Last night, my mother sent my partner and me a Christmas tree by courier. She felt bad for us not having had one in our home over the holidays and I guess she wanted to share the joy. However, by the time we received it, it was already the start of January, a time when most people are looking to get rid of theirs.
Nonetheless, it was a very cute tree. It looked fresh and young and was short enough to keep in our small space but tall enough to feel legitimate. I figured we could still keep it around for a few weeks.
The tree had already been decorated and I noticed that my mum had transferred the star from their tree onto ours. I mentally made a note that I would have to return this the next time I was in Toronto. Then I took a closer look at the ornaments. There were old ornaments my family has used for years, along with a few very pretty ones that I had apparently designed for my mother years ago and forgotten about.
Then I noticed that we had a problem. My father’s very large bassoon was adorning the tree. As a musician, he needs that for work. There was no way that it had been left on the tree on purpose. There were a couple of other instruments hiding under the pine needles as well. I then realized that the upper branches were holding all of my family’s old, very large and heavy dictionaries. There was also an intricate gingerbread mansion my brothers had been building for weeks and had not yet finished.
I resisted the strong temptation to eat the gingerbread on the spot and resolved to complete the mansion and send them a picture when it was done so that they’d at least enjoy a sense of completion. However, I couldn’t figure out what to do with the bassoon or the dictionaries. Greyhound and VIA Rail only permit a very limited amount of bags and weight for a trip to Toronto and all of these items were rather fragile. How would I get these back to my parents?
Luckily, it was all a dream and I woke up.
So, the moral of that story is: Mum, despite your best intentions, please don’t send me any trees by courier.
Figured I’d put this here, in case you missed it. Vera’s Halloween Safety Tips for Adults:
I had a lot of fun recording this one.
Then, Vera went to Toronto for Halloween. We had an amazing time partying at my friend’s place and then in the Village and then at a rambunctious gay party in some dude’s giant studio, where we danced the night away. My brother even came along, dressed as a “gorilla cowboy” (it was exactly what it sounds like). My friend was dressed as Elsa Mars (Jessica Lange) from American Horror Story. I only managed to get 3 pictures the whole night because we were having too much fun.
Elsa Mars from American Horror Story, Vera dressed as a cat, and a Gorilla CowboVera meets Xena! (or, alternately, Xena’s first visit to Jersey Shore)Happy (belated) Halloween! (Vera can’t smile or she’ll get wrinkles.)
Halloween, as usual, was a blast. November 1st, we crashed and burned like unwelcome demons on All Saints Day.
Yesterday evening as I left the office,
I took a look at myself.
Black, button-up trench coat,
deeply pleated grey dress pants,
with only the minimal,
appropriate amount of flare,
street-lights glinting off
shiny black patent leather shoes,
black pleather purse with
faux-crocodile-skin detailing.
My white, case-less cellphone
held tight to my ear
underneath a relatively recent haircut
The picture of a businesswoman.
And I couldn’t help but think,
Ever since I got a tattoo, I’ve been obsessed with them. I’ve binge-watched every tattoo show I could scrounge up on YouTube and even started drawing my own. I love the artwork and individual expression. I even briefly fantasized about a career as a tattoo artist before realizing that I would probably eventually get very sick of drawing skulls, praying hands and basic hearts.
Because if my acting, I want to maintain as much versatility as possible in my body’s appearance. This is the reason I have a very boring, plain-Jane haircut at all times. If I had my real druthers, I would have a La Roux ‘do.
I never know which parts of my body may be required to be shown on stage or on camera as every project is very different. I want to be able to perform in any genre, any time-period. When I got my first tattoo, I told myself to get it in a spot that would be unlikely to be seen and easily covered up – for me, this was my armpit/shoulder, right in the place that is usually covered by my bra band and strap. Now that I want more tattoos, I am realizing that I only have very limited space like this. I’ve joked about getting tattoos all the way around the inside edges of my bra band. I’m sure this would look very strange. Still, I’m constantly coming up with new ideas for tattoos I’d like to get.
