Hey wait!

Come back, it’s not that bad. I told everyone via my website that I would start blogging again. A long time ago.

So here goes: attempt # 5000 to write here on a regular basis. Things just started getting a little too personal last time, and I freaked out. I’m sorry. It will probably happen again.

So what’s new? I’m still in Tucson, but daydreaming about moving to the Bay Area (is that supposed to be capitalized? Does everybody know I mean California? Is there another bay area?) or Austin, or saving up and getting rid of all my recent decorative-only acquisitions so I can go on some Jacques Cousteau-esque adventures. I’ve recently managed to reach the ripe old age of 27 without anything really tying me down (feel free to insert your own bondage joke here), and my quarter-life crisis is waning (finally), so it may be the perfect time to take that long train trip that I’ve always wanted to take, or to get a waitressing gig on a cruise ship or something.

I flew up to Sacramento a couple of weeks ago, and being in an airport again was exhilarating. Maybe I should get a job at an airport? Just kidding. I thought about describing my imaginary workday at an imaginary airport La Salsa just now, but it was too depressing even to type.

Anyhow. The main news right now, which I should have gotten around to earlier, is that I am participating in Tucson’s FIRST EVER Fashion Week. My name is definitely going in the history books for this one.

The show is September 25th, and I’ve actually started sewing already! IN FACT, I’ve made two dresses in the last two days! UNHEARD OF.

The name of my  collection is The Anatomy of Heartbreak, and focuses on the grieving process and how it changes you. Well, me actually. But that’s not important.

Here’s a pretty flier!

Also, if you haven’t had the chance, or didn’t even know it existed, please take a gander at sapphirecordial.com!

I need to update that too. And photograph my last collection. And write about my last collection on here.

Okay, that’s enough for today. I’m going to go get drunk now.

xox

Our dearly departed Amber (only until January, thank god!) has gone to meet–not her maker, but the brilliant Agent Ribbons for the remainder of their latest tour, (I’ll be joining up on Dec. 8th) and all my favorite people, new and old, present and missed, are congealing into a massive heart shaped growth in my chest that is continuing to swell with love and hope and I haven’t been this content in a very long time. 

There is something about this town. I feel calm here.

xox

My mom graciously drove me here from Northern California, via Las Vegas (land of glorious excess) and Sedona (land of my birth)

The trip was lovely and went by too quickly. She stayed one night here and left around noon the next day..we both were trying not to get weepy. Leaving on airplanes is so much easier. You don’t feel the distance at all. 

It’s hard for me to get a grasp on it yet, since I havent been here for more than a weekend, but I wonder if because of my personal history and the state’s proximity, I won’t miss California as badly as I did when in New York.

But of course, Buy Gifts for Everyone You’ve Ever Met or Face the Wrath of Baby Jesus Day is fast approaching, so I’ll be back in Sacramento and surrounding areas again in mid-December, which only goes to reinforce the apparent fact that I can only leave California for a month at a time. 

But O, Tucson!

I have my own room again for the first time since June! (though no bed, so I’m sleeping on yet another couch, though at least it no longer qualifies as “surfing”, since I’m paying rent), and my funny little bike (though the brakes are still absent so I can’t ride it), and that old familiar settled feeling I havent felt in so long is creeping up quickly.

I have tons of design ideas and not only the time to create them, but a sewing machine, a serger and- dare I say it? THE MOTIVATION. (O god I hope I didn’t jinx it.)

I think this is going to be good.

I love that we end up in places we never expected. I hadn’t been to Arizona in 18 years. I think I’ve finally learned not to try and map my life out. Things that happen unexpectedly always seem to turn out better than forced futures. I know I know, I’ve been planning on moving here since August. But the proposition came from Amber as a complete surprise and I accepted almost without hesitation.

This year has been absolutley insane for me locale-wise, and I’m happy to know that I’ll be here for a while. Of course “a while” is relative.

How about this: I am meant to be here for however long I am here.

Boy does that way of thinking let me off the hook.

Every day at work I announce to an actual human being something along the lines of “No, we’re all out of medium werewolves”  or “I don’t think we even have intestines, but check in the Lab”.

This has been my sustanence, my bread and butter for longer than I’d like to remember. As I’ve previously complained extensively on the topic, I’ll just cut to the chase and announce the big news: Only three workdays left! 

For some reason (maybe because I’ve been at least 10 minutes late every day for the  last two weeks?), my hours were drastically cut and I actually have the weekend off to enjoy California (and All Hallow’s Eve!) before my move. Hallow-lujah!

Now onto more important questions. What to wear on the big night(s)? I always have such grand ideas that I never spend the time to perfect, and I end up a pathetic Charlie Chaplin with no derby and an eyeliner mustache because I forgot to buy spirit gum to attach my 100% human pre-shaped prosthetic facial hair.

