New Year's Sucks

I feel fat, ugly, awkward and cranky....it must be close to New Year's. As much as I'm trying to keep the feelings at bay my end-of-the-year/beginning a new year anxiety is ramping way up. This happens to me every time and try as I may, no matter what is going on in my life---good, bad or otherwise--I can't seem to shake it off until well into January.

There are a number of factors adding to my current state. After twelve years together I decided to finally end my relationship with nicotine. It's been long overdue. Honestly, this past year my smoking habit was all about not going through withdrawal and feeling sick (that sounds so sad, like a heroine addict or something, but it's totally true). I've tried to quit and failed each time until I recently decided to go on Chantix. I should not have gone back to it after I had my son in the first place, but I did--I know, I know.

Just as a side note--something that really pisses me off is the general assumption that once a woman becomes pregnant some kind of switch goes off in her head and she becomes this jolly, matronly exemplary model of good behavior. Any vice, personal struggle or,quite frankly, certain parts of her own identity are suddenly expected to be put on the back burner. Of course the joys of preparing for parenthood and the life growing inside of you are very inspiring--but it doesn't make you a model citizen overnight--it's hard work and it can be a scary lonely place sometimes. So just back off a little. Especially if you don't have kids. I'm just saying.

Anyway, I chose Christmas Day as my quit date--thinking it would be a good day with all the food and happy distractions. I was right, in part. What I didn't count on was getting my period early and also a raging, painful throat/ear thing. Triple fucking whammy. It was a blessing in disguise because between the Chantix and the amazing amount of pain I was in kept me from smoking at all--so far. So far so good, I guess. I'd like to use my New Year's resolution for something a little different this year like--remembering to take my vitamins, read more or drink more water--something other than the daunting task of quitting smoking (which at the time I really had no intention of doing anyway).

I'm not ready to cap off the year yet without visiting my extended family in New Jersey. I have never missed a between Christmas and New Year's visit with them in my lifetime. Unfortunately, they've been buried in 3 feet of snow since Sunday and today being Wednesday, they are just beginning to get their streets plowed. Even if the Turnpike or Parkway is clear, the smaller highways and town roads are not passable, not yet anyway. So the visit will have to wait until next weekend which is really throwing me off. I feel like a skip in an old record. I'm mentally stuck on the fact that my "holiday season" cannot conclude before this visit, it's out there hanging in the balance and I miss my family--so I'm all uptight about it. I probably have a very mild form of OCD or General Anxiety Disorder. I can easily admit to that.

Of course, since I've been sick this week and with all the holiday hub bub I haven't had time to do anything of the burlesque or pole nature which has got me bummed and jonesing to practice. I feel fat and greasy and gross from my week of holiday eating and a little frustrated with the whole thing. I suffer from terrible end-of-the-year self-doubt (yeah I know I mentioned it before). I have a bad case. I'm just wondering where I'm headed with this whole project. Obviously, if the couple of opportunities I would like to be involved in work out, I'll be pleased. But where do I go from there? I certainly have no interested in pole dancing in a gentleman's club. I don't have anything against the ladies that work there or the clients the patron them. It's not what I want to do with my dancing (if I can call it that at this point). I'm not the body type they're looking for and I'm fine with that. I also have no interest in dealing with strip club men. I wouldn't do well in that environment.

My corner of the world seems to be lacking in cabaret type clubs or venues, to my knowledge, that regularly feature burlesque acts and such. There are some outside my little haven but that's at least an hour and half drive or more. I hate driving. Yeah I know I'm just bitching. Honestly, I don't know why, other than possibly parking issues, someone hasn't come along to open a night club/artist venue in my area because I think it would go over well. Money and parking.

My point is that I feel a little isolated with this whole idea. I wish I had a girlfriend or a burlesque buddy or something--don't get me wrong the blog is great support. There's just something about being in a group of people with a common interest or passion that feels so satisfying. That's the major thing I miss about college. Probably the only thing. In the theater department where I went to school you had a whole family of kids with the same geeky Glee-type obsessions. Or people you could just bounce ideas off of or who would acknowledged when you really improved on something. I miss the united front of all things artsy fartsy and silly. We had our own side of the cafeteria for fuck's sake!  I never thought there would come a time when I really needed to go back there. To go back to all those people but I miss them and wish we where all back there now.

Did I mention that quitting smoking is not fun? Because it's really not a good time.

I am a type A personality in many ways--a planner, a thinker. I do not like to "go with the flow". This project needs a plan and a vision beyond spring and since I don't know what that is, although it may sound exciting to some, it's really messing with me.

I'm frustrated. and I hate New Year's. By the end of next week I'll be better. and I'll be a non-smoker. Besides, why should I get myself all stressed out when I've still got a lot to learn and practice? It's not like I'm some kind of amazing sex goddess and no numbers in my black book. I'm a sex goddess in training--no reason to put the cart before the horse. Ok, maybe not the best image in regards to my self-esteem.

Remember the scenes in Silkwood when Meryl Streep would accidentally contaminate herself and then they'd put her in that boiling hot shower and scrub her down with that brillo brush thing? That's my idea of a good time. I like to stand in a super hot shower and just let all the crap inside my head go down the drain. I think it'll help me get rid of these greasy heebie-geebie blues. So that's what I'm gonna go do.

Happy New Year.

Moving Forward

Before I get into to talking about my day, I just want to wish you a very Merry Christmas and a healthy and prosperous New Year!! The love and support I've received through this blog  makes me feel giddy! I usually  feel blue this time of year; focusing on what didn't work out, grasping for time to go back and correct mistakes or finish what I started. I hate New Year's Eve, I always have. It feels like being forced to count down the last minute before getting pushed off a bridge only to be hoisted back up with a wink and some elbowing. 2010 presented some of the darkest moments in my life thus far, moments best left in the distant past. But the little triumphs made the year a success in sum total. As I said in my very first post, I turned 30 this year. Although some people make it seem like the beginning of the end, I think I'm at least 3 inches taller!

I'm not the same size or shape as I was pre-child--and guess what--I'm over it. Other than giving birth, this is the first time in a while that I've connected to creative purposefulness of my body. I can use it to create beautiful art and the body nor the art has to be perfect to be enjoyed--if only every woman could feel that. Seriously, what could my body possible do for me ten pounds lighter that it can't do for me right now? And, of course, the moment I made the shift in perspective I began to lose weight. Losing weight though, is secondary to happiness. I can look myself in the eye and say that now.

