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Breaking into the Brazen Babes

Yesterday I had the pleasure of speaking with a former classmate from the Academy of Burlesque. In March, I went to her first produced show of Pastie Premieres where they feature new performers or new acts, and it was spectacular! She is producing another show next month, and has asked me to volunteer. She also wants me to audition for the next show. I’d love to shimmy and shake on stage some more.

After finishing my first burlesque course at the Academy in Seattle my mental health took a turn for the worse (unrelated to burlesque. I enjoyed every minute). I haven’t done much in the way of burlesque since except for applying to perform in a few productions, and supporting other performers in their shows. Over the past few months I have made a lot of headway in recovering thanks to my doctors at the VA, as well as my own work to push and motivate myself. I just need to work on being a bit more social…oh but how awful that sounds.

I am moving to Zurich, Switzerland late this year and have been thinking about continuing my passion for burlesque abroad. I think I’ll start researching and looking through the burlesque subculture in Europe, specifically Switzerland and Germany.


Andromedoll debuts

The very first show I did was a love story about a succubus who had come to Earth from somewhere in the Andromeda galaxy. When she arrived, everyone was dead, but that didn’t stop her from having a good time.

A bubble that should have popped

My past haunts me. I know I’m not alone, but that gives me very little reprieve. If anything it makes matters worse within my mind, as it jumps from conclusion to conclusion. My traumas, though severely consequential to my life, are small in comparison to what many other people have been through. I have a difficult time of validating the state of my mental health to myself.

I have been rather isolated of late. I’m feeling quite a bit better, but I’m also worried of being overwhelmed. As I write that and reread it, it sounds ridiculous. Being worried about an emotion you may have in the future. It definitely doesn’t make sense. Part of the problem is that I know that, however, I behave in a way as if the idea has never even occurred to me.

I have actually been enjoying playing with HTML and CSS again as I fancy up my space of the web a bit. It is a nice escape that I also feel isn’t completely wasteful. It motivates me to work on other projects in my life I’ve been putting off, including helping one of my roommates with a game he has created. He would like me to use my dusty photoshop skills to make a banner of some sort. Of course I want to do it as I miss designing, and I want to be there for a friend in need. I have been having problems with motivation though, and fortunately this on-a-whim WordPress adventure has helped quite a bit. Yay for public fucking diaries!

A hat for your cat

I was woken up from a text AND facebook message (why both?) from an abusive man from my past this morning. The messages read, “hi u…” in one and “how u been?” in the other. So nonchalant. As if we haven’t talked in two years. He betrayed my trust and used me for the last time, and I completely ripped him from my life, or at least I thought I had. It has taken me about ten years to swallow the hard pill of what all has happened. Ten years is long enough for people to reflect on their behavior and change, and so I gave him the benefit of the doubt. I wanted to give him a chance to redeem himself.

Unfortunately, that was not the case. Duran (let’s say that’s his name; I’d rather not use real ones) was moving across the country and needed a place to stay for a few days. He asked me, somewhat out of the blue, and after we talked for a bit, I agreed.

He and his puppers stayed on my couch. I let him eat my food, drink my beer, smoke my weed. I even took him out to a bar that I occasionally frequent and introduced him to some friends. Duran thanked me by creepily hitting on my sister that lived with me at the time in front of her SO, allowing his dog to bleed (she was in heat) all over my livingroom and my couch and not offering to help clean it, as well as borrowing $60 and not repaying it, even asking for more so he could buy more cannabis. Once he left, I erased him from my life for good. I was giving him another chance after what happened years before, and he squandered it.

Change toward becoming a better person is not something that happens to you, you have to want it and work for it.

In other news, spring is in full force and fucking beautiful over here in the gorgeous PNW. Check out that foxglove!


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Booty physics

A butt could be modeled as a coupled harmonic oscillator with n degrees of freedom, from which solutions can be comprised of 2n harmonic modes. I wonder what modes are most dominant for my booty…

Kutna Hora, Czech Republic by Pascal @flickr

Same as before

A succession of loud and shrill screams, bursting suddenly from the
throat of the chained form, seemed to thrust me violently back. For a
brief moment I hesitated–I trembled. Unsheathing my rapier, I began
to grope with it about the recess; but the thought of an instant
reassured me. I placed my hand upon the solid fabric of the catacombs,
and felt satisfied. I reapproached the wall; I replied to the yells of
him who clamoured. I re-echoed–I aided–I surpassed them in volume
and in strength. I did this, and the clamourer grew still.

It was now midnight, and my task was drawing to a close. I had
completed the eighth, the ninth, and the tenth tier. I had finished a
portion of the last and the eleventh; there remained but a single stone
to be fitted and plastered in. I struggled with its weight; I placed
it partially in its destined position. But now there came from out the
niche a low laugh that erected the hairs upon my head. It was
succeeded by a sad voice, which I had difficulty in recognizing as that
of the noble Fortunato. The voice said–

“Ha! ha! ha!–he! he! he!–a very good joke indeed–an excellent jest.
We shall have many a rich laugh about it at the palazzo–he! he!
he!–over our wine–he! he! he!”

“The Amontillado!” I said.

“He! he! he!–he! he! he!–yes, the Amontillado. But is it not getting
late? Will not they be awaiting us at the palazzo, the Lady Fortunato
and the rest? Let us be gone.”

“Yes,” I said, “let us be gone.”

“_For the love of God, Montresor!_”

“Yes,” I said, “for the love of God!”

But to these words I hearkened in vain for a reply. I grew impatient.
I called aloud–


No answer. I called again–


No answer still. I thrust a torch through the remaining aperture and
let it fall within. There came forth in reply only a jingling of the
bells. My heart grew sick on account of the dampness of the catacombs.
I hastened to make an end of my labour. I forced the last stone into
its position; I plastered it up. Against the new masonry I re-erected
the old rampart of bones. For the half of a century no mortal has
disturbed them.