September 30, 2007
And it is that - an expression of your true self. Something happened during this particular show that made me even more sure of this.
The audition was about a month ago. I decided to ditch the bump and grind routine and instead sang a mediocre version of "Another Suitcase in Another Hall" from Evita. Mediocre because I hadn't sung since February (aside from karaoke and in the shower) and I was out of practice. It was okay, but it certainly didn't show the director what I was capable of.
That's why I was surprised when he not only cast me, but also handed me the most difficult song in the show, a duet of "Pie Jesu" from Requiem, where I was to sing the harmony alongside a woman who has been singing so long she's practically a professional. I was flattered, honoured, and absolutely terrified. I ran screaming to my voice teacher, whom I hadn't seen in months.
We practiced and practiced and practiced until I knew that harmony backward and forward. But when I tried to practice it as a duet with the woman singing the melody, it all fell apart. I kept losing my part and singing wrong notes, and having to stop and start again. I couldn't figure it out. I mean, I knew this song. Why couldn't I sing it with her? Why couldn't I find my notes? Why wasn't it working?
"You have to stop listening to her," my voice teacher finally said. "If you listen to her, you'll get sucked into the melody and lose your part. Just sing your part as though it's a solo."
And then, it all clicked. On so many levels. Until recently, I had always been the person who adapted to other people. Who went with the flow. Who let other people decide what we were doing. Who tweaked her opinions when others disagreed so she won't rock the boat. Who would do just about anything to make sure that everyone liked her. I listened to the melody and reacted to it, adapting my song so it would fit with what everyone else wanted.
But this, this was a different way of thinking. Even though I was singing harmony, I had to act like a soloist. I had to block out the melody and sing my part like it was all that mattered. And in doing that, the song would be stronger and sound better. I could have harmony without sacrificing my expression, my voice.
So, I took my voice teacher's advice. I went up on that stage, sang my "solo" alongside the awesome soprano lady's "solo" and we nailed that motherfucker. Hearing and feeling two ethereal voices blend like that is unlike anything I've experienced. Two strong, individual voices that, when put together, made something even more beautiful than they could have apart.
This is the way I want to live my life from now on, what I've been moving toward for the last number of years. This is who I am, and I'm not compromising it for anyone.
September 28, 2007
(That Girl suggested I change the name of my blog to Savia's House of Cock. Kinda catchy, but probably would end up limiting my topics somewhat. Because I like to talk about vulvas and breasts, too, you know.)
Some other blogger types were feeling kinda lonely, too, so they created The Great Mo-fo Delurk campaign for October 3. It's easy. All you have to do is leave a comment on the blogs you read. It doesn't have to be anything major - just let us know you're here. And I promise to do the same for the blogs I visit, too.
If you want one of these fabulous buttons for your blog, visit Schmutzie and pick up the code there (and maybe even comment on her post, thanking her for making them!) There are eight pretty colours to choose from. That Schmutzie, she thinks of everything.
September 27, 2007
It's a happy penis. Who's all patriotic and stuff. And he's even wearing a tie (either that, or he's got some kind of nasty infection. I'm going with the tie.) You've outdone yourself, my friend. I shall never twitter trash talk or doubt the talents of your talking penis ever again.
Anyone else feel like sending me watercolour art of your naughty bits? Maybe I could start a blogroll...
September 26, 2007
I've been going through a rough time lately, and a dear, sweet friend of mine gave me the following advice: "Make a little birdhouse in your soul. And while you're at it, keep the night light on inside the little birdhouse in your soul."
And then, he sent me this video. I hope it makes your day, too.
September 20, 2007
September 19, 2007
September 17, 2007
And she did. Like that night. She called me up the next day:
Diva: It's done. I sent it to you in the interoffice mail.
Savia: Uh...you do know that other people open my mail for me, right?
Savia: Yeah, there's a person who opens everyone's mail and distributes it.
Diva: Oh my God. They're going to see my breast!
