Beauty

Today as I was getting my Facebook fix, I came across a site speaking out against the media's portrayal of women. Photoshopped images, completely flawless skin, perfect bodies... Images women strive for, but can never possibly attain. I always look at these sites, watch the clips, and reevaluate where I am.

I was diagnosed with anorexia nervosa at the age of fifteen. It was the fall of 1997. Eating disorders were just beginning to get recognition as an actual illness that needed to be addressed. People often saw an eating disorder as a "right of passage," a sickness of vanity, a "diet" gone wrong. My illness actually did not form from seeing images of perfection, or wanting to be thin. I stopped eating as self-defense, to gain the upperhand where I could. And I recovered. For the most part. But like any addictive disorder - you never lose it completely.

Now that I'm no longer on the defensive, my struggle with self-image is sometimes fueled by the beauty I see portrayed and praised. My struggle is internal, but I know how much of an impact media wields over people. I've heard so many women complain about their bodies, I've seen young girls suck in their stomachs, listened to people discussing unhealthy attempts to lose weight. And I know - this is how it can start for someone. And once you develop an eating disorder; that's it. It stays beside you like an unwanted acquaintance. You learn to subdue it, you learn to pretend it's not there. So, it breaks my heart to know that something as simple as an advertisement, a retouched photo, can send someone down a similar path as mine. And I wish there was something more beautiful, more meaningful to say; but all there is that beauty can never be found in a mirror, in an image - it is what we share with others. Beauty is not a physical representation. Beauty is what we do with what we are given.

You can't airbrush a personality. You can't retouch humanity. You can't Photoshop grace. The media gives us illusions of physical perfection, that is all. They sell us an "image." I suppose what I'm trying to get at is this - the less we focus on physical perfection, the more beauty we will see. Advertising and media aren't likely to change, I think we just need to change the way in which they are viewed. The more unrealistic and superficial we know them to be, the less we will strive to attain such a definition of "beauty."

Ramblings

Sometimes it's just difficult to put words on a page. It's one of those nights where my brain has completely unhinged itself and my thoughts are sounding like a drunken gas station loiterer mumbling. Perhaps it's stress from the lack of a steady day job, weird realizations I've made, lack of sleep, or being taken off guard by people's extreme generosity - but it's been hard to write lately. But I want to write, because I know the words are neatly packed away in my psyche somewhere. I just have to figure out what needs to be said first. Which means this post might be a bit rambl-y and inspired by a myriad of events.

Sometimes I worry that my posts are overly honest. I put a lot out there. But I also keep quite a bit packed away. I'll never say it all. I'll probably never write it all. But after being so silent, so reserved, so numb for such an incredible length of time; it was time to put shit on the table. And I've always written my thoughts better than I could ever state them out loud. I let other people read them for two reasons: first, it forces me to deal and better myself; second - my struggles resonate with others. The feedback I have gotten from individuals with either similar back stories, or those who just enjoy reading my blog has been more rewarding than I anticipated. My intentions when I post are to discover something within myself and spark the reader to their own cathartic event; whatever that may be.

I discovered the kind of coincidence this week that makes you look skyward and say, "seriously?" I won't explain said coincidence, but it was enough to freak me out sufficiently. I don't know how much I believe in fate, destiny, blah, blah; but sometimes something happens or dawns upon you that makes you think about kismet (not the musical). I do think we all meet certain people for a reason. Relationships; however fleeting, remain intact in some form in each person's memory. And as hard as we may try to forget certain encounters, scars and symbols remain. And the only vaguely intelligent truth I can glean from that is - never underestimate even the briefest of relationships; sometimes the quickest heartache onset is the most beneficial.

I listened to gypsy guitar jazz last night and smiled.

A Little Thanksgiving

It's the holidays, which always makes me a bit sentimental. Perhaps it's because I miss certain faces from back home, or how much I'm beginning to realize just how long I had been living in embittered victim mode. But as I sit here, next to my Charlie Brown Christmas tree and unable to sleep, I know that I am still a Lucky Girl. And for the longest time (I'm talking decades)- I let one man terrorize my perception on every person and every situation.

