Something happened Monday that will hereinafter be referred to as "The Incident." Monday was the second night of the Tarantino burlesque tribute show. It was a wardrobe malfunction of note.
We end the show with a tribute to Reservoir Dogs. You can see me here as Mr. Blond talking into a bloody ear. Andrew plays the cop. When I took over the role as last year's Mr. Blond was unavailable, I insisted on having lots of blood. I wear a wife beater and boxer shorts so I can easily throw out my bloody clothes if necessary. I peel off the wife beater right before I get shot at the end of the number. Then I pull out a blood pack and smear blood all over myself as I die.
Let me back up. I choreographed the number so I would take off the wife beater before being shot. I forgot to take off the wife beater last week so I peeled it up to reveal my pasties as I bled to death. This week I remembered to take off the wife beater. It's covered in blood, as you can see in the photo, as a result of writhing around creepily in the blood on the cop. The blood is sticky, and I'm very dedicated to my craft so I really rub my boobs and butt on that blood as best I can. In addition, my pasties are glitter-covered buckram, very cheaply made so they'd be easy to throw away if they're trashed from the blood. That glitter is easily caught in the weave of the wife beater.
I moved upstage of where I was going to peel off the wife beater so it would make better photos. I get the wife beater over my head to my elbows, I look down and I notice my right pastie is gone. I had a sense it would happen on one side as I started to peel my top, particularly because I applied them with garment tape. (I ran out of my regular pastie tape and didn't have time for spirit gum in the change from Pulp Fiction to this number.) Okay, one gone. I can cover that side and finish handling the last prop of the number before dying. I look to the left and see that one has popped off while I was checking the right side.
I'm going to digress, kind of. We know from my posts that I go to the nude beach when I get the chance. I'm comfortable naked. I don't believe all nudity is sexual but I know there are places where it is and isn't appropriate. I'm also hopelessly devoted to Andrew. I don't do burlesque because I have daddy issues or need attention or validation for my body. I do it because I'm good at it, it's fun and I get great opportunities to be creative. I don't care if the audience sees my actual nipples onstage, but I do care about following the rules of the venue. I don't want to shit where I eat, if you know what I mean.
So back to me, sticky wife beater on the floor and both pasties missing while I face upstage with one prop left to manipulate and an impending death. It seemed like a lifetime passed but it was probably a couple seconds. One arm crossed my chest and I finished the number, fumbling with my last prop because I didn't want to cause any problems for the venue or the producer by moving my arm. I got shot, fell on the floor, rolled to my side so I could get out my blood pack, and rubbed blood all over my nipples and stomach. The arm went right back across my chest for the rest of the number.
I've been told by teachers that no one notices when you lose a pastie. I think that's true in few cases. I think that's something they say so students aren't totally freaked out about performing, frozen by the idea of losing a pastie. When you lose two pasties, everyone notices. Even when the nipples are covered quickly, they notice. The missing pasties are the elephant in the room; the only difference is that everyone talks about it.