde sort of vacuum...

And I wore these:


... my brand-new (to me) Cole Haan Maria Sharapova Air Swan Oxford Pumps



Total killer-diller, dominatrix goodness

I have been wanting these shoes for a very long time.   Two years!    I saw these shoes at the Cole Haan Outlet, at the mall waaaaay up north on Highway 400.   It was love at first sight - desperate, uncomfortable, Story-of-O type love.    The sort of love where you glance around to make sure nobody is watching, then gaze with doglike adoration at the object of your affection.   These shoes were that gorgeous.    Beautiful glazed leather - not quite patent - very rich-looking, with killer heels and gorgeous velvet laces.

If you ever thought to yourself that you needed the perfect shoes for your super-buff, hot younger submissive boy-pet to crawl over to and lick clean... these are the shoes.   If you haven't ever thought that, well, I didn't think that either, because that would make me a weirdo.   Right.  I didn't try them on, let alone buy them.  I was intimidated by these shoes.   They seemed too daring for boring ol' me.

Over the next two years, I would sometimes think about those shoes, and mentally kick my own butt for not buying them.    I searched the internet, only to find they were sold out everywhere.   I kept checking eBay, where they rarely - very rarely - turn up.    Inevitably, they were never my size.   Not even close.   And believe you me, I would have padded a few sizes up, or squeeeeeeeezed my feet into something smaller.

Finally! a few weeks ago, a pair recently appeared on eBay - it was an auction, with a buy-it-now price that was $20 higher than the starting auction price.    Twenty bucks!   Ha!   I wasn't going to spend twenty bucks more than I had to!   I am the Queen of Snipers!    So I cheaped out, didn't take the buy-it-now option, and wound up being sniped the last three seconds of the auction.   I was not amused.   Being the sniper = cool.    Being the snipee = not cool.

I decided I would not miss the next pair, so I set up four or five different searches on eBay, and every day, I checked my email...

And whaddya know?   Two pairs appeared in one week.   One auction, one buy-it-now.   The auction started out very cheap, and the shoes were a little more battered.   With four days left, the auction pair had reached nearly half the price of the BIN shoes.   Lots of different bidders.  I decided that this time, I was not going to be a cheap bastard looking for a ridiculously good deal, so I took the BIN option and got my shoes.

They arrived yesterday, and they are wicked fierce, and even better than I remembered.

So I wore them to class tonight.   A few people oohhhh'ed and ahh'ed, and I felt vindicated as I gritted my teeth and pounded the pavement for the four blocks home...

I filled the tub, for a hot soak, but while the tub was filling, I saw the trailer for that new movie, "Mama".   Creepy shit.    JC left for a work trip at 5am this morning.   I am all by my lonesome.   I promptly decided that the LAST PLACE I wanted to be was alone in a bathtub late at night.   Ungh.   Totally creeped-out.   I totally want to see it, but I am afraid it will be the same horrific disappointment "The Woman in Black" turned out to be.   I have high and persnickety standards of what a creep-out movie should be.

So I watched Family Guy until the unsettled feeling of being watched by unseen feral children disappeared.    Then I had my bath.

And here we are, waaaay past midnight.   I am off work tomorrow, but I have ballet class, followed by a six-hour drive to Florida.   Not only am I not packed - but the packing is waiting on laundry.   I only have two bras I deem worthy of two days hiking around Orlando theme parks - and they both went into the wash just a few minutes ago...

So let me regale you with the tale of the Alternate Plan B shoes... black Repetto suede and satin oxford pumps.    I bought these after the first pair of Swans were sniped, thinking I wouldn't see my beloved Air Swans turn up in my size anytime soon...

These are comfortably padded, and flexible enough that I can point my foot hard in them.   They fit like a glove.   I could hike around Paris in these...

And yet, they don't have the sexy fetish edge that the Swans have...

The day before these arrived, the Air Swans turned up on eBay.   I was in a quandry.   So I decided to buy the Air Swans, compare the two, keep one pair and relist the other.

