Naked French Kisses on the steps of the arts

photo credit: www.abc.net.au

So today marks the two month mark of my new years resolution. I am proud to say that I have not faltered and have worn my obnoxiously red lipstick every single day of 2010, no matter what the circumstances of the day have been. So in order to celebrate I thought I would strip down to nothing buy my red lips and pose nude in public with 5,200 other strange naked people.

Today was yet another fabulous Sydney celebration in light of Mardi Gras Gay Pride festival. Spencer Tunick, famed American contemporary artist, was invited to Sydney to create an installation using his favorite props, thousands of naked people and an iconic background. He has done installations in grand central station in NYC, the Dublin Docklands in Ireland, The Shoreditch Private Members Club in London just to name a few ( http://www.spencertunick.com/). This installation was on the Steps of Australia's most iconic structure, the Sydney Opera House. And here's how the story goes...

As expected, Mardi Gras, Sydney style did not disappoint, in fact it had a very lasting impression that carried over into the next day. After surrendering to the couch gods and being worthless all day Saturday I caught up on my much needed beauty sleep for my modeling debut. I woke to my terrible alarm playing some spacey techno theme at the ungodly hour for 3am. I have seen 3am more times than a nun has seen a Bible but it's usually the time I am retiring, not waking. Either way, its an ugly hour. I stumbled out of bed and crashed on the snooze button and pondered what I was about to participate in. Was this really a good idea? Three snooze buttons and a call to the cab company and it was decided, I was going to bare it all. I tried to brush my hair and put on my luscious red lipstick as I heard a knock at the door. I have never gotten such a good turnaround time on a cab call before. I ran to the door in my PJ's and told the stout Ukrainian driver that I needed to use the toilet and I would be right out. Truth was I wasn't dressed hadn't checked all of my areas that would be exposed and potentially in need of some last minute grooming. I didn't want to be offensive. After the damage control was done I hopped in the cab and into the colors of the night to face a very colorful sunrise.

I love Eastern European cab drivers, so full of wisdom and advice on alcoholism, avoiding street fighting and strong family values such as never charging your children rent (I'm not being racist, this is actually what we talked about). Enlightened by my new friend I jumped out at the corner and joined the queue of cattle waiting to be herded in. Everyone was standing around in semi-awkward poses like 7th graders at their first school dance. I couldn't help but look around and think what I'm sure everyone else was thinking "I am going to see ALL of these people naked pretty soon". Tickled pink at the thought I filled out my model release form and started making friends with the people around me.

It was amazing to see the diversity this event attracted. I didn't really know what to expect but whether I thought of it or not, it was all there. Old people, young people, fat people thin people, Black, White, Asian, Heterosexual, Homosexual, Transsexual, grandparents, middle aged parents, young parents with infants and expectant mothers ready to pop. I actually heard about a couple who was and pregnant with twins in attendance. They had rescheduled her Cesarean for later that afternoon so she and her partner could attend the event. I wish I had seen her, that would have been awesome.

As the wind blew and the hours crept on we anxiously awaited dawn. We made small talk and swapped stories and kept each other company as many people were there alone. It was very communal and inviting to wait along the harbour with everyone. People were polite, made way for others and invited strangers to share blankets and conversations while they passed the time. I was especially thankful for this since I completely blanked on bringing a sweater.

Dawn crept up slowly and as the light started peaking over the horizon we were given more instructions about what was going to take place. Finally, at about 6:30am Spencer emerged and started tactfully spewing out instructions. There were two groups of "models" and both were entering from different areas. I was closest to the Opera House so I could see the mass of bodies waiting in the Botanic Gardens below. Finally the command came, first to the garden dwellers and then to us. We all cheered as they stripped off their clothes and let the salty wind kiss their flesh. It was like the wave at a football game first a few people started getting naked then more and more until it reached then end and we were all happy and in the buff. Some people were all about it and ripped their clothes off like savages, others were a bit more timid and carefully took off each piece in a shy tease. I was somewhere in the middle.

Once we were all naked I actually felt more comfortable. I was warmer because of the adrenaline rush and felt like I was a part of a group rather than an individual. This is totally how cults happen, when everyone is doing it it just feels right. We ran up the steps of the opera house yelling and cheering like hippies at Woodstock and got into our formations. Everyone wanted to look around but not be obvious, I mean might as well right? I was obviously no exception, so I surveyed the landscape. Every shape and size of every single body part was present on at least one person there. I saw every piercing, grooming, length, width and girth you have ever heard about in horror stories and fairy tales from the bedroom. I have seen a fare share of naked bodies in my day but nothing like this. It made me feel lucky that all of my previous encounters had only been noteworthy on the positive side. But this is where I say the body is beautiful no matter what shape or size, and though it is cliche' and expected to be heard after an event like this, I do totally believe it.

