Et in terra pax hominibus, bonae voluntatis.
(Literally translated, that means “merry fucking Christmas, bonehead.”)
In my future is rummy eggnog and lots of homemade Greek food. My last name ain’t Makaris for nothing. If we get drunk enough, maybe I’ll teach my parents to play Cards Against Humanity…
This Saturday was my first cabaret since September; Nightmare and Carbon Leaf stole me away in the interim. Since I’m ~too cool~ for the whole “sexy Santa” thing (that, and Josh finds it an active turn-off), we went the more hipster route. Holly and I dressed as the holly and the ivy, and Josh…you do you, Josh. He dressed as the Krampus (the Austrian Christmas demon) complete with basket and switch, and won the costume contest for it. Alas, his only gain was a signed poster – none of the free porn of contests past.
By the way, my “Ivy” dress is for sale on Etsy!
All photos copyright Zinfandel Photography.
Everyone wanted a turn under the switch.
Finally something (*&%$ artsy. I was feeling terribly off my game. As uplifting as the Christmas story is supposed to be, there’s darkness embedded in it too. An omnipotent God, manifest in an undeniably Other human form, is actually pretty bone-chilling. Had we never heard of the Judeo-Christian tradition, were this just another obscure tribal myth, I’m certain it would unsettle us.
What else would you expect from me, really?
My parents’ house is full of Greek pastries and wine. I’ve had the Celtic Woman Christmas album on obnoxious loop for the past several days. Tonight I’m going to church with my mother, which I’ve been looking forward to for weeks. I try to maintain a certain religiosity about the holidays, even though I don’t follow any particular denomination. The men are less enthused. They can stay home and compete for my honor over a game of Jeopardy!.
My inner crackhead society dame emerges today. That’s the style I keep coming back to. It permeates most everything I wear and design. Queered elegance.
I find myself becoming more and more religious. I’m increasingly able to feel comfortable in any service, regardless of whether the specific dogma appeals to me. Because it’s not about rules. It’s not about voting Republican and holding onto your virginity. It’s the search for transcendence, which can come in any damn form you choose to find it.
I’ve been reading Pastrix, by Lutheran minister Nadia Bolz-Weber. I want to marry this woman – and guess what, I can, because her church, House for All Sinners and Saints, not only performs queer marriages, it welcomes drag queens and refers to the pagan Goddess as “God’s aunt”. Her message is clear: you can choose to find God (or his aunt) just as you are, without conforming to any ideals. Because his acceptance is that radical. Because you can truly find transcendence in anything.
In more prosaic news, I really need a haircut.
Dress: Savers Turban, Necklace, & Bracelet: Old Gold Belt: Downtown Threads Pin: Battery Street Jeans Tights & Shoes: Gifted Cat: Pixel
Don’t worry. This is what our relationship is like.
I went to Sunday Mass this morning. I wore my Buddhist prayer beads, because I’m syncretic that way. This evening, I holed up with curry and pagan friends for a Yule ritual. Bringing back the sun. I don’t know why I find such peace in religion, but if I did, Kate of Eat the Damn Cake would say it better than I could.
There’s this feeling I get, when I come out of services at the end of the first day of Rosh Hashanah. This sense of emerging from some other place, possibly underground, or underwater, but hidden, in any case, and darker and more secret. It’s so bright outside, and the world expands abruptly, and it’s filled with normal people who are just going about their day. But I have been in this secret other place, where the day was turned sacred and ancient rites were observed, and I am still vibrating where I’ve been rung and wrung out.
It’s not about God or anything. It’s about the act of setting things aside for recognition.
There’s holiness in everything, even this monster of an ice storm that will probably strand us indoors (god forbid) tomorrow. Even the tackiness of my glorified elf costume.
Coat: for sale here! Dress: Tibetan craft fair Belt: Battery Street Jeans Tights, Hat, & Shoes: Gifted
I go back to Burlington the day after tomorrow. Out in the boonies, I haven’t been leaving the house much. Today, though, I went out poetry slamming, so I had an excuse to doll myself up.
I’m really not comfortable unless I’m dressed up. Tossing my shoes and slipping on yoga pants is an earned pleasure after a day of tights and bangles, embodied for a few hours at the end of the day. It’s never a constant. I can’t spend more than a day in pajama pants. It feels like taking canvas from a painter.
This is a blouse/vest combination I used to wear in high school (usually in a costumey context, funnily enough). I must’ve been a senior last time I wore it, and I didn’t fill out the vest even remotely. It looked pretty masculine. I love how close it fits now. I referred to this concept a few posts ago: the contrast between a masculine outfit and a feminine fit.
I didn’t crop these two because I think the background fits really well.
Anyone notice my hair is two inches shorter?
Blouse & Vest: Bag sale Skirt: Battery Street Jeans Boots: Handed down from Mom Tights & Jewelry: Christmas
We’ve gotten a foot of snow in the past two days, so I’m going to be really hip and anachronistic (and, dare I say it, ironic) and post pictures of myself in a bikini.
Copyright Mike Tait 2012.
Merry Christmas, all those out there with a soft spot for curvy redheads in vintage bikinis!
Say what you will about bitter cold and hauling firewood at 2:30 in the morning – rural Vermont winters are, if nothing else, aesthetically magical. And my parents’ house is nothing if not the absolute best place to curl up and wait for Christmas.
I took photos on the front porch today, carefully shielding my laptop against the occasional gust of snow.
We got our Christmas tree three days ago and have yet to bring it in the house.
This sweater belongs to my friend Cassie, who left it behind when she came over recently. I swear I fully plan on returning it. It was just the perfect complement to today’s backdrop.
Every time I go home, my mom bestows hand-me-downs upon me. This time, it was these boots.
Frosted driveway. I love snow without wind: it all settles in the trees.
Porch roof, unlit Christmas lights, and a view of the evergreens across the street. My bedroom window is directly opposite them.
The gold nails were an experiment. I’m not sure how well it went. I do, however, love the blue, so there’s definitely hope for me introducing colors other than red into my wardrobe.
This pose brought to you courtesy of Nadia Aboulhosn.
These are going to be a staple. I can tell.
It’s not a hymn, but here’s my favorite song for today:
I might dress like I’m sophisticated, but I grew up in a town of 1,800 people, and I’m way too easily impressed by things like wireless internet, hands-free phones, and indoor plumbing. I’m also the kind of person who walks into doorjambs and knocks her glasses off. It’s a contrast my friends and family do not let me live down.
If you’ve ever wondered what I’m like in person, this is a pretty good indication:
The ugliest sweater known to Sartoria. I’m madly in love with it. I’m not even wearing it ironically.
I’d wanted a really hideous sweater for about a year, and my mom got me this one on a business trip over Thanksgiving break. I’ve been waiting for the perfect time to blog it.
Dorky sweaters call for dorky poses.
My mock trial team had an “ugly sweater” party tonight, and I think I won the party. I’ll post the pic of my team as soon as my captain uploads it.
I feel really pretty today, because I am so happy to be wearing this sweater and it shows in my face.
I’m in the holiday spirit from head to toe. I feel like a Scandinavian child.
This time of year is bliss for someone who loves classical music as much as I do. This has been on repeat for the past hour.
Also, happy Hanukkah! My Jewish boyfriend tried to teach me how to say it in Hebrew, and I promptly forgot. I kind of suck at languages that aren’t Latin.
UPDATE 12/11: Here’s my mock trial team (the ones who remembered to dress up, anyway) in all our finery!