Documentation of Wuthering Heights Show

Onto the Stage and Into Your Lap

Hello my dahlings and demons. My last show just last night was something new a conjured up. Inspired by "Wuthering Heights" by Kate Bush, and covered by The Puppini Sisters, I did my own inturpretation. I dressed up like an owl and came in through the window.

Hear, have a listen: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8rYEiERfKqU

So I let someone take a few snap shots and here they are! Thought the only way to fight Pea's uprising was to really add some flash for audience; I really am talking about the costume candy.

I can't wait to get more comfortable, curl up on the couch with my rum n' coke and smoke a cigar. Oh this moring I was out by the bus on my way to work. I heard a nearby Minnonite Church singing. It was kinda jazzy not the kinda Church singing that makes your jaw lock.

The point is you can shape me like a pretzel if you feed me doughnuts. I mean, I keep my shape but the only encouragement I need is a box of those glazed beakens of circular tasteyness.

Pea, Piss What's the Difference?

The Flashback

Girling It Up

"Oh here comes the bruises on my knees. Thank St.Ives I'm home! If that boss a mine makes me do one more pole dance I am going to vomit out my bottom..."

There should be more fairness in this world for strippers. The audience gets to see flesh, and all I am is flesh outta patience! Well no way am I putting up with this change... He needs to know his place- I'm trying to give an original presentation and I really need my style to explode all over that audience. I need to give them something original.

All my damned boss does is try and make me kiss ass for Pea Petite... well she ain't so hot! She might as well be up there with a lampshade on her head.

Another Day at the Coffee Table

So I was sitting on the couch and said "Pick up your dishes." Repsonse, "Yes they really need a good soak."

Me, "Well maybe we can settle this and make out instead."

Response,"Time will pass regardless of whether we do that or not. Let's not."

Me, "Oh common sugar face, I'm board and there's nothing but dishes. Plus I need to break-in my new and very old dress."

Response, "Maybe just a glass of milk, then?"

Me, "I don't want to compromise on that... Rum and coke, hold the coke."

Re, " Hmm. tempting but toss in something less pathetic. And work on the new routine?"

Me, "Don't push it sticky bun."

Re, "That sounds good but it needs more health appeal."

Me, "Fine. Rum, with coke and I'll have a stick of celery afterwards."

Re, "Do you need a cigarette?"

Me, "Yes mam! Go fetch me some."

Re, "..."

Me, "Common get off your bottom."

Re, "...?#*@!"

Me, "Oh right sorry..."

Response, "Quit talkin' to yerself."

New Year New

Oh Happy New Years my lovelies. Yes yes. Give me some time to upload some holiday cheers and spirits. Right now I'm back and forth fighting for my original act and not letting my manager make me change it.

I am no cupcake. My act will catch on I swear it! Soon the theatre will be booming.

Make-up

Noticed I missed a month did ya? Well here's some oral entertainment to say I'm sorry; okee??

Ya da da da yaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa da ya da da -dda da!!!

Calm Down

Oops... really didn't mean to squish the bitch. Her fault for standing where she shouldn't be. But seriously. So I may owe her family a little money? How much she worth anyways? Ninety nine cents? Maybe a quart a spoiled milk?

Goodness once there was a sale on choco choco milk at the corner store. Ninety nine cents each. Underneath there was a sign "Limit of Six."

So I just went back seven more times. What? Like that slut evaa limited herself to six. Maybe two at once! Maybe one was someone else's quart ya never know.

Bitch. I don't regret it. Sides I was in a hurry I needed my nightly smoke. Odd thing though; when I swung that door open and saw the aweful red painting I made of her on the showing window, my first thought was not to run. Instead the first thing in my head was fresh tobacco for my pipe.

Done.

Must get home to my Cream Puff, NOW.

Be Careful Bitch- Part Two

Between Doors

On my way out of the theatre now. There are so many rats I should invite them all for tea, gin, and cigars at the theatre. It's small and dank but you must understand my dears: the stage is my nest- I lay eggs on it and regurgatate worms to my babies, letting them grow into eye groggling men and women.

Not too certain if I should listen to my stage manager and change my act, however. This bird has no need for fake feathers. Only my own are what is needed to shake.

Must be on my way before it's too dark.