Both shoes have such great points:   the Repettos are fantastically adorable, sturdy enough to walk great lengths in, but light and flexible enough to feel like dance shoes.    These are ideal for theatre auditions, because you can go from street-to-dance in them.   The Air Swans are a bit heavy, and quite stiff.   It will take some time before they are broken in.   But they are dead sexy.   They are one helluva pair of Stern Librarian shoes.

So nothing's getting relisted this time around...

I am a bad little shopping elf.

What the Cool Chicks are Carrying...



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After lots of talk, my baby sister, Sarah, finally got around to sending me my Christmas gift. 

She told me it was kind of a gag gift, and kind of serious.

I took it very seriously when she messaged me a few days later, that the Fed Ex package she sent now said to go to my nearest Post Office to inquire about the package.

!!!!!!!

United States Post Office?   I asked.    She had no idea.    I checked the FedEx site.   This is a surprisingly inflexible site for maneuvering around, by the way.    Other than "your nearest Post Office", it did not elaborate.   So... I assumed it was the USPS.   And it has been raining steadily every day since this year.

So I guess it really was a gag gift.    Me, having to hunt this damn thing down.  

JC pointed out that I should double-check with the concierge downstairs.   After some confusion there, they produced my package...


And here is what Sarah sent me.   Prepare to be jealous...



It's latex rubber.   It's a chicken.  It's a purse.   It's BRILLIANT

Behold... my chicken-purse.    When I visited Sarah in Chicago back in July, we saw one at a museum shop, and I couldn't stop laughing.   I don't know why it is, but rubber chickens, and similar derivatives, make me laugh.    Rubber chickens are comic gold in my book.    So she found one online and sent it for Christmas.

That girl really is the Amy Sedaris to my David.

You better believe I'm going to carry this thing around... sometime...

Black Leather



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Donna Karan AW 2012


About a dozen years ago, when I turned 30, I had a brief burst of "to hell what other people think, I am going to dress for myself", and I bought a pair of black leather pants, and a black leather 'suit' (matching skirt and jacket).    I wore the pants once, the skirt twice, and the jacket perhaps half-a-dozen times.

And then back into the closet they went.

Every time I do a closet culling... I pull these items, look at them, agonize... and put them back into the closet.    Because I could not quite muster the boldness to wear these lovely pieces.

I have decided that I am going to stop worrying about what other people think, and trust my own tastes and instincts, and dress to please myself.


Skirt: Vintage Leather.   Sweater: Express.   Belt:  Bebe.   Tights: Spanx.  Shoes: BCBG Paris.   Pearl Studs: Johnny's (Hong Kong)



What are you hiding in your closet, that you love, but never wear?

Plans and Inspirations



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In December, Caló Gitano taught a flamenco class, and performed at the SalsAtlanta Christmas party.



Today, I took a ballet class - and my first pointe class in a very long time.    In fact, it was my second pointe class in my entire life.   And I loved every moment of it!

Well... every moment except the last five minutes, where I realized I was fighting my twenty-year old shoes, that were fitted when my feet were half a size larger and far less flexible.   So tomorrow, I am going shopping for new pointe shoes.  

I really am committing to this.    We are working on a number of concepts for future shows at Caló Theatre, and while we are a flamenco dance theatre, there is a character that I will be playing, and I would love to see that character up on pointe.    It's an idea that has been buzzing around the back of my mind, and I really want to do it.    I am giving myself a year to see just how far I can go with this.



Puss-in-Boots and the White Cat from the Royal Ballet's "Sleeping Beauty"



Plans


So a few posts ago, I made some high-and-mighty sounds about only having one New Year's Resolution.   I have a confession to make:  I have another.   It is a sort of 'montage' of everything I would like to do, and improve in my life.    Basically, it boils down to this one resolution:

Make Myself a Force To Be Reckoned With.

How I dress.   How I comport myself.    My manners.   My work in the fine arts.   My attitude.  When I walk into a classroom, or at an audition, or onstage, I want to be the best person there.    Or at the very least... the best version of myself that I can possibly be.

This resolution exists because I realized that there is a definite dichotomy in how people view me, and the person I actually am.    After Olelucia, I had so many people - people that I know, that I thought knew me -  come up to me and express blatant shock that I can sing, or act, or dance, or write a script, or direct a damn show - that I realized that I am not really projecting my own, real image to the world.    I've been letting people underestimate me.   