I should really also take a moment to give kudos to Mr. Bunny. I can say without hesitation that he has been completely cool, supportive and genuinely interested in this whole venture without even the slightest intonation of resentment, jealousy or doubt in my ability. He is hands down the best friend I have ever had and will ever have--a tried and true life partner. We have learned (often the hard way) that by the time the bills are paid, emails answered, laundry done, child put to bed you're just too damn exhausted most days to even have a meaningful conversation. When you're constantly at the mercy of the "to-do list" you're not only in danger of losing your identity but drifting over the waves and out to sea--far from home. Paddling to safety alone is to daunting a task. You need a compass to point the way or a good strong anchor to keep you grounded. Mr. Bunny has been my compass and my anchor throughout this year. And he bought me an eight-and-a-half foot shiny phallus and assisted in erecting in our bedroom.....but anyway..

After I whisked my son off to the germ-infested den of hyperactivity known as daycare this morning, I had a chance to put in a good forty five minutes on my burlesque piece. All in all good practice; although, for some reason the zipper on my dress was a little uncooperative. Luckily, I've allowed myself enough time in the music (it seems) that if it gets a little stuck I can still get it down. Oh, and I purchased a thong. I know I said Bunny would not perform in a thong but the other panties I tried just didn't do it for me. A totally bare ass has a certain "wow factor". It was also time to give my pasties a go. I knew the flimsy disks of double-sided tape included in the packaging were not going to be enough for performance--for that I plan on getting some spirit gum but I figured they'd at least be good enough for a little tassel twirling practice. I am happy to report that for the whole 30 seconds the tape held my girls did a good job! I may not have been able to nurse my son---nothing diminishes the confidence of a first-time mom like her her newborn baby slapping a tit out of his mouth--but by God, they can bounce and twirl tassels. That's gotta be a powerful force of good somewhere in the universe!

This morning's session was followed by the next to last one of my classes with Maria. We went over some basic spins, which with the additional home practice, I am getting better at. Then she threw me for a bit of a loop by asking me to  improvise some walking patterns and dancing with out spins. Waahh?? Now I have  plenty of performance experience, a four-year degree in Theater that I am still paying off and some quality dance technique behind me and I could not come up with a thing. I ended up walking in circles and doing a couple hip roles. She actually gave me a little scolding! Admittedly, I have been focusing with such diligence on trying to at least get the spins right and trying to develop basic technique that I totally forgot it's called pole DANCING--not walk and spin. And transitions! If you land a spin on your knees how are you going to do get back up on your feet in a sexy, dancey way?

It was a little embarrassing and I wanted to kick myself in the ass for completely ignoring some of the fundamental strengths I have--basic dance technique and stage presence. Boy, what a day. It doesn't matter if I can do ten spins in a row if I walk around in a circle for four minutes starring into space. Yuck. Here I've been working so hard on my dance technique and playing with the audience in my burlesque piece and so hard on hoisting my fat ass up on the pole and didn't even consider the bridge between them--which was my goal in the very first place.

 It's given me A LOT to think about and a lot of homework; however, Santa is coming very soon! I really want to absorb as much as I can with my son this Christmas because this is the first year he really seems to get it. His excitement is contagious! I wouldn't care if I didn't get a single present this year as long as I get to see the look on his face when he sees that Santa has left presents under the tree. I also want to spend some quality time with my Grandmother and watch her and my son together. I don't know how many more Christmas' we'll be blessed to share with her--and I say that with as much perspective as I can muster on the issue. Now off to finish wrapping--I thought I was done?!

Have a lovely holiday! See you next year!

Like I said, I had some time to myself...

I put in a good two hours on burlesque and another 45 minutes on pole. Exhausted, I've fallen back on one of my favorite past times...You Tube. Please watch this. It's fabulous and so incredibly gutsy! I almost cried tears of joy watching it and I am not being facetious in any way. Watch this on a day when you need to feel beautiful and powerful. Enjoy!!!!!!!!! I give you.. Foxy Tann

Corset, Pasties, Pole and Fruitcake?

It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas! Santa was good enough to send me my corset, gloves and pasties in the mail this week plus my pole came!!! I have the pleasure of  a couple hours to myself today which I plan on spending on this blog and my burlesque routine and ya know, housework if I get to it.

As of last night the pole is up and fully functional! I spent the better part of the evening putting it together, spacing it out on the floor, finding a stud in the ceiling, etc., all "assisted" by a very over excited and curious two year old itching to help. I kept trying to refer to it as "mommy's exercise machine". I don't even want to use the word pole because I am sure my little echo is discussing it with his Grammy right now. I'm just not ready to answer any questions. I got the X-Pole XPert 2-inch static and spinning in titanium. It's no joke. This is the real deal--not just for home enthusiasts. The best part is it comes with extensions for different ceiling heights and is pressure-mounted--nothing to screw in. So when I'm ready I can take it on the road!!! I gave it a good work out for about an hour and a half (my right shin can prove it) and it still needs to be leveled a little better but all in all I'm very satisfied. I also tried it a couple of times on spin mode and almost puked! It's like a carnival ride. Basically by loosening a couple screws at the base, that are designed for this, you can make the outer tube of the pole spin while the inner tube stays stationary. So when I spin my rotation is a lot faster and longer but you have to have really good control--otherwise it's like being on a tilt-a-whirl. It kind of reminds me of the Seinfeld episode when George's father denounces Christmas and adopts "A Festivus for the Rest of Us"--the only decoration being a shiny metal pole. Maybe Santa will slide down my pole instead of the chimney this year!

As soon as the package arrived this week I raced upstairs and tore off the cellophane encasing my corset, gloves, etc. I'll say this--it's very hard to properly lace and put on a corset by yourself--but no less comical. After a few minutes, standing topless cursing in front of the bedroom mirror, I managed to get the damn thing on. It fits---I guess. The difficult thing for me in buying any type of clothing these days is that my hip measurement does not match my bust and waist. In order to accommodate my hips I should really go up a size; however, then nothing fits in the bust and I get a droopy waist. Luckily corsets offer a little wiggle room because they are tightened and loosened with laces up the back. The one I purchased is even better because it zippers on the side--a little cheat by purists standards--but tough shit.