Savia: Don't worry - it's probably only Carmen or maybe Mary, or - oh God, I hope it's not Darren!
Diva: OH MY GOD!!
So, we waited. One day. Two days. The weekend. And then, today, it arrived:
Pretty fucking awesome, huh?
Carmen was the one who opened the envelope, but she didn't look inside. However, the breast was so pretty, that I had no choice but to Show Her My Tit.
It was the least I could do. Hey, not everyone is lucky enough to have a friend who sends boobs interoffice.
Thanks Diva! It's on my living room wall, matted in black in a black wood frame.
So, who's next. Neil, any chance you'll be sending me a watercolour talking penis in the future?
September 15, 2007
His Italian heritage also meant that he ate a lot of things that people would think were weird. I know I did. I've written about the rabbit (tastes like chicken) and the traumatic experience with the live eels (we thought they were our pets until he chopped their heads off and fried them up), but there was one thing that my dad used to eat that has intrigued me as of late.
My mom had a garden where she grew her own vegetables and herbs, one of which was zucchini. When the plant started flowering, my dad would get her to pick the yellow flowers off, dip them in egg and fry them up for him.
I thought this was disgusting. He was eating flowers? I put them in the same category as the eels and refused to try them.
This spring, perhaps because I was preparing for my own trip to Italy, I began wondering about what those flowers would taste like. It didn't seem like a gross idea anymore - it sounded kind of cool. I wanted to try it. But where to get the flowers? It's not like you can buy them from a store - you have to know someone with a garden who can pick them off the vine at the opportune time.
My mom hasn't had a garden for years and years. But I figured she was my best bet. I begged her to plant just one zucchini seed, so I could try the flower delicacy for myself. Surprisingly, she bit. I think it's because she knows how hard it was for us to grow up without our father and to continue to be cut off from our Italian heritage (he died when I was 10).
Not too long ago, she brought over the first batch of flowers. I dipped them in egg...
...fried them up...
...sprinkled them with salt and pepper and tried them for myself.They tasted like...zucchini. Only in flower form. They were really good. Now, every few weeks, mom brings me another baggie of the precious flowers. Kind of like a drug dealer. And I must say, I'm hooked.
But don't worry, there will not be a sink full of live eels in my kitchen anytime in the near future.
September 14, 2007
The controversy polarized the class. My prof was incredibly supportive and most of my classmates stood behind me and thought the cable company was being ridiculous. One even scheduled an early-morning meeting the next day to arrange a protest of the cable company and for awhile, it seemed that we would actually get to make the news and raise awareness about the cable company's homophobia. However, a few classmates came to the meeting with their own agenda. They turned on me, accusing me of making a mockery of our profession and making our school look bad. They wanted to sweep it all under the rug, and their presence at the meeting was enough to diffuse the revolution.
September 13, 2007
So...last night, I uploaded my vulva painting to photobucket so I could use it as an avatar. This morning, I posted a comment on Schmutzie's site and instead of my lovely painting, the above graphic was displayed.
I took a look in their Terms of Service, and they don't allow any images that contain "nudity or pornography."
Apparently, they didn't think it looked like a flower at all.
September 12, 2007
- Jack Bauer, the fictional character, not the actor behind the fictional character. (He's so damaged, that Jack. I want to save him. Can you tell I'm the daughter of an alcoholic?)
- Stephen Colbert (hot, hot, HOT!)
- Beyonce (work the thighs)
- Justin Timberlake (mmmmmm)
- Hot cousins (I'll get around to the next incestuous cousin entry eventually, I promise)
- The Rock Chick (while alternately thinking of Jack Bauer, Stephen Colbert, Beyonce, Justin Timberlake and the hot cousins.)
- Flirting with my friends' husbands. The cute ones (the friends and the husbands.)
- Phone sex
- Staying in my PJs all day on a Saturday and watching the TV shows that I taped all week with my VCR that I like to pretend is a TiVo but it's not.