I try not to get to wrapped up in self-image or what other people think - but I truly believe some of these people thought I couldn't find my way out of a paper bag - and that thought infuriates me.   And then, too, there is this:   if you are a force to be reckoned with, it gives you leverage when negotiating a salary, or landing a role in a show, or saying 'no' to the drama of others.

So that is my plan for 2013.

Some inspirations


Suzanne Farrell and Jacques D'Amboise in "Meditations" 







I don't know who this is, or who took the photo, but the effect is stunning!





This is possibly the most brilliant thing I have ever seen.




I have two gorgeous cheongsam dresses.   I think I am going to pull those out sometime soon and wear them.


.  









Yesterday.



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Highlights of yesterday...


Woke up with the same headache from the day before, so I went for easy, in my clothing choices...


I bought this dress 15 years ago... and never wore it... until yesterday.    Shoes are BCBG Paris (old).    The dress is super-comfy, and forgiving of a multitude of sins.   I am going to have it taken in at the waist, though.


 This is the email I sent to JC around 2:30pm...



I plan to leave here around 3:15, swing by CVS, then home.    I didn't get to list as many eBay things as originally planned.   Instead... well... suffice to say that the palmetto bugs might be coming in the front door, but they have been LIVING and PARTYING IT UP in the lower cabinets on either side of the dishwasher.   I emptied out everything, threw away lots of spices and cleaning stuff, vacuumed, scrubbed, and SPRAYED THE LIVING HELL OUT OF EVERYTHING.

Those little bastards.   I'm going to win.   WHY ARE THEY HERE?    I don't have food out!!!

Quit laughing.

~lbd


Little did I know, when I took this picture, that I would be going on a crazy kitchen-cleaning rampage... or I would have worn overalls.


Just to clarify, I am pretty fastidious about my kitchen.   If you dropped a piece of candy on the floor, not only could you invoke the 3-Second Rule... you could safely pick it up and eat it after 7 or 8.

However... the night before, I had spotted a palmetto bug hanging out on the kitchen counter - right underneath one of these - a gadget that is supposed to repel him...

Bell + Howell Ultrasonic Pest Repeller


Well, yesterday morning, I found evidence under my sink that prompted the above email.   Turns out my little friend has probably been squatting for the entire five weeks of Thanksgiving-to-New Years'... during which I made infrequent drop-ins to make sure the heat was working and to pick up clothes.

So I gritted my teeth, rolled up my sleeves, hauled out the cleaning supplies and bug spray, and started emptying the cabinets.

There wasn't any food to 'get at' (everything at my place is canned, or in the fridge), but I did throw away a lot of expired spices,  and condiments.   And I found this... it was a gift from Terry.   Terry is my godmother's brother, and one of my mom's best friends.   

He is pure evil, and I aspire to be just like him.



What could this be, I wonder??
Oh, that Terry!   He always knows what we need...





Hmmm.    There is nothing I can say to improve upon this.



So three very heavy garbage bags, and a whole lotta spray bottles later, the 'party' cabinets on either side of the dishwasher are clean, pristine, and stink to high heaven of chemical reactions.

If that little bastard survives, I will have to call in the S.W.A.T. team.

Or else suck it up and name him.

Or keep a rolled-up newspaper handy.

So I never did get rid of the headache.   I drove back downtown to JC's, hauled my tired cookies upstairs, and then found out...


MY NEW LOUBOUTINS HAD ARRIVED!!!

 Okay, so they are new to me - I bought them pre-owned from eBay.   Ron Ron in black haircalf, with lizard heels.   I don't think they are fakes, because they came from a well-established, highly reputable seller - but there are signs of repair around the right toe - which can be seen in this photo.

I don't care.   The only way someone would see that is if they were paying me to walk on them with those stilettos, and so far, nobody has contacted me wanting to pay me to walk on them with stiletto heels, so...

I think it's a safe bet that nobody is going to notice a minor repair on the shoe.


These are so pretty, I wore them all evening, walking back and forth from the living room to the bedroom...


My first Louboutins!   I feel like Tom Hanks, when he made it into the Five Timers' Club...