 I've worn a corset before but it was a period costume which laced differently. They have one long "shoe lace" that tightens all the way down  and is tied in a bow at the bottom--at least the ones I wore did. This one has two sets of laces that meet eachother in the middle of my back and each get tied in a bow or the four ends are tied together in one bow. So picture, if you will, a topless Bunny trying to tighten the top only to loosen the bottom half and vice versa. Very frustrating. I finally got it. It has light boning in it (vertical rods that give the corset structure and shape) but is made of a stretchier material. Thank God, because Mr. Bunny brought me home some fruitcake the other day. One of my most favorite foods in the world! In fact, for my last meal I'll probably request some kind of sushi roll, steak medium rare and fruitcake and plain egg nogg for dessert. Now I have to make sure I don't eat the blessed thing in one sitting! I've been known to go through a whole fruitcake in a 24-hour period. I can't afford it at all this year--but I digress. I may need cheese fries at my last meal too--or gravy fries!!!! Anyway....

 If I continue work with the corset I can get it adjusted to where I want it. Really you should go to someone who specializes in corset making and get measured, fitted and laced properly. I could probably close it all the way if I was going to stand in one spot and take small breaths all day. Instead I am going to sew in a modesty panel. Simply put, it's a piece of material that sits under the laces in the back--this way there is no bare skin showing and the laces won't leave red marks on my back. If you've ever worn a pretty cami under a low cut shirt, you're creating a modesty panel. Most well-made real-deal corsets have something like that---this is just an inexpensive one I bought on the internet.

More important than getting the damned thing on is getting it off in a graceful, timely fashion--in front of an audience. That is why I had the forethought to get one with a zipper. Not traditional but this way if I get a little tripped up on the laces in back (which I can comfortably reach around to) I can still unzip and get out of it on the side. It fits nicely under my dress as well. Let's hope my fruitcake ass does too.

Class went well this week. I continued to work on the choreography Maria gave me, but between us, I'm not completely sold on it. I think now that I can practice at home I will modify it a bit to my tastes.  I am concerned, though, that the pole piece will not be ready for performance any time soon. I'm not joking ladies, it's hard work and I have high standards for myself. Maria mentioned that she is having a Valentine's showcase in February. She encourages her students to perform at her showcases. I may do it. I think I will feel safer in an environment where I am expected to be a student--at least with pole. Like I've said before, the pole dancing is a side step from Mrs. Bunny's original goal. So with that being said, I am off to practice some burlesque bump and grinds!

Christmas, Class and Questions

Things seem to be moving right along. My holiday anxiety, I mean spirit, is in full swing. My son had a positive conversation with Santa, I'm half wrapped and the tree is fully decorated as long as a particular two year old stops taking the ornaments off the tree. Next week we're gonna tackle the gingerbread house kit I purchased. That should be fun. In other news...

I managed to make it to my second class without a hitch. Maria developed a short, sweet and sassy pole routine for me. It's cute. I'll be able to pull it off at some point with some much needed practice. I'm a little bummed that there's no big vah-vah-voom trick in it. It's probably for the better since I am still getting tripped up on my hands and feet.  I'm the first one to admit that I am a beginner at best. My primary goal is to develop the strip tease routine first and then work the pole routine. By the way, Santa is supposed to bring me a pole--if I'm a good little Bunny. That should be lots of fun!!

  Maria and I had an interesting conversation about body hangs up and how our bodies have changed since we've had kids. Surprisingly, she has a lot more issues than I do when it comes to stripping. She never does it in her act, and let me just say, she doesn't need it to fall back on. Her pole routines are sexy, graceful and powerful in shorts and a t-shirt. I was a little taken aback, though, when she admitted that part of the reason she does not remove clothing while dancing is because she prefers her body shape in clothes. As I mentioned before she has a ballet dancer frame with legs that go for miles. I can't even be jealous of her; comparing us physically  is like comparing an apple to an orange pound cake. I'm the pound cake, in case you were wondering.

Pole dancing and strip tease are not directly related, cousins, maybe, at best. I wonder, though, is it necessary to take clothing off at all--ever--in performance? Is the strip an essential part of the strip tease or can you create a cabaret type dance number, scantily clad even, but not take anything off and accomplish the same level of sexiness? My initial thought is yes, most definitely. We've all seen someone walking down the street who exudes sexiness or is visually interesting at the least and they are completely clothed. Look at the popularity of Latin dance. Those couples drip with sex appeal and although the costuming is obviously meant to be suggestive they never need to get down to a g-string and pasties to do it.

There's also the beauty of implied nudity. On television, print and in movies we as an audience willingly suspend our disbelief and are often turned on by the suggestion of nudity--even though deep down we know better. Sally Rand, originator of the Fan Dance in burlesque is a prime example. I just finished watching the documentary Striptease: The Greatest Exotic Dancers of All Time which features Rand and a host of other legendary performers. Rand would perform her fan dance sometimes in the nude but many times in a flesh colored body suit. Both performances are gorgeous and you really can't tell the difference at all, in my opinion.

I just wonder--how did we get from showing our wrists and ankles to the Chicago World's Fair, where Ms. Rand's act debuted, to the Victoria's  Secret Fashion show, Lady Gaga and Neo-Burlesque? The obvious answer is the desires of a mostly male audience over the years must have influenced this. Along with the fact that most of the male comedians in burlesque moved on to successful careers on stage, screen and later television; while most, but not all, of the ladies were trying to find new ways to keep their acts going. I'm not sure that that is the whole story, though. Maybe as Europe's influence on American culture became stronger--since the Europeans have always been a little more bawdy and a little more open-minded than us.  Since it's our tradition as Americans to do everything bigger and better, we got more and more undressed. Interestingly,  burlesque went just about extinct at the dawn of the sexual revolution of the late 1950's and through the 1960's. I guess our tastes changed and our feelings about sexuality changed. So in response we created hard core pornography.......is that art? I don't think I'll even entertain that one right now. Can we go backward in time? Backward in thinking? Are we sexually aroused by Neo-Burlesque performers or are we taking a look into the nickelodeon? Does it matter..and if not, why do it?

As I said in an earlier post, I'm really trying to look at this as a new learning experience along with having some fun. One great educational resource is 21st Centruy Burlesque Magazine. I just read on of their featured columns by Beatrix Von Bourbon titled Striptease--Where is the Focus? . The article is what got me thinking of all this in the first place. In summation, the author asks what part of the tease informs the strip? In other words, she challenged her readers to think about the arc of their performances. Are they taking clothes off for the sake of the genre and why strip tease at all? It was really interesting for someone as green as myself.  I'm glad I read it now, so early in my adventure, because it will only help to inform anything I decide to do--or not do, for that matter.

