Comments (2) Obligatory plug: Uncovering the Mirrors opens tomorrow! Get your tickets today!
In other news, this link has been sitting in my ‘drafts’ folder for a while while. Jezebel had a post on “Boob jobs that don’t involve actual boob jobs,” including
That seems like a reasonable claim to make...
There’s also bras and bra inserts, hypnotism, and “boob slapping.” Good stuff.
Just like this. Except I wasn't vacuuming. Or in a dress. Or in heels. Really, nothing like this at all.
My room opens out to the apartment dining room. One of my roommates has been working from home lately, and he often sets up his laptop and materials on the dining room table.
This morning, I’ve been in a bit of a rush (though I obviously paused long enough to write this post…) and was trying to pay bills while getting dressed. I had my shorts on, but hadn’t gotten around to putting on a shirt or bra, when I realized I needed the tape dispenser from the other room.
You can probably see where this is going.
Forgetting I was topless, I boldly opened my door to my roommate working. At which point I remembered I was topless, helpfully squeaked, “I have no top on!” and retreated to my room.
I’m the classiest.
Earlier this week, my director and I were discussing metaphors for transitioning. I was saying that transitioning is something I’ve mostly been able to acknowledge in retrospect. Everything I did seemed to be in tiny, incremental changes, regardless of how I am able to understand its significance now. And so I come up with a new transitioning metaphor: that of a frog being boiled alive.
Supposedly, if you place a frog in cold water and slowly bring the temperature to a boil, the frog is too stupid to notice and hop out. (Wikipedia says it may be true, if the temperature rise is slow enough.) I’m not saying I was too stupid to notice the transition, but I do stop and wonder sometimes at how different my life is than it was just a few scant years ago.
Ribbit! Ribbit!
Warm and bubbly
A joke response to the following…
“Becca, you’re such a musical theatre dork.”
“Formal clothing for women is so much more light-weight than for men!”
“Your long hair is so beautiful!”
“You have such good skin.”
“So you hate beer and only like fruity drinks?”
Any others y’all can think of?
First, some topless humor from when I was out in Andersonville today. Tapas las Ramblas is a great tapas place down the street from me, and I saw this out this afternoon:
If I weren’t wearing a dress, I’d have been very tempted to take them up on their offer…
This is why I love my landlords. In late May, I sent them the following email:
After discussing things with some friends, I realized our apartment is woefully unprepared for a velociraptor attack. I was wondering what, if anything, you plan to do about this oversight. Suggestions include, but are not limited to:
- A guard T-Rex
- Electrified fence (note the importance of backup generators)
- Really shiny cabinets in the kitchen to allow for confusing the velociraptors while being chased
- Giant moats
Please advise.
-Rebecca
This led to a discussion with them about the apartment’s (lack of) dinosaur protection, and a question about what substances I was on when I sent the email. (For the record, I was sober. Just tired and loopy.) The discussion ended with them saying I should “absolutely not” be reassured, and that if velociraptors attacked “we would all die.”
I’m going on a date tonight (oooh) and a coworker was joking with me about it. “Don’t put out! By which I mean do put out. Or hopefully she’ll put out.”
I laughed, and shot back, “You suck!”
Which of course made her respond, “I don’t, but hopefully she will! Wait, that doesn’t work…”
I almost reminded her that, no, the parts I have does let that joke work. But just kept my mouth shut and smiled.
(And don’t worry, I’ll do a post on how the date went.)
“I need to pee I need to pee I need to PEE!”
I came running into the apartment, dropping my purse and jacket on the dining room table and yelling a brief “Hello” to my roommate in the kitchen. She yelled back, “We’re out of toilet paper!”
“So?” I replied, “I’m peeing.” I almost instantly realized what had happened, and laughed. When I came out, I said to her, “Yeah, I’m still a shaker, not a wiper. Standing up to pee is awesome. But I think it’s really sweet you forgot that!”
Her reply, “Well, I don’t know your routine!” just made me laugh harder.
(I make no apologies for my utter fail at French. It’s one of the many languages I was unable to learn in school.)
I’m looking for some 1950s sex ed videos as part of something I’m thinking about for my next show, and thought I’d share. The restrictions on square dancing are near the end, around 4:30. (You can picnic while men-stru-ating, thank goodness!)
My roommate, who happens to be high, just asked me the following question:
If you were able to have one final meal of chocolate – after which you’d never be able to have chocolate again – what would you choose? What type of chocolate, what’s the setting, what would you want?
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