The choreography of the event was very done quite well considering the model to event staff ratio. We did several poses in several directions and waved at several Sydnians on their way to work. We looked up, we looked down, we turned around and we kissed. This is where France plays a very key role. Being that this installation was in celebration of the Sydney Gay rights parade Spencer wanted to show how much love was put into this event, his art and Mardi Gras as a whole. At this point let me state that this was never sexual or pornographic. Even though we were nude everything was carried out with the utmost respect and grace. No one was ever made to feel uncomfortable by the directors or other participants. No one was vulgar or inappropriate as far as I was aware and in the one instance where vulgarity and immature displays of sexuality where exhibited that individual was tactfully asked to leave immediately.

That being said let me get back to the main event. French kisses. We were asked to kiss our friends, partners or even strangers, if they so permitted. Kisses on the cheek, mouth or forehead were all acceptable displays of affection. I, like many others, was flying solo. I felt like an awkward adolescent again, waiting for someone to ask me to dance, and then they did. He came up to me with his Mediterranean tan and spoke with his eyes, it was clear, I was being asked to dance. We embraced, letting the warmth of each others skin shelter us from the wind but barely grazing each other with any inappropriate body parts. After we were nestled up we exchanged names. I have never gone from strangers to naked kissing so quickly, especially not sober. We kissed lightly on the lips as the pictures were being taken then rotated so we were cheek to cheek. He delicately patted his French little kisses from my forehead to my chin as he told me he loved the way I smelled. Oh the French. I sat there and gazed over the Harbour as the wind kicked up my hair and gave me goose bumps all over my body, or was that Pier? We changed positions again and this time I was meant to do the kissing. A few soft kisses and the shot was over. I think his friend was kinda pissed he had to stand alone. We changed formations and lost each other in the crowd. Au revoir mon petit chou.

After the external shots were completed we headed inside to drape our flesh across the seats of the Opera House. If you ever go see a show there just know that a few thousand naked asses were all over that place. We had plastic bags to sit on but I'm sure not everyone used them. At this point the 3am wake up call was hitting everyone hard but an hour and a half later every seat was filled and the stage was covered and it looked like a fleshy waiting room of a slaughter house for cannibals. I think my favourite shot of the day was the final one. we were all instructed to "drape" ourselves over the seats and railings. It was amazing and almost morbid looking, like a hurricane hit a nudist camp.

at about 10am it was all said and done and I couldn't help but wear a big red smile for the rest of the day. I had such a great time and was thrilled to be a part of something so unique and interesting that I will never have the chance to experience again, and I get a free print! If Spencer Tunick ever does an event within a reasonable flying distance of your city I strongly suggest you go, you wont regret it.

de petits baisers

Mardi Gras your face off

This weekend is Australia's Mardi Gras, although I'm pretty sure it was a week or two ago in every other country, but the toilets spin counter clockwise here so I guess other things are bound to be backwards too.

According to my "Rough Guide" the drag queens and dykes on bikes are not to be missed if one is in Sydney at the time of Mardi Gras. I can't wait. Tomorrow is the parade and it is said to be the biggest gay rights parade in the world. I look forward to Cosmos with queens, dancing in the streets and fetish and glitter galore. Of course I will be sporting my ruby red lips the whole time but I don’t think I will be the fairest one of all this weekend.

bicos!

Christmas in February

My antics never cease to amaze even myself. I'm like a blond Lucille Ball. I do weird things, get into sticky situations and fall down a lot. Location doesn't matter, thus being in the southern hemisphere hasn't altered my constant state of spazziness, so here's how the story begins...

This little girl is a helplessly restless creature with a wandering heart. I can't stay in one place for too long, thus after surviving 18 months in South East Asia I decided California could wait and head down under. Upon arriving in Brisbane just before Halloween I set out for a couple job interviews I had lined up before taking off. I was offered both positions but the starting date was yet to be determined. Every day I called the start date was pushed back a week. With nothing to do but drink and stay at an over priced hostel while I was waiting for gainful employment my funds dwindled quite rapidly. I was restless and anxious and then I thought to myself, hey I can stay here and pay 28 dollars a night for 7 days or I can take the train down to Sydney for 100 dollars and see my good friend from university. Fun and funds prevailed and 16 bumpy hours later I was in Sydney. I immediately loved it. The air was smoggy yet vibrant and there was that good city electricity in the air. After days filled with the Opera House, Harbour Bridge, beaches and botanic gardens I was informed that the start date for my position in Brisbane would be postponed until January, at the earliest. With only about 500 dollars to my name I started to panic. I couldn't be a couch rat much longer and didn't want to make the humbling call home to mom and dad to help a daughta out. I was determined to make life's lemonade so I got online and searched every English college within 100 miles of Sydney. Luckily, after hours of searching, a partner school in Sydney invited me in for an interview. I got the job, a better schedule and 400 more dollars a month than I would have in Brisbane. I truly believe that all things do happen for a reason.