Overwhelmingly I've discovered that performers past and present consider themselves true artists and pole dance, burlesque, strip tease--whatever label used--a valid art form. As do I. It's not so much in the strip but in the tease. The art of seduction, flirting, accentuating the female body, peaking the viewers interest, aesthetics--it's all there. Not to mention good general dance technique and stage presence. AND we haven't even touched on HUMOR. That's one of the things I love most about strip tease and one of the reasons I'm so interested to try it. It's a little ridiculous to get all dressed up and then take your clothes off in front of strangers. It borderlines on the absurd. We stopped performing our fertility dances a long, long time ago. I appreciate that the audience and performer are both in on the joke---it's silly and fun and to be enjoyed. It may be one of the only surviving aspects of burlesque in it's original form. Comedic or topical skits are not always featured in modern shows.

Anyway..I'm still not sure I answered my own questions--why remove clothing at all? Some performers choose to and some don't. Some peel a little, some take it as far as possible. I guess it's all a matter of personal choice and creative expression. With access to everything beautiful and grotesque on the internet you would think that no one would care to see a live show. That would obviously be a terrible, terrible shame. I'm glad to see that people still crave some of that live voyeuristic titillation and there is a vibrant community of artists bringing it to them in various forms.

By the way, my dress came today!!!! Early Christmas present as I was not expecting it for at least another week. It fits like a glove--which means I am not permitted to gain one--NOT ONE pound of holiday weight. I should actually lose four. No small task--remember, I'm the pound cake. It will be a good motivator. Besides, I'm gonna have to have something to take off, right??

Recap

Boy, it's been an up-and-down week for this little bunny, that's all I can say. I think there's more check marks in my win column for the week than losses; although, it wasn't much fun getting here. Let's take a minute to see how it stacks up thus far.

In the Losses Column:

1. Came home Saturday night from visiting relatives over Thanksgiving and found that my son had changed the setting on the refrigerator before we left so halph of everything in the freezer was defrosted and the refrigerator was completely shut off. I had to purge half our food, the other half was ok because the door had been shut for a couple of days sealing in the cold air.

2. Sunday night we attempted to take him to see Christmas lights with my mother-in-law. He fell asleep in the car on the way there because he refuses to take a nap anymore. We had to wake him up which is totally unpleasant to say the least. So he acted like a complete ass the entire time we were there in the freezing cold. Some day it will be a funny story. I hope. The good news was we managed to totally avoid Santa--my son likes the idea of Santa, but not Santa the big hairy guy.

3. I didn't make it to Zumba on Monday (which I love, love, love) because of the most heinous period cramps of my entire life. I actually thought I had the flu or food poisoning before I realized what it was. I had the chills and everything. I really wish I could be done with birth control because I am so fucking sick of dealing with side effects and mode swings and blah blah blah. Then again, I don't feel like dealing with pregnancy side effects and mode swings and blah blah blah.

4. I don't know if you are aware of this or not but men can be total idiots some times. Real stupid idiots. Let's leave number four at that.

5. Yesterday I was walking out the door to go to my second strip tease class and realized I locked myself out of the house and had no spare car key or spare house key. Thankfully there was one window on our front porch that wasn't locked so I managed to get back in. I didn't make it to class, though, because my instructor was apparently called into Manhattan at the last minute. Glad I called to tell them I wasn't coming because otherwise I would not have known she was not going to be there.

6. Today I spent 20 minutes in hell taking my son for a haircut. He's getting his Christmas pictures take tomorrow and desperately needed a trim. I literally had to hold him in a head lock while he screamed and cried and told me he hates me. All in front of four or five little biddies waiting to get their silver blue Ronald McDonald perms fixed. It was awesome. I promised that if he was good we'd go to McDonald's afterwards and needless to say, we skipped that and came straight home. I was really looking forward to a McDouble. Goddamn kid.

The day is not over yet, though. Hopefully we can rally after "naptime".

Ok, on to the Wins Column:

1. My Aunt gave me this really great cookbook called Deceptively Delicious. It's written by Jerry Seinfeld's wife and all the recipes are kid friendly with hidden vegetables in them. So far I've made grilled cheese with yellow squash in it twice and my little guy gobbled it right up. That itself it worth all the other trouble this week. Next I'm going to try the chocolate pudding with spinach. Yum?

2. I've been trying to do a lot of research on all things Burlesque in the last two weeks and have found some really great resources--but I'll talk about this more later.

3. I'm pretty sure I found the piece of music I want to use for my debut act. It's relatively popular but it doesn't seem like anyone is currently using it or using it in the same way as I intend to.

4. I bought a dress!!! Of course, it was a three a.m. Ebay purchase (are there any other kind?) it was a decent price and free shipping. I'm just keeping my fingers crossed that it is going to fit the way I want it to. If it's not quite right I can certainly tinker with it. I decided I'm not ready to start building my costumes from scratch. That will come eventually if all works out that way I hope it does. I wouldn't mind doing headpieces or accessories, modifying pieces but I'm not ready to make a gown from a pattern. I want to start working with the dress as soon as possible so buying one makes me more comfortable.

5. I got on the scale today and found out I lost two pounds!!!! Over Thanksgiving!!???? I Know! But I got on twice just to check it and it's true. This last ten pounds I'm trying to lose is being so stubborn but at least now I have eight to lose--not ten.

6. I cleaned out my makeup drawer in the bathroom and realized that most of my stuff was waaaayyyy to old to still use. If I was still working I probably would have gone through it by now. So I pitched 90% of it and went on Sephora and bought new stuff! Yes! I love to buy make up and shoes and they're the two things I wear the least these days.

Well, that's all I got for now. Wish me luck for the weekend and I wish you luck for your weekend as well. I'll be back in a few days with some research findings.

What the Hell is with this Class Part II: The First Day

The next day beings with my normal routine--coffee, Facebook, CNN and packing my son's bag for daycare. I pray nothing goes wrong with him today; that he won't wake up with a fever, diarrhea or a missing limb. I just want to get through the first day of class. Naturally, he wakes up covered in a thin layer of snot. This has been a daily occurrence since the beginning of fall allergy season. Although it's nothing new, on this day I feel a twinge of guilt dropping him off at daycare smiling and waving goodbye to his little booger face.

The car ride gives me time to daydream about my fellow classmates. I'm sure I've already got them pegged. There will be a group of young twenty-something ladies giggling together preparing to wow grooms on honeymoons or soon-to-be grooms on dance floors. There will be a couple of women who "look good for their age" out to prove to themselves that after bitter divorces they can get back in the saddle again. There will be a loud Black or Hispanic chick who keeps the class laughing and then there will be one odd ball--that'll probably be me. I'll be the one with dog shit on my shoe.

