If the Shoe Don't Fit

So, my shoes came in. Yeah, they are classy and gorgeous and everything I could ever want them to be... except the right size! We don't have time before prom to send them back and get a size larger (curse you, elephant feet!) so our plan is to wear very thick socks and walk around in them to stretch them out. I don't think it's going to work. My toe curls in the end of them and my foot feels like air against a tire. As in, the shoe don't fit, hun. So not only do I have to learn to walk in five inch heels; I have to learn to walk in five inch heels a size too small! Oh well. Beauty is pain.

Prom is a masquerade this year, so I'm thinkin' I'm going to paint my face (since I wear glasses) and I'm thinking something very Alan Cumming-esque, like this:

Of course, you never know if it will work out, but being a naturally artistic type, I'm sure it'll all be okay. :)

I'm getting a haircut the day before prom, also Alan Cumming-esque (cuz he's my fave!). It's kinda like this:

Only it's actually going to be more of a faux hawk in the front (on weekends) and during school it'll lay flat sorta like that. It's uber punk though.

Anywho, just thought I'd share a few exciting things about my prom preparation. I'm honestly a little nervous. I'm wearing a tux, and any doubt anyone ever had about my sexuality will be confirmed, surely, on April 25. However, it will be refreshing to be myself, tux and all, short spikey hair and classy heels. Plus, a guy I have a crush on will be there with his (rather petite) date, and since he is skinny to the point of gruesomeness, I just won't fit with him, being a larger girl myself. The shoes don't fit, the guy don't fit... but damn, are they both pretty.

More on that later.

For now, I sign off. Must... take... caffeine pill. Must... feel... alive.

Viv loves you. :)

Vivian Makes a List and Rejoices Over The Veronicas

Good news for Vivian: Possible chance of getting to go see The Veronicas live next month. What rapture! I've never been to a concert other than that of The Trans-Siberian Orchestra (three times) and once to see the St. Olaf Choir sing. After The Veronicas we may go see a drag show a la capital. I'm such an art sophisto now with my Buddhist friends and their colored contacts, tacky drag shows and one-night-only synth concerts. This is exciting. What's even greater is that my favorite homosexual friend, Townley, may be paying for my ticket! May wear prom tux to concert and pick up hot boy (or girl) for after concert drag show. Never in my life have I been so thrilled. But I shouldn't get my hopes up yet. It's not in stone. (Mmmm... may pick up one or both of The Veronicas for drag show.) Gah! Must stop dreaming!
Back to the point.
The Point:
I'm making a list.
Are you ready?
Are you sure?
Okay, I'm fat. And not a looker, at least not in the way I want to be.
So... by August 22, 2009 I will have:
1. gone from a whopping 220 lbs. to 135 lbs. You don't believe me? I'll prove it. (Expect a "before" picture soon and an "after" picture on August 22.
2. redone my wardrobe to my satifaction. No more tshirts a size too big or jeans that are worn for days at a time. Besides, when you're thin you can find anything for cheap.
3. Become a complete vegetarian. Instead of excluding only pork and beef, I'll give up all meat, my permanent sacrifice for eternal Lent.
4. given up chocolate, chips, white bread, and American tea. (Notice sodas are not prohibited.) Well, I may keep American tea. It never harmed anyone to my knowledge.
5. developed a daily excercise routine.
6. dedicated myself to the arts of painting, writing, and photography.
7. gotten a job.
8. received my driver's license.

Well, here goes.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=whbTXgYOXgI

An Introduction to Vivian

Okay. The issue isn't that I'm going to prom. It's that I'm going in a tuxedo. Why so surprised? Are you from Arkansas, too? Are you from the un- "natural state" as well? A lot of people come to Arkansas for the rugged beauty, the pure unindustrialized air, the green country, and the simple blessed people of the Bible Belt. But don't be fooled and hang on to your hats because the rugged beauty is so rugged because of years masking the terrible beast within our soil, the pure unindustrialized air is heavy with the silent screams of the afflicted, the green country is but dried grass with the oozing vomit of Hell seeping into its roots, and the simple minded people aren't so simple at all. We're all disguised prejudice and secret hypocrisies. The same demon that possesses America is upon us, too, and we are its bowels. All waste lingers here, trapping honest pleas and rejecting the rights of the outspoken. You believe it's hard to be different where you live? Try living here. On second thought, just take my word for it. To live here is to die here. To be born is to be buried. And I want to wear a goddamn tux to the prom... so I shall.
Are there places in the world safe for a homosexual? a bisexual? a pansexual? Are there places anyone can be themselves, not fear persecution, kiss their lover without the terror of discovery? Maybe there are places like that. Arkansas is not one of those places.
"If you're like that, I'll disown you," he says to me. My father, the critic.
So I'm not "like that," I'm like this: Me, Vivian, pansexual, seventeen, and terrified. I don't want to lose my father, but most of all I don't want to lose myself ever again. And I'll wear that tux because it makes me feel beautiful, even though my father did not as he frowned when I tried it on and marveled at how comfortable I felt, breasts in a tuxedo jacket! I am a girl who doesn't want to be a girl or a boy, but both. A tuxedo in heels, lapel with a rose, men's glasses and a bow in hair. Vivian Chaos: Because I'm never quite what I seem and all is in disarray. Vivian Chaos: A beautiful little mess.
And who can help here now that she's born into a world that hates everything she is? Oh Arkansas, mark Vivian's lament as you would mark the faded tattoo of "sinner" onto her forehead and bosom.
Vivian becomes Vivian: She can be nobody else.
I sit here in torn jeans and my first pair of heels mourning the embarrassment of falling in the hallway at school (twice!) and making a note of learning more thoroughly the art of walking gracefully. But more than that I sit here planning the future me, the me I may not even be prepared for. My name's not Ashley! I'm not on the verge of 220 pounds, 5 foot 7 inches, scarred, and crooked toothed. I'm Vivian fucking Chaos and I can be me for the Ashley who strides soulfully beneath my olive skin. She'll love me in a tux, and on into the summer. But first I have to learn to walk in those damn heels.