In spite of all of this good news I was without one thing, and that was about 80% of my luggage I had left in a locker in Brisbane. At the time my thought process was to pack a weekend bag, go visit my friend, see the city then return to Brisbane. Instead I got a house, a job and a few people to hang out with me. I wasn't worried because I was assured all of my things were safely tucked away in a locker which I had the only key for. I was encouraged to come soon and made false promises to do so but thought it was a waste of a perfectly good weekend at the beach to make the trip. Weeks went by and became months and I began to worry that everything I owned, aside from the armload clothes I brought to Sydney, was now covering the backs of bums and European backpackers in Brisbane. It was like a test from the doctor that you need to have done but don't want to know the results of. I didn't want to call and check on my locker for fear that everything might be gone but I did want to get my stuff back at some point. I took the easy way out and texted the cute receptionist I had played soccer with a few times to "say hi" and see if everything was ok. He responded with news I didn't want to hear: "I don't work there anymore and I think they renovated the storage room and replaced all the lockers".

Shit.

I called the hostel and spoke to several different people who had no idea what was going on until I finally talked to the manager, who was extremely patient and very nice (I'm sure he deals with douche bags all the time). I got off the phone with him while he went to look for my bags and received word several hours later that they had recovered them both. Phew! Now came the ordeal of how they were going to get to Sydney. I had no intention of spending 200 dollars to go up to Brisbane for 6 hours and didn't really have any wishes left from my magic genie. Luckily several other douche bags before me have been in similar situations and Mr. Hostel had all the answers. several phone calls and a 110 dollar transaction later my things were on a Grey Hound bus headed in my direction.

I got the phone call at 9am that my items had arrived and I was able to pick them up before 6pm. I was thrilled, yet anxious. I had no idea what kind of shape my things were in, what was missing or how long they had been out of the locker. As i walked toward the station i prepared myself for what I might find. I tried to catalogue everything I had packed and strained not to think about the things I would be upset about if I they were gone. It was only "stuff" right?

I got to the station and the cheerful Greek man behind the counter greeted me with a smile and two seemingly intact bags. I was soooo excited and couldn't wait to get home and tear them open to examine the contents. I have been living out of a backpack for the past three months and only have about 5 things I can mix and match to create work appropriate outfits, so getting these few added items to my wardrobe was beyond exciting. However, it is very surprising how little you need to get by on.

When I got home I kicked off my shoes and clumsily lugged my duffel bag and tote up the stairs. I ripped the zippers open and dumped the contents out on my bed. I tore though everything like a greedy kid on Christmas morning looking for everything on their wish list. Favorite sleep shirt? check. Favorite dress I had tailored in Vietnam? Check. Favorite jeans that are perfectly worn and hug every curve? check. It all seemed to be there...until I got to the toiletries. I was missing the strangest things too: half used foundation, partially used powder, fake eyelashes I had worn on Halloween, nail polish remover and the list goes on. Who would steal such things and leave the bottle of gin I had left in the outside pocket? But my favorite thing from that bag was not lost. I finally have my M.A.C Viva Glam I lipstick back. The most perfect shade of red on almost every single person. I am so happy to retire that old dollar store rouge for my lusty M.A.C love. I am also incredibly thrilled to have an entirely "new" wardrobe.

Bo!

Cheers to beers

The weather here is a cruel joke. Wednesday through Friday it’s hot and sunny with bright rays of sunshine dancing across the windowsill of my class room and mocking me throughout the day, and then the rain comes. I want more than anything to don my red bathing and matching lips at the beach all weekend but nature seems to want to keep me indoors. Every Friday for the past 3 weeks as the clock strikes quitting time the sky seems to open up and dump gallons of water all over my weekend plans.

Instead of playing volley ball I pay hide and seek with raindrops and have to make other plans. This weekend I hung out with my friend from university, since his love is out of town. We walked about 20 miles on Saturday and finally ended up at a German beer hall down town. I love this place. They serve excellent German beer in authentic steins for a reasonable price. After about my third half litre beer I looked at the glasses hanging above me with hazy eyes and it suddenly donned on me "I have drunk far more beer today than water ". Drinking from bottles or smaller glasses changes your perspective versus when you actually see the ominously huge glasses wavering over you. The amount of liquid you have consumed becomes very real at that point. However, I went to the number two party school in the US (according to playboy in 2006) and even though I am out of practice by comparison I can still hold my liquor. After I left my friend and ran from overhang to overhang I found myself at the grocery store, slightly drunk, a little worse for wear but very hungry. I tried to make sense of the vegetables but my mind was stuck on cheese. I walked away with a basket full of random things, that I could probably only make one decent meal out, of and three more bottles of wine. By the time I got home my buzz had worn off from all of the walking and rain and luckily my roommate had made something edible for dinner, I still don’t know what I bought. I kicked back and relaxed for a girl’s night in. I had enough of battling with the elements for one day.