The lower level of the building is dark and smells like a damp basement. I am told to wait by the mirrored double doors for my instructor, Maria. Soon she appears, ushers me in and flips on the lights. Part night club, part aerobics gym, part nursery school the space runs the entire length of the building. Black lights, dance poles, couches and baby bouncers--it is the most perplexing space I've ever been in. The amount of baby gear including ride on toys and a crib assures me that I'm in a mom friendly place. Maria puts on some music and we make small talk--we're both moms with kids around the same age and we both have some dance experience, etc.

Apparently today's class, one of six, is going to focus on pole dancing. I explain that my goal is to perform, I take it seriously, I consider it art, yadda, yadda. I'm told that most people don't take this class. Most women go right into the beginner pole dance class looking for a way to spice things up for their husbands. Up until this moment I had not factored my husband's happiness or our sex life into the equation at all. I decide to table it for now but will definitely have to sort that one out later. After a few stretches at the pole, I notice no one else has shown up--are they all late? It's just going to be me. No hot divorcees, no loud girls, just me. Ok I've got a private tutor, all the better for me.

We begin with moving around the pole, "walking sexy" and simple turns. Maria moves effortlessly through space pointing out the importance of hand position and grip before one's feet ever leave the ground. I can walk and turn; however, my hands keep getting tangled like ribbons on a May Pole. Moving on to actual spins, Maria demonstrations are quiet and fluid. On my attempts I'm proud to actually get off the ground and gain some rotation. Heavy, awkward and afraid of falling, I subconsciously add a little hop right before spinning. This causes the insides of my calves to bang against the pole with the full force of my weight and instead of "swinging" I'm kind of crashing. It's a common beginners mistake and I am told it will be corrected once I gain more confidence. Make no mistake, this is serious business. Foot position, hand grip, weight distribution and muscle strength are absolutely critical--and that's not even worrying about making it look good. Maria's story about landing incorrectly as a beginner and breaking her foot was not doing much to help my confidence either.

My outfit isn't doing me any favors right now. The layers of "sassy" fitness wear are feeling more like a snow suit--and I'm trying to complete my Olympic routine on the uneven bars. I bring up my weight. At first glance I think I probably have a good 40 pound advantage over Maria but as she sheds her warmer layers, it's more of a 60 pound advantage. Completely unaffected by my comment, she simply offers that it is a muscle to weight ratio and that there are plenty of voluptuous ladies who are avid dancers. To prove her point further, she flips through an industry magazine and in fact, shows me pictures of large ladies, elderly women and yes, men, pole dancing. I take her at her word; however, I have a lot of YouTube research ahead of me.

By the end of class I'm sweaty and dizzy but also excited and hopeful. Maria feels that I will be able to put together a basic routine to music that includes floor work, removing clothing and some pole dancing--ambitious for six weeks but she seems confident. It's kind of a sidestep from where I really want Bunny to go but it will at least give me a point of reference in developing the act I think I really want. My homework assignments for the Thanksgiving week are to practice "walking sexy" in heels--do I even own a pair anymore?? Between mouthfuls of sweet potato and stuffing I am also supposed to practice sexy dance and movement. I'll see if I can work that in while washing dishes with Grandma and setting out the pies.

While starting for home I can already feel my hands, shoulders and back pulsing with red-hot pain. By the time I walk in the house, I'm exhausted. I can feel bruises blossoming on my knees and calves. I lay on the couch for the spare twenty minutes I have before picking up my son from daycare, close my eyes and contemplate a good spot in the house to install my pole.

Next time: Class Two--Floor work??

What the Hell is with this Class Part I: The day before

So there was a little misunderstanding with the scheduling of the class. I've been waiting trepidatiously, checking email by the hour for the last three weeks trying to figure this out. The other day it finally came together. For those just checking in, I'm taking a six week class in strip tease, lap dance, floor work and pole--Stripping 101. Aptly named. Here's a little about the goings on the day before my adventure.

I am a person that needs to know the expectations and culture of a place much in advance of getting there. I generally do no like surprises and pride myself on being well-prepared in all situations (I would have made an awesome Girl Scout--don't quite know why I fought my mother tooth and nail on that one) maybe I can attribute it to motherhood but it's more likely due to my general social anxiety and fear of being late for things. Having a game plan of sorts is a comfort to me. I like to test the Ph before dipping my toe in--I'm cautious and I respect rules.

So the day before class I reviewed some "instructions" from the website.

No jewelry of any kind. Not a problem, check.

No body lotion--it makes the poles slippery. Ok, check.

Layer clothing so when learning to strip you don't end up naked. Wow. Ok, check.

Hhmmm....clothing...the website says something about "flirty" work out clothing. I don't think my plain white t's and oversized sweatpants are going to cut it as being "flirty".

I decide a shopping trip to the nearest boutique is in order. Looking the part is going to help me feel like I know what I'm doing. I'm walking in completely green, t an inappropriate outfit will shake my nerves. I'm like that everywhere. I get worked up if I'm going to a new restaurant and don't know what the dress code is. Like I said, I'm big on social rules.

So I head out, two-year-old in tow, to my closest fashion house, Kmart. I'm not kidding. Unless I want to drive about 45 minutes in one direction or another, my choices for a quick outfit are Kmart, Wal-Mart and Fashion Bug. I could stretch the radius a little further and end up at Target, which I do enjoy, but not today.

List in hand, I head straight for "Ladies Undergarments" where my choices are Joe Boxer, Hanes, Maiden Form. This is going to be tough but I like a shopping challenge. My eye goes to the rack of cheap gaudy Christmas inspired lingerie--it may be worth a shot or a laugh at least. As I dig through the rack, not sure what I'm looking for, my son starts babbling in my ear. I mutter"It's for Christmas" thinking it will in some way pacify him. "MOMMY! BRING IT HOME FOR CHRISTMAS! GET THAT FOR CHRISTMAS, MOMMY"! at the top of his lungs, echoing throughout the department sending up a neon sign that some mom is looking at lingerie with her two year old. Awesome. He attracts the attention of a little old lady and they become engaged in a deep conversation about the small boo-boo at the end of her nose, how she got it, and her lack of a band aid. Fine, I think, let her occupy him for a minute. She's so engrossed that she doesn't notice what I am intently studying just over her shoulder. I realize that this really is in no way what I am looking for; also made clear by the absence of a single pair of bottoms in an XL--a requirement for my ass. I decide it's just as well--it seems a lot of us curvy ladies are planning on getting busy this holiday season. After a good half and hour to forty minutes, an eternity by two year old standards, I decide on my wardrobe for class and get home.

