Obviously I'm in the wrong profession.

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I am contemplating sending my ex-girlfriends a bill.

Yes it snowed.

Ten seconds of pretty, followed by fuck off already, I'm cold. And I have to drive home, where this is happening:



Image courtesy of the back landing, facing the neighbour's yard. No ground cover due to previous rain....

Never done that before.

Today I stepped into a lingerie shop to buy something.

Admittedly, it's for a dress up night to do with the musical I'm in. It's been decided that we should do a Moulin Rouge night, which I'm a little excited about - the high points have been wearing a dress and then wearing a bikini top with a towel around my waist, so I've got to beat that on the stepping out of my comfort zone level - but as well I'm absolutely crapping myself with anxiety about looking like a fool for an entire performance.

So I've never bought the good gear before. I buy cheap from K-Mart. I've never spent more than fifteen dollars on a bra in a shop. I've had some given to me in years past, but they don't count in this story.

I walk in. I look at all the frilly bits of stuff hanging off display trees and my mind just goes into shutdown. The only thing I can do is get my self to the counter, feeling about as out of my comfort zone as a seventeen year old boy tagging along while his mother shops for sexy lingerie. Berating myself for being such a loser, I asked the lady for help.

Um... I'm after a corsety sorta.. thing.

Okay, what size are you after?

I don't know.

Well, what size bra do you wear?

Um... I kind of do the whole minimising thing... so I get the smallest possible sports bra just to... you know.. flatten them out. So... um... I do a ten in the sports bra or an eight in the sports shirty things.

Well. What size are you wearing now?

I've just got a size 12 sports shirt. (I had none of the others left - the weather is crap and the washing hasn't been done. Plus I had three layers over the top.)

For just about a year I've been wearing sports bras and doing the chest minimising thing. Couple that with weight loss of over fifteen kilos (I actually think it would be more if I hadn't started muscling up a bit as well - but I like that better), and you get the result of me not having a clue what size I am. Cup size has meant nothing to me for what seems like forever. I know I used to be a 16D once upon a more feminine time.

So she helped. She was nice. She told me how to do the thing up. She brought more when the ones I tried weren't fitting enough. I ended up being a 10C. Then she helped with stockings. She figured me out for a no-idea type. She got it all laid out on the counter.

Now, this stocking pack (called the Sexy Kit) comes with a G-string. You might not want that. Maybe you could give it to some special.

What the hell? Either she's got me sussed which is fine, or she thinks I'll look crap in a G-string.

Now, do you know how to attach the stockings to the suspender?

Umm... No?

Well you do this [and she shows me].

Oh, okay. That's mechanics. I can see how that works. Easy.

So I managed to get what I wanted to get. I didn't look at anything else. It just doesn't do much for me. It resembles rack upon rack of femininity that I just don't do. On someone else, yes. But I haven't met anyone that I want to buy lingerie for yet. I think I've got a hell of a lot of research to do before I do that sort of thing. Or I need to go shopping with someone who knows what they're doing, know me well and who's willing to teach me patiently just so I'm armed with a little more knowledge for the future and a hell of a lot less apprehension.

Playing dress-ups: Part One

So I've been playing bass for a local musical society production. The Musical Director has picked his band basically from people he knows will work well together and be fun in the process. And fun it's been. The band is nestled in behind the stage (normally it's off to the side in the local productions) so virtually nobody from the audience can see us. We've even had comment that people think it's a CD. So we were joking about before the shows started that we should dress in pyjamas so that we'd be comfortable.

It's gone a bit nuts from there. Each night has a different theme. So the easiest most tragic choice after pyjamas was eighties night. I hit the op-shop and hacked away at a pair of jeans, a jacket and then piled a shitload of gel into my hair. The looks we got when we walked into the services club where the show is playing were priceless.

The themes are a topic of bar discussion after the show (Where else? We're musicians) and have included suggestions from the cast as well. Whatever idiot thought that we could dress up as the food groups was just pushing the friendship, though. It's been an ice-breaker between the band and the cast and I've met a lot of cool people through it.

Then we have the shot some might have been waiting for. "Formal dress" night. That's right - Vic in a dress (cue: those reading gasp at the surprise). I told the entire cast that it was a once in ten-year thing and not to get too excited. I had one lady who I'm sure was trying to convince me I could pick up a nice young lad in what I was wearing. I just smiled and nodded and thought not a chance honey.

This series of shows is the most I've ever dressed up for anything and it's been fun. Normally I'm the person who finds any excuse to turn up in jeans and hang out away from the action - to be a part of the plain furniture rather than a feature wall, but through the last two weeks of dressing up I've come out of my shell a little more as a person and it's fun.

Saturday nights

And there's a house party again.
Again. The two hottest lesbians in the whole house....
Cruiseydyke and Groover...