A Fool's Errands



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Leotard & tights, pants over that, vintage jacket from Paris, and my favorite Kelsie Dagger boots.   Ready for the ballet class that didn't happen.   Don't you fret none about that bag of trash in the background - I took it down.

Just a few highlights of my day...

My day began with the same headache I went to bed with last night.   It has been trying very hard to become a full-blown migraine, but I keep throwing caffeine and advil at it, and it retreats for awhile to sulk in a corner somewhere, before it comes tiptoeing back.

It doesn't help that I went to Marshall's and sniffed candles.   I brought home a Calvin Klein candle, "bitter vineyard", that is a very pungent, spicy grape.    Yummy.    But I messed up on the reed oil diffused and bought Calvin Klein "Dark Mahogany".   I know, I know.... in print, those names look a lot alike.    In ordinary circumstances this scent would be quite delicious, but it is feeding my almost-migraine and making it grow bigger-faster-stronger.    It has been banished to the exile-room of my condo - the room I light-heartedly refer to as my "Hoarders" room.

Anyway, back to this morning.   I had half-a-dozen debates with myself about going to a ballet class at Highly-Reputable-Ballet-School-Whose-Real-Name-I-Won't-Mention-Here.   It is a beginner-level class, followed by intro to pointe.   The debate was that my head was hurting, but I reasoned with myself that it was a beginner class.   I could get through a beginner class, and if I wasn't up for pointe after, I didn't have to stay.    So I got my things together, threw on a coat and hat...


The hat belonged to William Wilkinson, my great-grandfather Cuthbert's brother, who emigrated to Canada and became a Royal Mountie...

With the hat, my outfit made me think of the Russian Dance from The Nutcracker, so I decided to get crazy with some color...


So I schlepped five blocks to my car, spend an extra ten minutes walking through several floors of the garage, because my car was in a distinctly different spot from where I distinctly recalled parking it.    So I kept pressing the 'lock' button on my car and listening for the horn, like a mother penguin calling to her baby.  

Which is why, as a matter of note, I call my car, "Baby Penguin".

So I got all the way over to the studio... to find it closed.   Until January 7th.    Thanks, guys, for mentioning that on your website.   Oh wait... you didn't...

So it was up to my place, in the 'burbs north of Atlanta.   Got my hair did on a drive-by whim, and it's cute.   Well... it was cute.  The stylist blew it out straight and flat-ironed it.   I let him, although I'm not keen on straight hair on me.   Ten hours later, it's limp and flat and totally not me.    Picked up some good tips on doing my own color, though.



I drove past the dance studio by my house, thinking if I could keep my headache at bay, I might go to a class there.   But there is a sign posted in the window, that they are closed all this week.    Thanks, guys, for mentioning that on your website.   Oh wait... you didn't...

I often wonder how certain people manage to stay in business.

I had intended to do a few more errands, but the dwarves inside my skull started mining for gems, with their sharp little pickaxes, behind my right eye, so I made a quick food run to Kroger, and came home.   Brief nap, won another pair of Wolfords on eBay (brown, with a diamond sort of fishnet pattern), and listed a  Michael Kors suit for sale on eBay.    Here it is:

It is a size 4, but would also fit a size 6.   I hate to give it up, but as I am a 2-4, I look like Charlie Chaplin when I wear it.    It is a gorgeous, clear red color.   If I ever find it in a 0-2, I will probably buy it.

So that was my day today.   I am headed to bed a bit early, to relax, unwind, and hopefully banish the migraine-monster for good.

Also, on an entirely different side note - I plugged in one of those new 'pest repellent' electronic ultrasound devices that Mom (aka Optimus Hoarder) got me for Christmas.    An hour later, I walked into my kitchen to find a palmetto bug sitting on the counter underneath it.

Sadly, I did not get a picture.    I stayed surprisingly calm, and did not do my usual OMG THERE IS A BIG FREAKIN' SPIDER/PALMETTO BUG/THING WITH LOTS OF LEGS dance that I would normally do.    Must be the headache mellowing me out.

I think I am going to have to lift my self-imposed moratorium on harsh chemical insecticides and get the Cooks people in here.

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