I get naked in front of my bedroom mirror and decide to create this outfit in reverse--starting with the least amount of clothing I am going to feel comfortable in in front of others. I don't really anticipate having to get down to the nitty gritty on day one, but you never know. I work my layers--deep cut sports bra and black briefs with lace embellishment. Yes, I nod to myself, this is doable and my chach is covered. Next layer--black lace tank top and some kind of mini girdle thing I can pass off as booty shorts, ok. Another tank top and high cut cotton shorts over that, and finally a pair of black fleece pants and off-the-shoulder-sweatshirt thing just so I don't freeze on the way there. Looking in the mirror at this final layer I resemble the 20/30-something moms walking together in the mall, sipping lattes and gossiping on their way to Pilates. The type of moms who pretend they don't see me from behind their Channel sunglasses as I give them the "what up, other mom" smile and nod. The look says casual but sassy, it says I actually give a shit about my appearance today; however, I feel like I'm ready to go play in the snow--all layered up and a little scratchy.

I peel it all back off and take a hard look at the materials I have to work with. Not too bad. I'm not crazy about the stretch marks across my belly but from a distance you can't really see them. My butt is another story. It's like the summer cottage or the pool house, related to the main building but definitely it's own entity. There is not much I can do about these cheeks--I inherited them from my mother and grandmother, the ass God chose me to have. I don't really have a problem with it. I reach in the back of the underwear drawer to pull out the lone thong I own. I do not like thong underwear. Quite frankly, unless I'm wearing a short skirt, which I don't even own, if panty lines are going to be an issue I'd rather not wear undies at all. I keep this pair around in case of an odd fashion emergency. It's metallic silver. I put it on and am instantly uncomfortable. I get a rear view in the mirror, dance around a little, and promptly decide that Bunny will never be wearing a thong in performance. I just don't like the shape, or perhaps lack there of, it creates around me. Bunny will stick to booty shorts or high cut briefs or something flashy, but no floss. I stick them back in the way back of the drawer, throw my sweats back on and head downstairs to check my dinner simmering away in the crock pot.

Tomorrow will either be a good day or a bad day depending mostly on the amount of courage I muster up. That is, unless, the runny-nosed blonde boy smashing play dough on the kitchen floor does something to sabotage it. Like, for instance, gets sick and can't go to daycare or gets sick at daycare and I have to pick him up early. Of course I would cancel and stay home with him but after all this anticipation the idea of having to wait until after Thanksgiving to at least see what this is all about is a thought I can't bare. I give the Mexican beef a stir and start the salad.

Myth, Legend, Grandmother

My Grandma raised three children in a little shack at the Jersey Shore, in the fifties. She was a stay at home mom, volunteered at church, walked her kids to school and made her husband's life as comfortable as possible. A humble, dry Methodist who sewed her own curtains and aprons and who's hair was kept in a tight permanent at all times. She was a Den Mother for boy scouts and girls scouts-- a quintessential All-American housewife and now a quintessential, All-American, grandmother and great-grandmother.

She has always been absolute magic to me. As I became a wife and then mother, she elevated to God-like status in my mind. After making the decisions to stay home with my son, my new mission was to recreate the wife and mother she was--or who I thought she was. I quickly realized I was falling short of the mark. You can't be Roseanne and Martha Stewart and Donna Reed; you're one or the other or the other, for that matter. What I've come to realize is without the challenge of a "9 to 5" job, I started to pour a lot of energy and expectation into my new role at home. I guess that is natural. I expected get "paid" by the house running like an episode of Leave it to Beaver and for me standing proudly at the helm smelling like fresh-baked bread and looking like a Banana Republic ad. Add on top of that a creative personality with no real creative outlet other than arranging throw pillows and convincing my baby to roll over and you've got a recipe for a big fat mud pie--at least in my case.

Any parent of a young child, working outside the home or not, I think would agree that at about 85% of the day is structured around meeting the needs of that child. From the time you get up, what you buy, what you eat, how much money you can afford to make, what time you can leave your office and still make it home for dinner--you are always working for that child. It's the nature of things and I'm not saying it's a bad thing. Parenthood is a great motivator.

The dilemma was that most times when there was laundry piled everywhere, dinner wasn't on the table and I hadn't showered in two days I was convinced that my Grandma was sitting at her kitchen table saying "tisk, tisk..." certainly her house was never like that. Think about it--three kids, no car, no microwave, DVD player, washer and dryer, computers, "Mommy & Me class" .....

What was wrong with me? Why wasn't I "getting it right"? When I was small my mom stayed home with me for a while and I always remember our house being immaculate and my mom painting on pieces of slate and picking string beans from the garden and being a perfect hippie. But I didn't want to go back to work. I didn't miss that at all. I wanted to get a promotion at my "new job" so it would finally feel like a "fit" for me.

Around the same time as all this was going on, my Grandma, in her eighties and in great health, became increasing vocal about her own mortality. She had nursed my Grandfather through illness and he passed over ten years ago, she nursed her sister through illness and she died two years ago--friends and family old, sick and dying. I guess that is what happens; after a while, your circle gets smaller. She started talking about her plans to ensure no one be burdened with her care, what she wants to happen to her possessions, and giving things away while she could still remember the story attached to them. It was alarming to me. My Grandma, synonymous with grilled cheese sandwiches and Christmas morning, keeps reminding me she's gonna croak. She's not always gonna be strolling down the boardwalk towards me. It was really scary. Instead of embracing the idea and trying to spend more time with her, I avoided her. It was hard at times for me to see her or talk to her because I always felt like it could be the last time. I was already feeling like I fucked up being this Donna Reed mom on a daily basis, how was I going to do without my idol?

The funny thing is that as Grandma got more comfortable with the impending end of things, she started opening up about her life. Family stories retold with more honest details, explanations as to why this happened or why so and so "went away for a while" etc. She told me the reason she never drove was because my Grandfather didn't want her to--basically forbid her to. It was a pain in her ass to have to lug three kids on the bus to go grocery shopping or to beg rides from friends. She always wanted to be more involved in her children's education but felt she wasn't smart enough to help them with their homework--so sad because she's actually very bright. In those days, you listened to your mother, doctor and school teacher when it came to raising your own children--with very little voice of your own. My Grandmother has a great sense of humor and has always had a lot of friends but my Grandfather never really wanted to go out and socialize so unless she was at the beach or at church, she didn't have a social life. She had several miscarriages that caused her a lot of deep emotional pain and no one ever wanted to talk about it. She was, in truth, not perfect and seemed to have moments of sheer frustration, loneliness and resentment as all mothers sometimes do. All this made me wonder--everybody wants to hearken back to a "simpler time" in this country...how simple was it?