Here are my recurring ideas so far:
a sailfish
a thistle
Queen Anne’s lace
tarot cards
leaves with some sort of flower arrangement
birds all up my side:
a blue jay
a red-winged blackbird
a cardinal
a crow
a magpie with pearls
a jellyfish
an octopus
Queen of Clubs riding a sea dragon
an ocean/waves
a white-ink reminder of temporariness (the artsy-fartsier, the better)
I did something I never really thought I would do. I got a tattoo.
I’ve always liked tattoos, nice tattoos anyway, but I never thought I should get one myself. For one thing, when I was younger, my parents weren’t too fond of them. I remember looking up at a man’s anchor on his bicep at a Canada Day event when I was a small child and thinking how pretty it was. I asked my parents about it and they were unenthused. It was my first introduction to tattoos.
When I was in high school, I briefly dated (if you can even call it that) a Korean boy whose father would have strongly disapproved of our relationship if he had known about it, due to my total lack of Korean blood. With this in mind, I asked my mother what kind of partner she would not approve of at first glance if I were to bring them home for dinner. It took her a while to come up with one. The only example she could think of was if the guy was covered in tattoos. I remember thinking how that was a shame because I secretly liked tattoos.
However, I didn’t think tats would be for me partly because I considered myself to be fairly non-committal. I figured I’d eventually get bored of whatever I got. As I sometimes struggle with OCD, I feared I would absolutely hate any minor detail I considered to be even slightly off or non-symmetrical.
As I got more and more into acting, I also became more and more invested in making my body as versatile as possible. Tattoos would limit me to a roles within a certain time-period/genre.
As a child and teen, I often had nightmares about spontaneously getting a tattoo and ending up with a giant picture of Goofy on my back. Something I had no attachment to – something I thought horrendously ugly. I loathed these dreams.
Goofy, the tattoo of my nightmares.
However, I kept daydreaming of tattoos I’d like to have and enviously admiring some of my friends’. I initially wanted a dragon and briefly flirted with Chinese symbols (I grew up in the 90s, ok?). However, those ideas ended up far too popular and I’ve seen far too many terrible ones. After a bout of depression, I wanted the phrase “This too shall pass” in white ink on my forearm. Again, too overdone for my liking. Then, after an encounter with a wild sailfish in Mexico, I believed him to be my spirit animal and wanted his likeness imprinted somewhere. But I couldn’t decide on where… No one wants a sailfish tramp stamp. I was tempted by the semi-colon trend but decided against it (for now, at least) as I don’t want my tattoos to give away my age.
While I was in Bancroft, my cast and stage manager and I were walking around town outside the laundromat while waiting for our overdue loads of laundry to wash. We walked past a tattoo parlour called Deuce Tattoos with a sign that read:
“If you’re racist, sexist, homophobic, or an a**hole… Don’t come in.”
The sign got us thinking about tattoos we wanted to get. We discussed getting show tattoos. Part of the set of the show we were working on (The Melville Boys) was a taxidermied deer head we had nicknamed “Clarence” and we all loved him dearly. We were in such a nice place in our lives and wanted something that would not only commemorate this happy time but something that would have meaning to us. Amanda wanted antlers on her ribs, Lydia wanted a full deer head bust on her leg, next to her pre-existing elephant thigh piece, Tony wanted antlers on his arm. I joked about getting the word “Clarence” somewhere but knew it would be a bad idea in case I ever did meet a real Clarence I disliked. I also wanted my first tattoo to be something with the appropriate amount of significance to me.
I eventually settled on a bird. Without going into too much detail, this bird represents the happiness I get from the people I love. It represents freedom, rising above misery and embracing change (like the changing of the seasons) as everything is temporary. And all those other cheesy things people say. It also represents art and creation. I requested it to look like a sketch with a watercolour effect going outside the lines. I liked the idea of it being kind of meta. Self-aware.