Last year was better. I did manage to procure some chest hair for my Marc Bolan costume by cutting off the ends of my own hair and attaching them haphazardly (as chest hair grows, right?) with (I remembered it this time) spirit gum.* 

And then came 2009. I was originally going to go as Lolita (Kubrick, not “sexy school girl”) and I even got the glasses, but wasn’t inspired enough to complete the costume. I just dislike the slutty halloween tradition so intensely (so what if half my friends inadvertantly saw my nipple last year? At least I had a sock in my pants) and I don’t want to give off the impression that under any circumstances I’m going to the Zone Ball. Even if the costume just has sexy undertones, its out of the question for me…not that anyone attending the Zone Ball has even heard of Nabokov, but that’s beside the point. I don’t know. I guess Lolita is just too girly.

Halloween is my excuse to embrace my masculine side! Chest hair! Beards! Bulges! Adam’s apples! So what’s it gonna be this year?

So many options! Any excuse to dress like a man..or a man dressed as a woman..or a woman who looks like a man dressed as a woman… the possiblities are endless.  

I also have the overwhelming task to figure out my Day of the Dead costume, which I am still completely at a loss about… maybe I’ll mourn and finally leave behind my Sacramento Sluggishness. Onward and upward! 

xox

*Note to self for this year: buy spirit gum remover.

I had intended completely on spending my entire day in a florecent-lit basement. I was all dressed and ready to go, headphones on, ready to hop on my bike (I know thats a bad combo, but cruising through midtown with music in my ears is so beautifully addictive) but somehow I couldn’t bring myself to leave the house. I tried, but seriously it was like the place was surrounded by a force feild.

I went back inside.

I looked in the mirror for a long time.

I looked at the clock. 

I called to say I’d be late.

I looked in the mirror again (this second look, I think, was my downfall).

I stared hard into my own eyes and imagined myself at work. No big deal. My job is not difficult. Its very auto-pilot-y, and I like that. I get a lot of work done.

But I couldn’t look away from my own internal struggle. Those headphones were in. Tune-yards was overtaking my world, and I was launched back into New Jersey jaunts to the train station and a sudden resurgence of what it felt like to be free.

What a strange month July was. I was undeniably lonely, but is it really much better now? I can’t shake the feeling that I made a mistake coming back. Nothing has changed in my California life. I feel unimportant and pointless and creatively stunted. Just like I did before, only now I feel like a failure too. Awesome.

I’m not stuck here. I have my exit strategy, but these weeks that blend into eachother never seem to end and I feel sad and lost and ohhhhhhh my goddddddddd.

How can “normal” people work full time for other people their entire lives? Or is it actually easy and for some reason I am just incapable of it? I may not be the most responsible (obviously) or logical girl, but I think I’m relatively functional. Are there a bunch of lessons I missed on adulthood? Like How to Cope with Bullshit 101?

Just for the record, I have been asking myself this question since I was about 12. Its coming up more intensely now because I always assumed that by 26 I would have a fucking clue as to what was going on. 

I still don’t even understand how people keep up on current events and music and art and fashion for that matter. I sincerely hope that everyone else that seems to know anything is just talking out of their asses, because if I’m actually this far behind, I might as well crawl into a cozy cave full of down comforters and french bread and the scent of rain on sidewalks and never get up. Fucking ever.

Will I ever overcome this lack of motivation plague? Will going back to the state I was born in (the physical US state of Arizona, not naked in fetal position) finally snap me out of my contstant burden of laziness? JESUS CHRIST, WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME? 

Easy cop-out answer? Panic attack. 

So I called back my employer and pathetically dropped those two words, apologizing profusely. Her response?

“Uhh.. okay. Feel better.”

I feel like I should be a little ashamed. I could have come up with so much more of a bad-ass excuse, but I am honest to a fault.

My honesty often makes me sound like a loser. Very often, and in all capacities.

I can’t possibly be the only one that feels like this. My theory is that all of you feel trapped and uninspired and claustrophobic and insecure and unhappy and like you’re wasting your time. At least sometimes? 

Well if so, please stop fucking pretending that you’re on top of your shit. Please tell me you don’t understand what the fuck is going on either and you just want to hang out in grassy feilds with me and build little huts out of sticks for frogs to live in.

It would make me feel a lot better.

xox

I was simply not meant for full time work. I don’t mean that to sound snobbish or holier-than-thou, I just function better in short spurts. To stand around for eight hours and keep myself busy weighs on me so heavily and all I can do is daydream about what I want to create and how I so badly want to be somewhere else.

Case in point:

I want nothing more than to catch up with my future: transplant myself into my new abode and lounge around in bathtubs with these two:

But here I am. Stuck where I started, begrudgingly working a job I’ve long outgrown. Of course, we all must sacrifice our time and energy in exchange for nourishment and the comfort of home. But that seems so cruel upon camparison to sweet moments with true friends, watching the blinking christmas lights in my old room.