Whenever I would start to think about taking some time for myself to explore my own thing like burlesque or getting a part-time job or anything for that matter, it would make me feel kinda guilty and ashamed. Well, in truth, a lot guilty and ashamed. I was embarrassed by wanting some time away from the little blond menace tugging at my pant leg constantly. I thought that since I was not bringing a paycheck into the house then money should not be spent to meet my personal wants and needs. It wasn't "my money". I was going to have to ask for money. If I wanted time out of the house then I should have stayed working--this is what I asked for and burdened my family with. Ugly, backward, sad, fucked up mentality. The person who spends the most time in the house should never leave the house??? And I'm a college-educated, intelligent female raised by a working single mother.......it's tough stuff to admit to because it feels so almost, third world? I guess?

These conversations with my Grandmother saved me from myself. My absolutely whacked out idea of perfection, the idolatry with very little substance behind it, all of it. These days she owns her own home (she knocked down the little bungalow), has a rich social life and is very involved with her grandchildren. There's a glint of self-assuredness in her eyes and an ease with which she does things that lets me know that she is just fine. Unfortunately, it took her a long time and a lot of sacrifice to get to this place in her life. That is a sacrifice I am no longer willing to make. I cannot wait for my son to go away to college to have my own life. Obviously that is not going to work if I want to keep my sanity.

Considering that the 40's and 50's was her heyday, I really want to tell her about the whole burlesque thing. I would like to get her take on it since she would know all about the popular entertainers of the time and because the Jersey Shore was such a hot spot in those days. There would have been a lot of different acts coming to perform in her area--big names too. She might have benefited from a little "tassel time" in her "mommy" days too. I am going to leave it alone for now, though. I'd rather hear about what is going on with her than tell her about me wanting to pole dance anyway.

I'm getting used to the idea that she is not always going to be here. I have to respect her choices and her desire to control whatever aspects of her life she can at her age. It finally dawned on me that all this talk about what she wants done, etc., is not for her--it's for me. She is trying to ease me into this the same way she eased me into riding a bike. She can only hold on for so long and then has to let go and let me ride on my own. Otherwise neither of us can go very far.

Thanks,

Bunny

Next Time: What the Hell is up with this Class?

PSP: Magnetic lingerie? - Magnetic lingerie

PSP: Magnetic lingerie? - Magnetic lingerie

Just sawthis and thought it was interesting based on a comment I made in my last post. I don't know...maybe I'll be investing in a set....or maybe I can take the hardware off of something at Victoria's Secret and attach the magnets myself for a lot cheaper. Hhmmmmm...I feel a craft project coming on. Think I could sell them on Etsy? Maybe I'll make them as Christmas gifts.

MTV inspires a young Bunny to strip, sort of.

MTV and I grew up together. As a preschooler in the very early 1980's, my dad was laid off quite often and we spent a lot of quality time together. One of my most vivid memories as a three or four year old was watching MTV. It was new and my parents were into it so it was on in the background most of the time.

The first time I saw Boy George come across my television screen stopped me dead in my tracks. I was completely mesmerized by this beautiful, foreign creature making eyes at me. He was the most gorgeous woman I had ever seen, so different from my Mommy. It took me a little while to realize that he was, in fact, a "daddy". This only intrigued me more. The idea that someone could be so beautiful and interesting and be "playing pretend" was an amazing revelation that blossomed my curiosity. I loved Boy George even more for being a "daddy" but for wanting to be a "mommy". It gave me permission at an early age to be a weirdo. Since then, I have had a fascination and respect for drag queens as true artists. Their level of skill, attention to detail and commitment to the craft of impersonation is truly a marvel to me. I just love the over-the-top bordering on grotesque tongue in cheek spirit of what they do. They are as visually stunning as any piece of art.

Another early influence was the Gilbert and Sullivan operas. For some reason, PBS was showing a lot of Gilbert and Sullivan back in the day and I was immediately hooked-- my mom just went with it. The Mikado was my favorite at the time. The costumes, makeup and sets took me to a far off place-- sometimes even a little frightening to a small child. But here again, I got interested in Kabuki as a result--another type of performance art that can be subtle or over-the-top and challenging. Also an art form where not all is as it may seem---"daddy" is often pretending to be the "mommy". See a theme here? I mean, come on, I should have been watching Sesame Street. It's no wonder I'm interested in dressing up just to take it off in front of other people.

So all this led to my parents involving me in community theater at the age of five--which has been such a blessing for me. I really aspire to be like my parents in that respect. They always nurtured my interests and got involved in whatever I was doing. One of the earliest shows I was in was a community production of Gypsy; Arthur Laurents, Stephen Sondheim and Jule Styne's musical adaptation of the life of burlesque star Gypsy Rose Lee. I had a very, very small part in one of the opening scenes as "Balloon Girl"--a sweet little girl dressed as a clown covered with balloons. The scene takes place during a kiddie talent audition and Momma Rose will stop at nothing to get her two little starlets, Louise and most importantly, Baby June, into the show. By the end of the scene Momma Rose pushes "Balloon Girl" off into the wings, popping her balloons with a hat pin. That was it. That was my moment. Just as an aside--covering a "costume" in balloons and then popping them one by one to reveal what's underneath is a traditional burlesque act. It's difficult to cover a g-string and pasties with balloons but as I understand it, magnets are somehow involved.

The very best part of being in that show was the crew of kids around the same age who were in the same scene and then had nothing to do until the curtain call. So we all hung out together watching rehearsals but most of the time we went out on the front steps and did our own version. No one ever wanted to be Momma Rose or Herbie or Louise for that matter, we all wanted to be the burlesque strippers. They appear three quarters into the show right before Louise makes her reluctant transformation into Gypsy Rose Lee. They had great lines, great costumes, got lots of laughs and did an awesome musical number touting their individual burlesque acts. So about six or eight of us young girls, no older than seven or eight, would all fight to take turns doing our best impersonations of their number. We took it pretty seriously, we thought we were pretty good. I'm sure none of us understood the adult theme of what we were doing. To us, "sexy" or "stripper" meant funny, bold, outspoken woman who got to wear the best costume and have the best song. I actually thank God for that. In retrospect, it probably wasn't the most conventional way to introduce to the concept of sexuality to little girls but when I think about women we've become--we're doing pretty damn good for ourselves.