The initial stencil. WATCH OUT! SIDE-BOOB ACTION!
As much as I attribute all that meaning to this tattoo, however, the main reason I got it was simply because I thought it would look cool.
The points I considered when deciding to get this tattoo were as follows:
If I hate it enough, though expensive, I can always try laser removal or get it modified by a good tattoo artist. (I’ve been obsessed the the show Tattoo Fixers lately- their skill is quite impressive.)
I’ve always toyed with the idea of getting a tattoo. Finally getting one of my own would eliminate some of the mystery. It’s a life-experience I’ve now got checked off my bucket list.
I am NOT getting Goofy tattooed on me. Perhaps getting a proper tattoo will stop the nightmares for good.
Since I hate unintentional imperfections/asymmetry, I might as well make the tattoo puposely imperfect – sketchy lines sticking out, left over from the drawing of it and colour outside the lines. It will be a useful reminder to me that it is ok for things not to be perfect.
Carmin working on Lydia’s tattooLydia’s final tattoo
There was some confusion about when the tattoo artist and all of us would be free for the appointments so it did take some time for us all to get scheduled in. Tony ended up bailing on his because he wouldn’t have been able to get exactly what he wanted in the scarce time we had allotted. Brave Lydia went first, then Amanda.
Amanda’s fresh tattoo
Since there was no time to do mine before our performance by the time theirs were done, the parlour owner and the guest artist Carmin A (who was staying at her house) agreed to pick up Lydia and me on their way into town the next morning.
On Saturday, August 22nd, 2015, I got my first tattoo.
My tattoo
I am so happy with it.
I submitted about 6 influencing pictures for the tattoo through the parlour’s facebook page. (Less is more, however. They only wanted 3.) A nice lady named Jackie had sketched out an image for the transfer paper for me. Carmin put the transfer paper on to check positioning. I asked to move it slightly the first time so we washed it off and repositioned it.
The pain of the needle was about a 3.5-4 out of 10. Not as bad as I expected. Not a big deal. More irritating than anything. It felt like someone was making very shallow cuts into my skin with a fine scalpel. Carmin has a reputation for being gentle so that probably helped. To be fair, I have no other tattoos to compare the pain to. The main difficulty for me was being unable to do anything but listen to the tattoo gun for about an hour and a bit. I was relieved when a guy came in to install paper towel rolls holders on the walls as it gave me a distraction to watch.
That evening, when Matthew and my mum, dad and baby brother came to see the show, I told them I’d gotten a tattoo. Mum was surprisingly supportive, saying that she’d sort of come see the appeal of a tattoo over the years. Dad still didn’t like the idea of tattoos for himself but he said it was my life, my body. My little brother was surprised and giddy. “It’s like I don’t know you anymore!” Matthew wasn’t keen on the idea of a tattoo as a matter of personal preference but he did say he liked mine after all.
Mum initially thought it was a parrot. I informed her that the colour would fade somewhat due to the watercolour effect. She was a bit confused by the wing detail behind the bird’s head, thinking it was the beak. She saw the smaller beak when I explained it to her. I don’t mind having a parrot on my shoulder though. Makes me feel like a pirate.
To me, the image is the “everybird”. Like an “everyman” only in bird form. It started as a robin, has feathers like a blue jay and little streaks in its’ wings like a red-winged black bird. And apparently it also looks like a parrot. And it’s perfectly imperfect. Yeah.
Thank you to Carmin A and Jackie for the lovely work, to Lisa for driving me in her awesome lime green jeep and to Lydia and Amanda for their tattooed sisterhood.
my
workout
was extra
hard today as
I was forced to watch
Mister Sad-Zombie-Eyes
on the television screen
in front of the elliptical
I was using as he blabbed about
all the bull crap he’s already expelled
and hopes to continue to eject on us.
I think my rage helped me to burn more calories.
Thinking in Stomp-Claps 