There are so many small unassuming things happening right now: the click of the keys on my laptop, the sound of the fan as it rotates past me and returns, the silence of the night time, the shine of the satin on this pillow, the shadows cast by Jessalyn’s typewriter onto the pine coffee table. 

All of it is more real than the numbers that appears on bank statements. 

I am so very tempted to cut my losses, go to Arizona NOW. But then, I must play the game a little. I’m 26. I should at this point be able to suck it up and find a balance between work and life that suits me, at least for another  month. I seem to remember feeling like a functioning adult in the past. I could revisit that, couldn’t I? 

But so much has happened since then. I have seen and felt such raw palpable things, and I can’t seem to trick myself into caring about anything that’s less than ideal. Something has developed in me this year that I am just beginning to realize and cherish: a short attention span.

That may not sound like a positive, but for a girl that has always given too much thought and benefit of the doubt to everything and everyone, it’s a true relief. If only it was as easy to express:

Dear Job, 

This isn’t working. I really don’t think we have anything left to learn from eachother. We’ve had a good run, and I appreciate all you’ve done for me, but I think its time we both moved on. Maybe I’ll see you around. 

Best wishes, 

Jamaica

…

I could do that, right? No hard feelings?

Why cant I spend my days strolling through fields and contemplating the breeze? I could survive on top ramen for the rest of my days and never own a bed again…

Is this really a statement against the requirements of modern society,  or am I just really fucking lazy? Ugh. 

Okay, okay. I know. The game must be played. The bacon must be brought home and saved for future breakfasts. 

Sacramento, you have me until Halloween.

xox

No idea what any of this means?

Let me spell it out for you: D.R.A.G. Q.U.E.E.N. H.E.A.V.E.N.

I came into the city a day early to enjoy my first day off in weeks. The train ride was just what I needed, a quiet place to daydream and gaze at the passing countryside and remember how badly I need to keep travelling. I hadn’t realized it, but it was almost as if I’d been holding my breath for the past few weeks, and could only exhale once on the move again. I must constantly remind myself of this: the whole point of gypsydom is not to be homeless, it’s to be on the MOVE!

Anyhow. Not the point of this entry.

Evan’s home is a little cottage (inset from the street via the most magical cobblestone walkway) filled with art, plants, sunshine, comfy furniture and good energy. We ate pb&j and talked of the upcoming contest. Evan had never entered this competition before (it happens once a month), so we didn’t know exactly what to expect, but we did get a little insight from Ernesto, Evan’s boyfriend (who is the hugest sweetheart I’ve ever met).

Each team would have approximateley two hours to complete a fabulous outfit based on whatever theme was announced at the beginning of the show. Some materials would be provided, however, the rest is BYO: scissors, tape, trim, faux fur, nail guns, skill saws, what-have-you. After the outfit is constructed, each drag queen must perform in it, and the judges take both the outfit and the act into consideration as they come to a final decision.

So basically, you take Concrete and Cashmere, do away with the cameras, turn the Alize into gin and tonic, New York into San Francisco, a fancy loft into a dive bar, the contestants into trannies, and you get Project Runtover. 

Sounds like a recipe for success to me!

As a warm up, we attended a show called Buzz Kill Joy the night before at a bar called Truck, with full on road-side-rest-stop hospitality. It was a special night of depressing, tragic numbers. My favorite act of the night was Elijah Minelli’s inspired lip-sync to Xiu Xiu’s cover of “Fast Car”. Genius.

I met a variety of amazing people that night, my first foray into drag culture. I felt immediately accepted, especially when I was introduced to the infamous Mr. David, who flattered and flirted and informed me that I “remind him of twelve different people”. 

The next day, we got to the office of Boylesque (to gather materials) a little too early, and after packing this bin with tools and delicious scraps, almost none of which we ended up using.

We still had two hours before we had to be at The Stud, and we were only six blocks away. Our best use of time of course, was to nap on mats on the floor of the theatre, kindergarten style. We awoke dazed, downed huge cans of RedBull, and high-tailed it to the bar, ready for anything.

I was a little intimidated when I saw another team had brought a huge stuffed elephant with them. Why didn’t I think of that?? But by the time Vivvy and Mr. David took the stage, my competitive streak reared its head, and with fire in my eyes I awaited the announcement of the deathly challenge. My reality show sense was tingling! I was READY.

Vivvy, clad in a black one piece swimsuit, announced that our task was to create some beachy swimwear, and what better bathing suit material is there really, than burlap? We were handed two yards each and given only half an hour to complete our designs. I got to work armed with only scissors, a stapler, and pure killer instinct. Evan’s character, Martha T. Lipton, a failed actress from Fresno, is a bit matronly, so we didn’t want to do anything too sexy, lest she be uncomfortable perfoming.