I was for so long under the impression that he killed whatever was loveable in me. My father left me a broken shell of a girl - ugly, torn, refuse. And I have been helplessly holding hostage this notion that all I could ever be was what he left me. I put myself out there with the serrated edges somewhat exposed so no one could shatter me further. And then it occurred to me that for all these years I had been giving him power. It was actually a strange realization. Listening to a stand-up comedian one night discussing women with father issues, I no longer wanted to be the subject of that joke. I thought, "Oh shit. My self-esteem is at the level of being so pathetic it has become comedic fodder."

But I can't blame my father anymore. I'm no longer twelve. I haven't even seen him in nine years. It's time to let the fog of the past go; and build my self-worth on what I've accomplished, the family I have that loves me, my incredible friends who put up with me - breathe life back into myself. I look at my tattoo as a reminder that I never have to be somewhere I don't want to be. I may be small, but I cannot be contained.

This Thanksgiving, I am grateful for finally starting to grow the fuck up and learning to be a stronger person. As I go into the holiday season, I will remind myself daily that I am lucky to have a family that supports me, old friends who continue to make me smile, new friends who have welcomed me to the wonderful city of Chicago, and a chance to start over.

Risque Business

Performing burlesque is the mutt's nuts (thanks for that phrase, Christopher Moore). Here are just a few reasons I love what I do:

1. Every weekend I become highly flammable. Between the Aquanet, spray on pantyhose, and "adhesives" - no one should light a match within twenty feet of my person.

2. I love to dance. I love to dance in my undies even more. I love to dance in my undies as part of my job a ridiculous amount. I'm a lucky lady.

3. I found glitter in my coffee the other morning.

4. It inspires me to find new ways to move. I forgot for awhile what it was like to push myself physically to find characterization, intriguing body shapes, rediscover flexibility.

5. Every show is an adventure. Will my pastie stay on tonight? Oh shit, I thought I had another 8-count to get my shirt tied. Where's my bra for the next number? Why is this audience member not pulling my tail?

6. I couldn't ask for a more talented, beautiful, fun-loving group of people to work with and for.

7. Shimmying in a dancer's thong and pasties is a pretty rockin' adrenaline rush.

8. It's an amazing workout. I love a performance that requires stretching, water bottle, and post-show peanut butter sandwich.

9. I'm effing Slightly Spitfire. I named myself after a Gaslight Anthem lyric and World War II aircraft. I've embraced my not-so-inner geek.

10. Burlesque is not only entertainment, but empowerment. The shows I've seen and the ones I'm involved with inspire confidence. It's sexy. It's fun. It's spectacle. If it doesn't make your day, then you might be dead inside.

I can't believe I'm fortunate enough to be a part of Gorilla Tango Burlesque. I know how incredibly lucky I am to be able to say I love this job. Now, go see some burlesque. See what all the fuss is about.

And This Is Why I'm Single

Dating.

I've never really done it. I'm not good at it. And sometimes I don't even realize when I'm on a date until the guy has to point it out. Yeah, that's happened.

-You did know this was a date?
-No. I thought it was dinner. And cookies. And "cookies" isn't code for anything other than cookies. I really like cookies.

Even I miss my own dating experiences. I could piss and beleaguer about my lack of luck in the department of love, but that's been done (by yours truly after a couple of glasses of red wine). Instead I thought it might be more enjoyable to share my awkwardness and generalizations on the opposite sex in different circumstances. Or what I like to call, "And this is why I'm single."

1. I'll start with the slightly inebriated guy who stopped me as I was walking to the grocery store this weekend.

-(Inebriated, yet attractive guy): Let's talk about these bags you've got. What are they about?
- I'm going grocery shopping.
- Oh. You're all green and shit... and I'm just that drunk asshole on a corner in Chicago.
- No. You're fine.
- I'm Dave.
- Rebecca.
(I continue on my merry way as I hear Dave as he exits into the Dairy Queen, something close to)
- I'd like to get into those bags.
(I poke my head around the corner because I'm neither deaf, nor drunk)
- What'd you say?
- Nothing. I just think you're really cute.
- Well, thank you.

I was actually highly flattered by this encounter. (And this is why I'm single).

2. I despise silence between two people unless I'm angry. My inability to cope with awkward silences with men I like lead to awkward phrases such as, but not limited to:

- I have had sooooo much caffeine.
- I have that dude's shoes. I really like sneakers.
- I dance in my skivvies on Friday nights. It's my job.
- Guinness. It's my favorite. It's like a liquid potato.
- My back up plan is to marry Elijah Wood and move to Hobbitton.