- Ordering bandera bread from Boston Pizza (with a large side of creamy tomato sauce instead of the Santa Fe sauce on the side. It's greasetacular) and paying the overpriced delivery fee so I don't have to get out of my PJs.
- Telling people I'm going to join the gym next week...every week. Ordering more bandera bread instead.
- Dancing like a hooker in my living room.
- Swearing like a mothertrucker.
- Musical theatre. All of it. Even the crap.
- Cheezy chick flicks
- Grey's Anatomy
- Trying to sing harmony along with the songs on the radio. Trying.
- Retail therapy
September 7, 2007
September 6, 2007
What were you doing 10 years ago?
Fighting off my incestuous Italian cousin. (Schmutzie's asked me to do some guest blogging for her, so you'll hear this story in the near future on her blog, I promise.)
What were you doing one year ago?
Discovering happiness and self-acceptance for the first time in my life.
Five snacks you enjoy:
1. Dark chocolate
2. Peaches soaked in red wine
3. Tomatoes with olive oil, wine vinegar and feta cheese
4. Greek cheese drenched in brandy and lit on fire (mmmm...flaming cheese)
Five songs that you know all the lyrics to:
1. All That Jazz - Chicago, The Musical
2. Pie Jesu - Sarah Brightman, Requiem
3. Coffee Stain - Sarah Harmer
4. Sweet Ones - Sarah Slean
5. Striptease - Hawksley Workman
Five things you would do if you were a millionaire:
1. Give most of it away to arts organizations and socially progressive charities.
2. Make sure my mom actually had a retirement fund so she doesn't have to work until she dies.
3. Quit my job and go back to school full-time to get my PhD.
4. Hang out in Italy with my awesome Nonna.
5. Grab a bunch of my friends and go on a crazy trip around the world.
Five bad habits:
1. Pushing the envelope until it tears.
2. Letting my mouth get ahead of my brain.
3. Refusing to cook or clean.
4. Becoming friends with people who end up flipping personalities on me.
5. Letting other people's shit get to me.
Five things you like doing:
2. Swearing like a mothertrucker.
3. Cuddling with my satanic pets.
4. Fucking other people's blogs.
5. Curling up with The Rock Chick.
Five things you would never wear again:
1. A white sweatshirt with Garfield the cat saying, "I hate Mondays."
2. Stirrup pants.
3. Guns 'n' Roses concert T-shirt with a fingerless pleather glove and backcombed crimped hair.
4. Skintight jeans that could only be zipped up with a pair of pliers while lying down on the bed and holding your breath 'til you turned the same colour as the damn jeans.
5. Separates with the same pattern on them (i.e. tiny yellow flowers. Blech!)
Five favorite toys:
1. The Rock Chick.
2. The Rock Chick.
3. The Rock Chick.
4. The Rock Chick.
September 3, 2007
Savia: Oh, my God! I want to fuck your blog. Not you, though you seem very nice and cute and stuff, but it's just that I want to fuck your blog!
Smyrish: How would you even do that?
Savia: I don't know, but when I figure it out, I am totally going to FUCK YOUR BLOG!!!
Savia: But if your blog is going to fuck other people, just make sure it lets me know because then, I will use a condom the next time I fuck it, or alternatively, I could decide to stop fucking your blog and just be friends.
Smyrish: I will definitely let you know.
Seriously, read his blog. But if you need to fuck it, please be respectful and use protection. I don't want to end up with some kind of a computer virus or something. I'm just sayin'.
September 1, 2007
This is part two of the story I started here.
I left London the next morning with a smile still on my face from the romantic encounter. I knew he'd email, but I wasn't sure what would come of it. A few days later, I got a cute little note that said something along the lines of: "Hey, it's me, your future husband, Josh. LOL. Just thought I'd drop you a line to say, 'hey.'" I thought that was pretty sweet, but didn't respond, as I didn't have a lot of time at the Internet cafe. Then, a few days later, I got this:
Hey, I just thought you were probably traveling and stuff so you wouldn't be online all the time. I feel really weird, because I have been thinking about you off and on since I met you. I mean have you ever had that feeling like something just clicked. I usually don't just start talking to a girl that I don't know, hold her hand and ask to be able to keep in contact with her. I mean it's just a couple things, you were very nice and sweet. You seemed artsy, but you said you read books to analyze them. That is sooo attractive to me. I don't know why.
