Skirt Full of Fire | Tucson-based Tribal Fusion Belly Dance Instruction & Performance

Dear John,

I’m pretty certain we should go on a date.  A couple of things brought me to this realization: scotch on the rocks, brownies, and Youtubing old videos of Cabaret performed live in theaters, and Facebooking old boyfriends.  I don’t consider those things particularly damaging in and of themselves, but when you link them together in a sentence like that, it looks pretty suspect…so let me assure you, I am a (relatively) sane individual.  I’ve thought about this for the past hour (again, somewhat sane individual) which is a pretty big thing for me, as I tend to be easily distracted by kitten videos and sparkly things like tinsel and spoons.

I guess I should start at the beginning, and the beginning involves a heavy dose of Jesse Katsopolis.  I grew up watching you…nay, drooling over you.  I mean, yeah, I kinda wanted to be D.J. Tanner, but I also wanted to be Darlene from Roseanne, so I think those two cancel each other out and give me a modicum of credibility.  Mostly, when I watched “Full House”, I fantasized about living next door to the charming rag tag family so that I could visit Uncle Jesse and maybe have him sing me a song or two.  This will get less creepy in a minute, I think…

“Full House” was canceled, and I, admittedly, kind of hate watching television (my brains turn to jam and I end up sitting on the couch with my eyes wide open and dried up and my lips all crusty from dehydration…not pretty), so I lost track of you for quite a while.  I was surfing the interwebs one day and found this little gem:

My initial thoughts were, in no particular order: what a great choice for the Emcee, OMG I DIDN’T KNOW I LIKED PAINTED NIPPLES WHAT DOES THIS MEAN ABOUT ME I SHOULD GO TO A THERAPIST, that’s Uncle Jesse, I bet that harness hurts his junk in a big bad way, and fjieaphfeuaphp (that’s a good thing, I promise).  My passion was rekindled and I started keeping an eye out for you in shows and movie-flicks.  I still don’t like watching television, but if I know you are going to be on a show that I don’t have to commit to watching several seasons of in order to understand, I go out of my way to watch.  You are absolutely delightful, dashing, dreamy, and any other synonym that begins with the letter ‘d’.

I can count off a laundry list of reasons you would never, ever, ever…EVER…give me a second glance.  Here are just a few:

• You look like an old school movie star.  You could have been shouting “STELLA!” at the top of your lungs if you were born in a different era.  I look like Suicide Girls meets Garbage Pail Kids, with less in the way of clever rhymes.
• You, based on my very limited knowledge of your personal life, seem to enjoy dating women closer to your age.  I, unfortunately, find that attractive as all hell.
• You are…well…famous…I eat Ramen on a regular basis, and not because I find it to be delicious (but it absolutely is).
• I am in on a Saturday night, wearing my hobo-est pants with food stains on them, drinking scotch, and writing this open letter to you.

We don’t have many things in common, but you seem to enjoy good theater, music, and Greek yogurt, as do I. First dates have been made with less than that to go on, so I feel pretty good about this.  I once went out on a date with a guy because I didn’t want to go to a movie by myself, and also…I wanted him to share his soda with me so I wouldn’t have to buy one only to take a couple of sips of it.   I’m being honest with you because you have a kind face and I like to believe, in my delusional state, that you would let me be open with you like this without judgment of my past behavior.

I’m going to go ahead and say that this letter is in no way, shape, or form, ironic.  I don’t own a kafiya and I genuinely like the show “Cougar Town”.  Not to say I’m incapable of pretense, but I’m dead serious about this.  Let’s go get pizza.  You choose the place.  Bring a chaperone or a police officer if it makes you more comfortable.

Yours,
Jolie

–Update–

I wrote this in a message to a friend, and I think it’s worth adding to the initial post:

“My Stamos letter is clearly a cry for help. If I did get him, I don’t think I’d take the date. I’m too much of a pussy and I hate awkward conversation. Do you think he even likes pizza? I mean, I threw that out there thinking everyone likes pizza, but maybe I just made an ass out of myself because he hates tomato sauce and is gluten intolerant. I could make him a gluten free, dairy free, organic pizza, but then that escalates the date into a home-date and everyone knows you expect sex if you are doing a home-date. Better to keep it on neutral territory lest he think I’m trying to get rapey with him. I’d totally get rapey on him if he wanted me to, but that’s an awkward question to have to ask. ‘Hey, how’s the pizza? You want me to get rapey on you?’”

Enjoy my neuroses.

Alexander McQueen, one of my all-time favorite designers, died today at the very young age of 40. There’s really not a lot I can say that will encompass the scope of his work, so this will be a picture and video blog. He was a visionary, a delightful wacko, and a genius. Rest in peace.

Continue reading

The reasonable man adapts himself to the world; the unreasonable man persists in trying to adapt the world to himself. Therefore all progress depends on the unreasonable man.
~George Bernard Shaw

The “freak flag” concept is one I support whole-heartedly.  The idea that everyone has a side to them that is probably socially embarrassing, totally outside the status quo, and potentially brilliant keeps me looking for the strange and unusual in everyone and definitely helps me embrace the strange and unusual in myself.  In the spirit of strange, I have compiled my top five freaks, but before I get on with it…

Did you know, the archaic definition of “freak” is “a sudden, arbitrary change of mind; a whim”.  An example sentence, “Follow this way or that, whereever the freak takes you.”  That is now a permanent fixture in my lexicon.  Moving right along…

Continue reading