The Burlesque Diary, Pt. 1

I did it. I signed up for a series of burlesque lessons with the lovely and talented Lily LaRue, a local performance artist. Her Snowflake fan dance on YouTube caught my eye, and my fevered imagination conjured up my next life project: Fandancer by Fifty. Well, if you gotta turn 50, you might as well make it fun.

And burlesque is fun - it's artistic, expressive, and pretty. The fact that there's a sizeable burlesque underground in Detroit is a fitting yin to cyberporn's very unrealistic yang - slow, pretty, sparkly, and all about the process, not the goal.

So, this Saturday I showed up for my first class. There are four of us - me, an office manager/engineer (the economy sucks), a stay-at home mom, and a former female wrestler who believes burlesque is her true calling. All normal, all with hidden talents marinating below the surface. All had very nice legs, all were a bit conscious of our weight, and the the other three displayed very nice panties when we got to the skirts-off part. Me, I wore yoga pants. I'm not sure my derriere needs to see daylight yet - or my underwear. Somehow, I think shopping can fix this . . .

At any rate, after a nice history of burlesque and a stretch, we donned our heels, button down shirts, and skirts, and went to work. We strutted, we unbuttoned the buttons sloooooooooooowly, and we got out of the skirts without hurting ourselves. And we teased. Damn, teasing feels GOOD. Really good. And it was over much too soon. Can't wait for next week.

Next time: Pastie making workshop. (a. Pah-stee: a pot pie. b. Pay-stee: Sparkly nipple covers.) We're making (b).