Ladies, all of these phrases are turn-offs. Even the third one. (And this is why I'm single).

3. One time I ran into a man I had a sizeable crush on at a bar, and he shook my arm. That's right, my arm - like it was a Magic 8 ball. It lasted twenty seconds, I said nothing while staring at him, and promptly went home.

(And this is why I'm single).

4. I have, on multiple occasions, been caught dancing with an inanimate object. I've also been busted playing in cardboard boxes, seeing if I could fit into certain tight spaces, smacking my own behind and saying, "good game Taylor."

(And this is why I'm single).

5. I gave my number to a guy. After (*cough*) beers, I'm not sure it was mine.

(And this is why I'm single).

And after reviewing this list (knowing I could easily list fifty things without stopping); I'm not disheartened. I realize my life is full of amusing qualities that keep me from jabbing coffee stirrers into my eyeballs on a daily basis. I say weird shit. I maintain eye contact. I go out alone. Is this why I'm single? Hell if I know, but it's kind of fun figuring it out.

On Weeping

I moved to Chicago with the intention of starting over. Wiping off the cliched slate and attempting to move forward instead of in circles - it's a hell of a lot harder than I originally envisioned. I naively thought the move itself would remove my past, quell my defenses, and generally make me better. And while I know I am in a better place, feeling safer than I ever have; I realize I still have to deal with this shit. Distance is not my savior. Performing again on a regular basis does not redeem my personality. Finding a new home does not make every last nightmare evaporate. But I am dealing with my life. Finally. When you leave your home, leave your family, your best friends -you are forced to sit with yourself and cope.

Admittedly, I'm not one who cries. But I've wept more since I've arrived in Chicago than I have in years. And we're talking straight up wailing, heaving on the floor style weeping. And for awhile, I thought this meant I was weak and still stagnant. But then the realization trickled over the course of technical rehearsal week and opening night at the theatre - it's not weakness, it's just living. And I have been numb for a very, very long time. I'm no longer somewhere where someone can swoop in and pick me up off the floor. I have to find the strength in my hands again, push my pale face away from the cool of the linoleum and keep going.

The fatigue of fighting to gain self-confidence and being okay with what I see in the mirror is wearing, but I am not lost anymore. I am honestly coming to grips with how incredibly lucky I have been. I am starting to see what I have instead of what was taken from me. It's looking at the possibilities that is starting to keep me sane.

So I am starting over knowing that I still have work to do. But I am finding strength in what lies ahead of me, instead of trying to garner my courage from the fight of my past. At some point it will all become moot and I will only be myself in the present. And that's all anyone needs.

Boobs and Birds

It's getting close to the opening night of Temple of Boobs. I have done many a show that I've loved. But Temple of Boobs has become a show that I am both proud of and grateful for it's personal impact. Aside from being my first Chicago gig, it has started to give me a level of confidence I wasn't expecting. I have always had a wretched sense of self-esteem and skewed vision of my capabilities. Growing up as I did, developing and surviving with multiple addictive behaviors, and hitting a mental concrete floor on numerous occasions - I became abrasive, inexcusably blunt, and ugly. My past was my excuse for my behavior - I deserved to be an asshole and I deserved to do whatever I pleased with my own body.

Now, at almost thirty years of age I am learning how to be okay. Being with Geek Girl Burlesque is the first time I've had to be okay with my body; since I get down to only the essentials while I dance. Sure, it's a physical hurdle my formerly anorexic self is proud to have surpassed. But it has really become more about letting go of the bullshit I've clung to for all these years. I don't have to be afraid to the point where I am on a constant defensive; and I have a reminder that I never have to be in a place that I can't leave.

Coming to Chicago, being in Temple of Boobs - has begun stripping me of how unattractive I have felt since I was a little girl. It's not gone by any means, but the facade is cracking somewhat. I'm encouraged by the strength of my fellow Geeks, and determined to find my place while becoming the kind of person I want to be around.

My grandfather once had a sermon about always burying dead birds. And my affinity for sparrows grew out of retaining that lesson. I don't even remember why we were supposed to bury them, I just knew that even the tiniest bird deserved that much respect. And to be a bit trite, I've always felt as if I was that small, insignificant sparrow. And I'm content with that thought because they can fly. And you can see me fly (and dance) starting October 28 at Gorilla Tango.