My Niche

From Les Coquettes' LOVE STORY - photo by Ryan Visima

The universe is great, and mighty, and continues to steer me in so many interesting directions. Despite some upset, and some turmoil, I’m very glad to be exactly where I am today.

All roads keep pointing in one direction – I need to write. That’s what I thought I’d end up doing as a child, and that’s exactly where I’m heading now. I believe it’s up to me to educate, inform, entertain, and opportunity has come knocking again. One of the things I am most proud of is my ability to face a challenge head on, mostly without fear. This opportunity is the best one yet.

We just put another Les Coquettes show to bed. It was another huge success, with two sold out shows. My girlfriend was in charge of our merchandise booth, selling pasties that we’d made, and she told me this great story yesterday. A young woman had brought her mother to the show, and at intermission, the mother was trying to convince her daughter to buy a pair of pasties. They were contemplating them as a surprise for the young woman’s husband who had been out of town for a while.

As she recounted this yesterday, I realized that this little anecdote keenly sums up everything that I want to do – make sexuality fun, something to be celebrated and explored, free of embarrassment and any source of shame. To empower people, particularly women, by inviting them to embrace their own unique sexuality, and dig deeper to learn more about their sexual selves.

This, ladies and gentlemen, is what I’m here to do.

Stay tuned to see how it all comes together.

Heh, heh, heh.

The Trouble with Hump Day

Photo by Kyle Andrew (I like to call it "Mid-Wife Crisis")

Another show is put to bed. I worry that I can’t keep everyone happy, and that the reasons I continue to do these shows with little financial return is not enough for the others. There is so much that needs to happen, so little time to focus, and so few free hands.

What happened to the days of wealthy patrons who would sponsor artists so they were free to create? How I would love a simple, casual job that was fun to do so that the rest of my working energy and efforts could be directed at this enterprise we’ve created that means the world to me.

If I can direct this company towards greater growth and opportunity, who will come along for the ride? I sense so much frustration and exhaustion sometimes, and I wonder how much of it is a result of things moving slowly here, or if it’s a product of the general frustration all artists feel in such a difficult time for performers.

Today, I will devote my time to a clear work plan. List-making has always been such an effective tool for laying out the state of things in a clear manner, and for dividing tasks in a way that makes them feel so much less overwhelming.

It’s been a long time since I’ve set personal goals too. I’ve been waiting so long to land, and for the dust to settle, and now that I feel it has (in most ways) I think it’s time to hatch a plan.

My brother completely inspired me today, and his photography is amazing. I’d link to his website, but it isn’t up to date. Here’s a link to a Facebook gallery of his photos.

I’m tempted to really just say “no” to working full-time, and just see what happens.

Universe, I’m blowing on your fuzzy dice!

Just Killing Time

Approximately two years ago, my alter-ego La Minouche took over.

I’ve had two hours of sleep and haven’t stopped since 7 am.

This close to show time, sleep is a luxury that I don’t often have.

I’ve spent the last two hours working with two lovely colleagues at the LOT to dress a window in our store front to promote our upcoming show. Tonight I’ll put on some cupcake-coloured lingerie and sip prosecco and hang with Dante Inferno and Georgie Gates, amusing the bar and restaurant crowd on Ossington while our man props flyer passers-by.

Life is strange.

I decided when I was eleven that I just wasn’t like the other kids, and I made peace with that and got on with my life. It’s been an extraordinary journey ever since. I’ve seen and done things most people won’t experience in their lifetime in my 33 short years, and I really do want it all.

I want an unconventional life surrounded by artists and inspiring, creative people. I want incredible sex for as long as I can have it. I want a family, and a fat baby of my own. I want a silly dog with an over-developed sense of nobility. I want delicious meals, lots of music, a fan-following, and love, love, love.

It won’t always be easy. There will have to be concessions along the way, but you know, I’m looking at everything thus far and all I can say is…

Why the fuck not?

p.s. If you love or hate Valentine’s Day, and don’t yet have plans, I hope you’ll join us on February 13th for an unforgettable theatrical experience.

Oh for a muse of fire…

I can’t write anymore. I’ve been reduced to the cliche of the writer who writes about not being able to write.

I’ve stared longingly at the dashboard of this blog for hours, for days, wishing I had something to say, but the things I want to share I can’t write here.

Is anyone still reading?

What if we make a pact? I will post every day for a week, just for the sake of posting. Perhaps it will be dry, and tedious, but at least there will be something to chew on. Brain jerky. It will be like one of those photo blogs with snapshots of the contents of my head.

Work is all-consuming right now, which is good. It filters the worry usually reserved for the rest of my life. It makes my general anxiety make more sense. Currently I’m asking myself why I do this at all, but I know ten minutes after show time I’ll remember.

Therapy yesterday felt clear, and positive. I know what I want. That’s good. Not sure I’ll get it, but none of us really knows, do we?

I’m particularly interested in seeing how the next three months of my life shake out. No big decisions, no grand conclusions, no final deductions can be made at present. So I remain suspended in time, meditating on patience and faith.

Then I need to know, to absolutely know where I’m headed.

I’m convinced that there is a reason for all this waiting. A reason that I’m vaguely aware of, but unable to articulate. Spidey sense whispers secrets in my ear, especially when I’m dreaming, and I’m listening all of the time.

Last night I dreamt that I was in Paris with an old friend from high school named Julie. She and I were in the Metro, and she was seeing me off as I headed to the airport, destined for home. The news in the city of lights was consumed with tales of a homicidal maniac who had been attacking people with a razor, but I had barely paid any heed because of the language barrier and because I was enjoying my vacation.

As Julie kissed me goodbye, we were approached by this lanky, gaunt man wearing dirty, tattered clothes. He had dark hair, and hollow, glassy eyes. He grabbed my hand suddenly, and forcefully, and pressed something into it, using his own hand to force my grip. His lips parted and he whispered “Merci” as he swiftly used my hand to drag a flashing blade across his throat. I must have pulled back, because he wasn’t satisfied with the cut, so he did it again, this time hitting his jugular. Julie and I watched him bleed to death in my arms.

The authorities came. There were enough eye witnesses to realize that I was in no way at fault. I was traumatized, and fortunately a very kind female investigator was able to arrange my questioning for later.

I took solace at the home of my friend Lenni, who shared a lovely Paris apartment with her partner Simon and their wee baby. As the investigator was packing me into the taxi, I woke up, and needed to take several deep breaths.

My dreams are vivid, and disturbing, and in every single one I’m either looking for something or trying to get somewhere.

Meh, quoth I.