Wednesday, May 15, 2013

Notes on falling in stripper heels

Last night I had practice for posing.

I know it sounds a little ridiculous, but we literally stand on a stage in our heels and teeny tiny bikini, and practice walking/strutting/ smiling/ being a little cheer leader like.
Its all a little cheesy, but I do my best work when I pretend to be someone else.

Someone who is comfortable strutting around in a bikini...on stage.

Anyways, last night I really didn't want to go. I was tired and frankly I just wanted to spend an evening with my family- but I am a competitor by nature, and I knew if I didn't go, then that was one less practice I would have under my belt.

So I went.....

and I fell.

Like.....fell on my ass...like went to pivot to turn around, rolled my ankle and ATE it.

Fuck.

At the time my ankle didn't hurt- I gave it a few more minutes and it swelled up like an allergic reaction to stripper heels.

What can you really do or say? People are concerned, they offer you ice, but you are just really more paranoid if your vagina is on display, or if your boob popped out of your top- I mean, priorities people.

Neither happened, I think. But I defiantly scrambled to pack my shit and leave....and just as I am stepping out the door, a text from Josh comes through, with a picture of his bloody hand. "Can you stop and get bandages big enough to cover this. Thanks."

Go us.

Tuesday, May 14, 2013

If I could I would....

I was driving to the gym last night thinking about this blog. Ridiculous. Like, I have way more things in the world to think about then this stupid blog.
I want to get rid of it.
Last weekend Josh and I were cleaning out the garage , with the purpose of turning it into a make shift studio for me. I came across a box full of my old journals from middle school all the way up through college.
The were just sitting there all full of feelings. I was a little bit horrified, because, really...wtf do I do with a box full of books recalling all my dirty laundry.
I stared at it for a little bit, flipped through a few of them, and promptly decided to burn them all.

So we did. And Josh was all engrossed in some of them, and it really felt like he was standing there while I was going the bathroom or something.  Or suddenly appeared in the doorway of my first sexual encounter.

It was mortifying.

I don't think you ever write a diary with the intention of it ever being read by someone else.

I will never forget when my mother quoted a section from one of my journals. We were all out to eat at a Sea Food restaurant..I even remember how greasy my fingers were from the clams ...she played it off like she hadn't read it, but I knew she had...and to this day I can still feel my stomach turn over, and feel the embarrassment of that moment.

I suppose I can't blame her, and I cant really say I wouldn't read my girls journals....but it still skeeves me out -all those thoughts just laying there on paper.

Anyways, this is how I feel about this blog. Four years of words. Pictures. Feelings. All out there for people to read.
I cant just delete it. All those letters to Allie and Sophia....and yet, the more I write, the longer it gets, the more it accumulates the more anxious I get.

And..also, I am not sure who really even reads this anymore? I know people read my FFM blog, and even there is I can never really write REAL things....like how on any given day I want to throw my hands up in the air and quit working for this competition. How its really fucking hard...harder than I thought. And basically if one more person tells me they are "concerned" about me, I am going to punch them directly in the throat.
If you still read, then thank you.
I will probably be back soon...
-C

Friday, May 3, 2013