But first, a story, and more praise for my crumbley apartment. I love it like I love a hot pink panther. My top worst cat I named Cream Puff. The first time I saw her she was sitting damp on the pavement outside of the Hermitage in St. Petersburg. She was wearing a small, thin copper crown on her head and had a Camomile flower clinging to her tie string collar.

I spoke to her, "Kitty kitty kitty kitty kitty kitty kitty kitty!"

She replied, "Da?"

I starred at her cream and yellow butter fur. I picked her up and instantly she bit hard onto my nose. I could not leave her, so I took her back to my apartment. Cream Puff and I get along very well. Our living arrangement is that she doesn't eat my stage make-up, and I stay away from her gourmet kitty treats.

Well it's pretty hard to get the stale end of the deal when you're dealing with a kitty. Anyways...

While in Russia, I was visiting the Ballet for inspiration. The Hermitage was just a detour from my cat snatching... no no I joke, it was fabulous.

Right, so that is where I met my first love. My first indifferent love. My love: chain smoker, collector of pointe shoes, and old woolen socks. She was the Prima Ballerina of the company. Her favourite colours were deep purple and old yellow golds. I will post a photo of her soon as I can.

Dasha Piotr Vladimirovich.

I miss her so. She made one hell of a delectable eclair. She always made it with hot pink icing.

Be Careful Bitch- Part One

Saterday, Early Sunday

Ha ha ha...

*cough cough cough.

I just keep putting more of myself out there don't I? Well I hope you bunch aren't too offended. Sometimes a tramp just needs as much exposure as she can get.

Once I get home it's coat off! I just love struding about with nothin' on. Like underwater when you're floating and all you have to do is hold your breath and you're practically flyin' about all the sand, conches, and sea weed.

It's aweful late so bonne nuit.


P.S. Wasn't it an aweful shame that I had to change in that drippy mossy hall?

Leavin' the Nightcrawlers

Prelude to a New Setting

And slowly it began to soak up all of the spills on the counter. It began to soak up all of the raspberry juice until the mess was gone. There was a faint smooch of a raspberry mark left by the watered-down juice. But, the sponge had retained most of the drink. By letting go, it squeezed out all of the raspberry juice into the sink where it fell far into the drain. Many cleaners had de-filthed the drain before. Many liquids had poured into that hole. But, every time it was a juice... of sorts. Each time a different flavour. The counter began to look hazy and confuzed. It had been dying with different colours over the years; all overlapping to make brown stain marks. The original skin of the counter top was still bare, and never regaining thier full colour. The counter's original colour was too strong,howeer, noone could see what that colour was really. The songe felt empty again and waited for another accident; another squeeze. For someone to cry over a bloody mess! But before long the sponge noticed that the house was empty. Bareness. Though no cloth, no mop, no licked finger or bare ass had caressed itself over any part of the splintered and battered apartment, it was bare. The very dirty counter remined there with the spnge. Mould began to grow in the seams of the counter as a product of the moisture between the counter


and the sponge...


Meanwhile a pale, sandy coloured, and unmoving spinger dangled overhead. Crispy and crimped.

Smack on Some Glam

Gotta Be Somethin'

Who cares, huh? Nobody. This is life my dears. Piggish, garish, shit. In this theatre I am whatever I want. I want the past? It's back there. I want the black paint chipping away beneath my sore feet? Got it. I want embarassed eyes pounding over the person that I am? Fine. It's all here in this theatre. My boss wants ta change it? Fuck him.

Time to walk home and forget myself in this rain. Dry off at home and listen to what my house tells me each night. All it does is crack and moan; but, I like it.

The Coltsfoot presents...

Oopsies!! Didn't mean to Barge!

Left Foot First

The small town of Lundun is large at heartache, and cheap on demand. A mistress throws together a show once a week for the town on Coltsfoot Drive in a run-down theatre.

A voice from the roof of the theatre echoes:

"Presenting the laedae of the Coltsfoot Acdemy of Burlesque...

She ain't much but she's the best we've gat. She ain't pretty to look at but she has fun doin' for us. Her gimmick ain't lady like- but a laedae she is... we think!! Please show your partial respect for the mistress herself...

...Dolly Verstratn'!!"

She sits backstage in her dressing room, patiently devouring her lateness, and suckling on her pipe. The room fills with ash; and a pleasent, masculine scent. Her eyelashes heavily shawdow her eyes, leaving them half closed, like her thinly gapped mouth.

She does what she wants. When she's not doing that, she's doin' what makes her happy. In most cases; where her passion lies.