I thought I should tell you about myself but I really don't know what to tell. I hope you felt the same weird little spark I did. I think you did because you gave me your email. I don't want to lie and say that you're all I think about, but I am definitely interested in seeing what happens, and I want you to know if it does click I would really have no problem moving to you!
I really hope to hear from you soon. Ask me a lot of questions so I can tell you about me. I am not too good at talking about myself. Oh and tell me all about you! I will probably write a couple more times if you don't respond in the next week or so since I know how it is getting around in Europe and everything.
I didn't know what to think. He wasn't freaking me out at all. Because the vibe I had gotten from him in London was not one of desperation. The feeling I got was that this was the first time he had really connected - clicked - with someone in that intangible, special way. And I knew exactly what that was about, because I had already been through it with Superstar.
I had told Josh that I couldn't write until mid-August to buy me some time to figure out how I felt about the whole thing. While I was in Italy, I kept turning it over and over again in my head. Sure, it was exciting and romantic and felt like something right out of a movie. But you can't base a relationship on the fact that you have a great meeting story. And if I were frustrated with my current long-term relationship situation, why would I jump from that into another one that would be even more difficult because it would be not only long-distance, but cross-border?
Sure, we had chemistry (for five minutes) but when I thought back to the conversation, it was all about me. He had asked a lot of questions and I had done a lot of talking, so he knew a lot about me, but I knew almost nothing about him. All I knew is that he worked somewhere where he had health insurance, had been to Paris and London on a trip, was flying to Chicago, though that wasn't where he lived, and likes musical theatre. I didn't know what he did for a living, how old he was, or anything else. Because I hadn't asked. I was too busy basking in his adoration of me.
It's easy to get intoxicated by adoration. I went through an entire relationship based on the guy putting me on a pedestal. I never found him very attractive physically, but I was in love with the image of myself that was reflected through his gaze. He told me everyday that I was gorgeous, smart, talented, amazing, inspiring, radiant. That he couldn't believe the universe had brought us together. That he wasn't worthy of me and I was too good for him. In the end, he proved himself right. Because it was all words. Smoke and mirrors distracting me from the fact that he was never around and had another woman on the side the entire time we were together. The problem with pedestals is that it hurts a hell of a lot more when you fall from that height. No matter how gorgeous, smart, talented, amazing, inspiring and radiant you are.
And while I'm sure Josh is nothing like Mr. Idiotstick ex, it was still the same dynamic. And the reality is, I don't want to be put on a pedestal. I don't want someone who worships me. I want to be with an equal, a partner, a soul mate.
I wanted Superstar.
So, after I got back to Canada, I wrote Josh this:
Thanks for thinking of me. I wanted to write to let you know that my partner and I are off the break and are planning on working things out. So, I guess you know that means no Canadian health care for you ;)
I just wanted you to know that I wish you the best - you seem like a really sweet guy and you deserve someone amazing who will treat you well. You have some really nice energy about you, and I am of the belief that like attracts like - you will attract someone who matches you as long as you're true to yourself and your values, are honest about who you are, and are fearless about putting yourself out there and taking risks with your heart. I think you're doing that, so it's only a matter of time before you feel that amazing connection with someone who lives a little closer to you than Saskatchewan.
Take care of yourself, and don't settle for anything less than magic.
- The first time I read them, I was so blinded by the romance of our encounter that I didn't notice the multitude of typos, spelling mistakes, lack of capitalization and punctuation, and all around sloppiness of them. I wanted you to read them the way I did the first time, so your opinion of him would not be affected by his writing.
- If I post that on my blog, it will make me twitch for days. Days! Seriously, I can not handle that shit.