With the help of Ernesto and a couple of friends (thank you Cohdi, Eric, Bryce, Margaret and everybody else that volunteered and followed my every request to a tee, and I hope I didn’t get too bossy), Martha ended up with a ruffled one piece that showed off her figure modestly. We completed her ensemble with a sun hat and a sunburn.

Part 2 required us to create a fur coat to go with the bathing suit out of gingham (also known as the complete opposite of fur). Since Team Martha won part 1 (!), we were gifted an extra couple yards of fabric, and thank god! We cut 5 inch strips of gingham and cut into them to turn them into fringe, which we then attached to the base coat-shaped thing I’d thrown together. After a mad dash of stapling, weaving, fluffing (not that kind, jeez! Get your mind out of the gutter!), and an emergency run for more staples, we had a finished Martha:Now it was up to Evan to bring her to life, and boy (or girl), did he!

Martha’s act was an improvisational scene. She started with a visualization of her surroundings: “A sand crab tickles across my toes!” and ended with a phone call (“What?! Raped?! Again?!”) and hospital visit to her ex husband. The audience was in tears. Our competition followed with lip-sync and dance numbers.(This last one consited of the audience throwing cupcakes at the performer and trashing the stage. So good.)

After the performance, the judges deliberated through the length of a song, called all the performers on stage, and crowned the evening’s WINNER with a handmade tiara!An oscar-worthy performance for sure. 

We left floating on clouds and we walked the streets of San Francisco reveling in our victory and gigling like drunken school girls. Somehow, I haven’t felt so accomplished in ages. The performance aspect of fashion is so neccesary and so very very satisfying…

And thus began what I’m sure will be a life long love of drag for this straight girl, who despite her best efforts, could not pick up on anyone all weekend. 

xox

Check out Painfully Hip‘s note about this Kate Moss Gypsy Photoshoot! Yay!

Also, my favorite blogger, The Glamourai, has been posting gypsy shit for the past couple of weeks!

xox

Grand plans are in effect to purchase new batteries for my camera, so I can properly document my new habit of carrying bags of assorted sizes and purposes with me everywhere, and the best way I’ve found to not look like a hobo doing it. (Also soon to be featured, my new self-administered easy-wear haircut, which for some reason withstands days of not washing a thousand times better than my old overgrown rat’s nest “cut” (which also required a straightening iron–no fun to carry around and stayed hot way longer when I needed to pack it up than it did when I needed to touch my bangs up 10 minutes after unplugging it.))

I’m doing my best to simplify. I can totally carry around an enormous bag of clothes everywhere, but as soon as I throw a couple of bracelets, a few pairs of earrings and a pound of triple-strand necklaces in there, the weight starts to…well, weigh on me. And what is a gypsy without jewelry??

So as a solution, I have for you (iPhone photographs of) the following: My B Star inspired- ok I completely stole the idea from her- fancy fingernail. Yes, just one.

Brea is the queen of accessories, and this ingenious idea of hers allows one the ultimate win:

Subtle Gangster Bling.

Who would have thought?

The nail on my ring finger is lightweight AND it can’t get lost. Plus it somehow makes me feel like I’m engaged to myself, which is a strange but empoweringly unachievable fantasy.

Also I did this by myself for about $3.50.

The little gems are from The Bead Fetish on L & 18th in Sacramento for about $ .12 each and I attached them with $2.99 clear nail polish (little dabs on the nail first to attach the gems, then after it dries, a thick overcoating). The trick is to make it look like you stuck your hand in a pile of precious treasure and some random bits clung on because one of your fingernails is magnetic, so I chose four different types of stones of varying sizes and colors. Believe me, I put a LOT of thought into this.

xox

So in honor of new beginnings, let me bring you (and me along with you) up to speed.

I just recently floated back to Sacramento, CA from Jersey City, NJ where I was staying for the past month. I intended only to visit, but then became glaringly aware of the fact that I was running out of money, so my week long East Coast hiatus has now morphed into a couch-surfing Sacramento summer with no end in sight. But lets not talk about that. The point is, I have become a gypsy. 

I’m working on a how-to manual as we speak, but for now:

GYPSY QUICK TIP #1

Purchase a loaf of bread, honey, and a jar of peanut butter to keep yourself fed while not in proximity to a refrigerator.

I’m pretty positive this is a revolutionary idea that no one has come up with before. Non-perishable goods for nomads! Genius! 

Anyhow, soon to come: 

I will finally remember that this is *supposed to be* a fashion blog, and I present to you my East meets West (coast) Homeless Girl Self-Makeover–inspired by New York, made real in California by Sapphire Cordial out of necessity and boredom.

CHECK BACK SOON!

xox