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That Weekend In Indiana…

You’re looking at four photographs from the film Kill Dolly Kill by Director Heidi Moore (a musical sequel to her film Dolly Deadly, 2016) by Wretched Productions and HM&M Films and TROMA. Yes, back in May I got to live out my trashy campy John Waters-esque dreams of playing up the camp in faded 80s goth girl glory. My character? Rigamorta. BEST NAME FOR A CAMPY/HORROR MOVIE CHARACTER EVER. ALSO I GOT TO SING!

I’ve been a closet fan of TROMA films with a special fondness for Tromeo and Juliet. So I’m all bucket list happy for having done this in a trailer park outside Wininiac (SP?) Indiana.

One thing I learned on my first ever trip to Indiana was that there are people resisting TRUMP everywhere. I couldn’t find a single person in Indiana happy with Pence or Trump. It was refreshing and taught me not to immediately suspect and write off the midwest. I met so many cool people! I wanted to take them all back with me to California (or at least feed them California style). It was actually hard to leave at the end. We were such a little family of misfits and I’m hoping to do a film with them again sometime.

It will be out sometime in the fall. Stay tuned…

 

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beauty and fashion

I (try) to Sing the Body Electric…

I (want) to celebrate the me, not yet to come, but the one who is here now who has had a long journey and is a bit tired and always slightly uncomfortable with the way I look.

I always think I’m taller (I’m 5’4″). I always think my eyes are less squinty than they really are (slightly cross eyed–it’s a family trait). But above all there’s my mom body. I was never a thin person nor did I care to necessarily be one. I don’t mind my hips or thighs or breasts or any other areas people complain about. I’m not sure that I love them–I’m not an overzealous person like that.

But I really appreciate the body positivity movement and the women larger than I that have the ovaries to put it all out there. I have the social conditioning of ‘but what if my grandmother sees this?’ that keeps me from doing such things. Sin Verguenza!

But I am envious of that sort of nerve, that sort of power of not giving a shit. I’m writing a book about it after two years of research on the topic. Throwing the Curve, it’s called. I’ve done about a dozen photo shoots now since I started the book. I’ve gotten more confident with myself and my image–even though I look like me.

Another thing throwing me is weight loss. I spent 2016-2017 on book writing hiatus because I was leaving my husband of 14 years instead. That in and of itself is an all consuming job. And we have teenagers who turn into asses frequently which is another full time job. With the depression that comes with knowing your life must change and not having a clue how to best go about it, I did two things: Some days I ate too much; most other days I didn’t eat at all.

And then people would say how great I looked what’s my secret? And I would say depression and divorce. Oh.

They don’t want to hear that. They want to hear about a fat girl’s new found appreciation for diets created by thin people and an adherence to thin people’s exercise regiment. They don’t want to hear that you were a vegetarian for 25 years and know a good deal about food and that you already exercise every day–you just added depression and divorce for that added temporarily gaunt look.

Well then…I met someone. And I’m not depressed and the divorce is final on July 12. And the kids would be asses anyway at their age. And I have good work to do, a play to produce, writing projects and the only thing that depresses me now is the Trump Administration and its crimes against humanity and the environment.

I still don’t know how I feel about my mom body. I’m still trying to embrace this idea about being comfortable with aging. I feel like Gen Xers just don’t buy into the idea of having to dress a certain way at a certain age. Be respectable. Etc.

So this was one from one of my last shoots. There are more of course but this one I really like. It’s the most like me I’ve ever been in a shoot. Minimal make up. Minimal hair. Me. I want to sing the body electric. Right now I’m clearing my throat and the first notes are whisper singing out of my mouth.

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After the throw…

It took me awhile to figure out just what throwing chanclas should be. At first I thought parenting parody but perhaps the joke would be far too on the inside. Also. There’s other places for that.

But then I thought I’m looking at things all wrong. I always responded to the chancla as a kid. That is um ducking and hoping the wrath of my mother went to my brother’s ass instead. But hey, I’m a parent. And I love my chanclas. I also love my peace and quiet when those little cochinos are in their rooms or outside. Hmmm…

So instead? I dedicate this site Throwing Chanclas to the moment after it’s thrown. No regret. Everyone out of the house and I can watch my endless Project Runway episodes in peace and if one of those horrible whiners make fashion week? Well I’ll throw a chancla at the screen (actually I won’t–I love that screen).

It’s that moment when they just ate all your food and it’s better than your mother-in-laws but those *&^%$ kids didn’t throw the trash or unload the dishwasher and no shame they didn’t even say thank you. So throw the shoe. Get them out of there. Clean up listening to whatever band you like and not what your daughter is forcing you to listen to.

In the peace of that moment is time for the mother of the house. It’s the time when I dress for me. It’s the time when I put on lipstick because I want it on. The husband comes home. Who is all this gussying up for? Me, damn it. It’s for me.

Because I might be 47? But I don’t want to look like I gave up, because I haven’t. And why should any of us? I mean we Gen Xers are squeezed out as it is.

So I re-dedicate Throwing Chanclas to all those moms who are still rocking their look and don’t care if they embarrass their kids by doing their own thing.