Yakan sumba!

Red+Blue=Purple

photo credit: paulstanley.com

Past, present and future all seem to collide together in this blurred sensation we call life. Nothing is ever really the past as it keeps coming up in the future and we spend far too much time preparing for the future to enjoy the present. The present seems to be a state of nonexistence, much like tomorrow, it never seems to come. As quickly as we are in the present it becomes the past and while we are there we were probably looking towards the future. We think, agonize, and dwell on the whos, haves and have nots from our past so much that it effects our future choices. Not only do we think about these things but we actually care about them. I remember a time, long before the internet, when things we simpler and our hearts were still unbroken. Everything from the past eventually heals but, as with a broken bone, it never heals perfectly. There remains a small imperfection which compromises the stability of our structure, making us more fragile in future falls. So we work hard, strengthen our core and build up as much resistance against impact as possible. There are those things which we care about, which seem so important and significant that we forget to step back and outside of ourselves. We forget to see the bigger picture of what's going on around us, in our immediate world, and that beyond us. We care about past relationships and where they are now, we care about things we wish we had done differently or things we wish we could have done at all. We care about money lost and money spent, money saved and money lent. We care about all of these things and we torture ourselves trying to control that which only higher powers of fate have authority over. We let it ruin our moment our day or even our week and it seems SO important. It seems so important until something shocks us out of it and we are forced out of ourselves for a moment. Like my dear friend from college welcoming her beautiful baby boy into the world. A wonderful young couple experiencing a happiness I am sure I have not even come close to rivalling yet. At this moment we are in the present, the past does not matter, and the future can wait and we can just smile and be happy for those we love.
Big Red Kisses to the happy new family back home, you’ve made my day!


những nụ hôn!

Running Red

So I started running again. I used to be an avid runner, not by choice but by the force of my numerous coaches throughout the years in the name of "training". Always training, training, training. But since I have ended my collegiate athlete days running and training have been passive, sporadic hobbies of mine. They come and go just like celebrity gossip and fashionable head gear. I enjoy them but sometimes it's just too hard to keep up and things always seem to be getting in the way of my diligence. For example, drinks after work. Have you ever tried to go on a three mile run slightly tipsy? It's like reading a book on a car ride, not good. And then there is the issue of getting out of work late. By the time I leave the office it has sometimes been as long as 7 hours since my last meal. I can't run like that, I might faint (even though I have never fainted in my life, why start risking it now?) therefore I must eat but then cannot run on a full stomach. I learned this lesson the hard way far too many times as I stood keeled over in the middle of the track delicately displaying my insides for all the world to see. And lastly, there is the geographical issue. I am more or less navigationally retarded. I can read a map but can't remember a street name or determine left or right to save my life. This has led me to find myself in quite questionable locations in several countries in my life. The town I live in is great, friendly and acceptable of all walks of life (no pun intended), however we are two train stops away from the closest thing Sydney has to a ghetto. I know it's there, I ride through it on the train ever day. It's boarded up buildings, broken windows and graffitied elementary schools are anything but inviting. I know it's there, but I'm not sure in which direction or how far it is. Two train stops could mean about 15-20 mins running and knowing me, I would be rocking out to Ms. Spears in my spandex and hot pink sports bra and not notice that the birds stopped singing and the sun had disappeared and I was no longer in Kansas anymore. But tonight I did ok. I denied drinks, got home during daylight and went for about a 30 minute run, red lips and all. I don't think I ended up in the ghetto and I only got a little lost once. It felt good to run but a little ridiculous doing it in full makeup with bright red lipstick on. I turned more than one head as I ran down the street like a lost Barbarella searching for a party and an appropriate outfit to go with my face. I arrived home looking more like I had been ridden hard a put up wet than having been on an athletic endeavour of a more respectable sort. Lipstick smeared and mascara running, my coaches would be so proud to see me now.

Pentons!

Besos con queso

There's nothing better than seeing old friends in new places. Luckily I get to do this more often than most, probably because I'm blessed with some truly amazing, adventurous and mobile friends. I had another encounter last night that I would have never expected in a million years. An old friend and his new fiancé are now living in Sydney as well. They came around and we shared several beers and stories about our adventures in crazy third world countries. we came to the conclusion that though our stories developed on totally different continents they were much the same. Crazy, dirty, and "you wouldn't believe it unless you were there". They are the epitome of a cute, young couple. They share a budgets and meals, complete each other's sentences and argue playfully over fake bets that will never get paid. We had so much fun catching up and playing house for a day, I felt like the mom from the 50's cooking breakfast in 3" heels and red lipstick. Can't wait for more Oz encounters, this seems to be the year Cali migrates south for the winter.


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