The opportunity to do the show a second time came many years later. I was cast in another community production, in the same theater, but now in the title role. The seven year old inside of me was doing cartwheels while the eighteen year old was a little besides herself. It came at a time when I decided I really wanted to study theater and wanted to act. I was already familiar with the show and thought it would "be a lot of fun". What I didn't anticipate was the hard work. I had been in tons of plays by that point and had taken dance and voice for many years. I never practiced outside of rehearsal or class for anything, ever. It just came naturally to me--or so I thought. At the same time, I was in the middle of all the body hang ups high school girls have while developing a sharper understanding of "sexuality" and all it entailed.

How was I going to do a strip tease in front of a live audience if I wasn't even comfortable in a bathing suit at the beach? I did a lot of dumb stuff to try to lose weight--unsuccessfully. I started to feel even more self conscious about my body and as the weeks of rehearsal went by, we had not blocked the strip tease sequences at all. Focusing on the character as a person, not just as lines and movements, I started to see some of her in myself. It was scary. I didn't know what to do with that. I didn't know how to use it towards my acting. I felt like everyone was counting on me to be good and I had no idea what I was doing. I should have asked for help. I should have insisted that the strip tease get rehearsal time every night so I felt more comfortable. I didn't. I didn't want to let on that I was scared and didn't want to let down the seven year old inside of me--she was slowly pulling the covers up further over her head. Someone should have reassured me a little. Someone should have given me positive feedback or coached me in some way--but there were costumes to sew, parents to please and ad space that needed taking care of. There was just not enough time. Where was Boy George when I needed him?

The show opened. It was good by community theater standards but I was never happy with it. The talents I had relied on to define much of who I felt I was had let me down . Melodramatic? Perhaps a little. It was good because I learned that no matter what you're doing, you have to do the work yourself. No one is going to hold your hand all the time--not even the people who love you most. Considering I was just about to devote a lot of time and money to these talents, the self doubt that creeped up on me did not serve me well. It help set into a motion a habit of constant self-critiquing and over-analyzing--one that my seven year old self is really sick and tired of.

So that, in part, is the story of how I came to love burlesque and why this project is so important to me now. I haven't watched MTV in years--it's a shame we've grown apart. I think they stopped playing music but I do have to give it some of the credit. So I am doing this for the seven year old me, the eighteen year old me and of course, for Boy George whose painted face was the catalyst for so much growth and so much lovely nonsense in my life.

Thanks,

Bunny

Next time: Myth, Legend, Grandmother.

The Project

After a couple years of diaper changing, toddler chasing and finding cheerios stuck in my hair I've been yearning for a new challenge--one that does not involve "time outs" or playdough. Not that I don't find being a parent challenging. I love my life. I love my son and the opportunity to stay home and raise him. I am fortunate to have a supportive and involved husband and father to my child.

However, for a while now most of my identity has centered around connections to others: daughter, sister, wife, mother and I have, admittedly, lost myself a bit. I will give credit for it where credit is due, to me. I turned 30 this year, yeah 30. Initially it wasn't a big deal but it has become a year of turning points, a year of self-discovery and personal growth. I guess it is a milestone whether you like it or not! So in this spirit I am embarking on a new adventure--one that is exciting and scary but will be fulfilling in many ways. I hope you'll take the ride with me! Don't worry, you don't have to sell AmWay.

Soon I will begin a six week course in strip tease and pole dancing--yeah, I am dead serious and yes there is a class for that. I'm not talking about Richard Simmons' Sweatin' to the Strip Pole either, although I'll have to double check NetFlix for that one. My ultimate goal being to learn as much as I can about the art of Burlesque through various opportunities and develop a piece that I will perform at a Burlesque show. If I am good at it, which I hope to be, I want it to become an ongoing "side project." I know what you're thinking--she's lost it, holy shit, what pact with the devil spawned this ridiculous idea?--and I wouldn't blame you. That's fine by me. I could have decided to take up scrapbooking, latch hook or blogging--ha ha ha. I chose something else and in many ways it chose me. Let me just say a couple of words about burlesque for those who may not be familiar.

The word burlesque more or less means to parody, lampoon or poke fun at something. This usually refers to a literary work or theatrical performance that mocks a classic work. It got its start in Great Britain in the mid 19th Century, came to America and by the early 20th Century intersected with Vaudeville and became a cabaret of comedians, skits, singers, magicians and strip tease. In later years the focus became more about the strip tease and the strip tease became more revealing. In the last decade it has made a cult comeback made evident by the upcoming movie Burlesque starring Cher and Christina Aguilera--which, by the by, has absolutely no influence on what I want to do. Quite frankly, I think that movie is going to suck, but I digress. I would also like to mention that there is no "full frontal" nudity in burlesque--a g-string and pasties is most often as far as performers go. I chose the name for the blog because I want to chronicle the process of stripping down (no pun intended) my own preconceived notions of what/who I am and who/what I have the potential to be if I take the opportunity to explore it.

This "project", as I like to refer to it, has nothing to do with a quarter life crisis, a political statement or comment on my happy marriage and healthy, monogamous sex life. I'm not even going to address "body image" it's an old, boring conversation and if you know me, you know what I look like--nuff said. What I will say--and this part is important so please pay attention--I am going to be deliberately vague about places, names, people I encounter along the way in an effort to respect their privacy and the privacy of my family; most of whom do not know I am doing this, many of whom I don't plan on telling, and when it comes to the few I do want to know, I would like to tell them in my own way--whenever I figure that out.

The goal of the blog is not only to keep a kind of diary of my progress but to explore issues of balancing parenthood with art and the importance of self expression, telling the stories of those I meet and trying to answer the age old questions--is it art or is it pornography? How do you know if you're an artist--does the audience dictate or does the creator? And, ya know, I think it's gonna be hilarious because anything I try to do turns itself into a sitcom.

I'm looking for your support and interest, so if you're into it--stick around. Oh, one favor I do want to ask is that if you wish to leave a comment please do not refer to me with my Christian name, please only refer to me as Bunny--it goes with the whole privacy thing. And let's keep all related conversations and ideas in this forum--rather than any other social networking forums we all belong to. Cool!

Next up: Mtv inspires a "stripper" at age 8

Thanks,

Bunny