When last we left off, I was locked in the Albany Rural Cemetery, and here is what I was wearing.
Without a change of clothes or a cel phone (in 2005 I didn’t even own a cel phone yet because I hated them so much) I had a moment of panic. Looking at the caretaker’s house to my left, I leaned hard on the horn, desperate for someone to save me. There was movement in the window, and then a muffled shout of anger: “If you want to get out, you can come up to the house and ask me to unlock the gate in person!”
Oh for fuck’s sake.
My hair was a mess from having been stuffed in a blonde wig and fake fur hat. My make-up, a clown-show to begin with, was a dismal visage. With only a tissue or two in the car, I tried to wipe as much off as I could, but when you have this much on there’s not much that’s going to come off with a dry tissue. There wasn’t much I could do about the rest of the ensemble – unless I took it all off on this winter afternoon.
Backing the car up, I made one last plea with the universe and waited to see if some Good Samaritan might come out, but Good Samaritans just don’t play a part in my life. Never have and never will. I took a deep breath, channeled my annoyance into fight mode in the event that I needed to argue my way out of the cemetery, and approached the door of the house. I knocked and heard movement inside.
An agitated woman flung open the door, and I could see she was about to launch into a tirade about how rude I was to simply beep and expect the gates to open, when she was struck silent by the persona before her. Mouth agape, no sound came from her, so I spoke in agitated fashion: “THIS is why I didn’t want to come to the door,” I said sternly, with a dramatic flourish of my hand to indicate the outfit that needed no further attention being brought to it. “I’m working on a sort of art project that… well, never mind…” and I trailed off.
“Oh,” she said, a smile finally breaking upon her face.
And then the kicker: she called her husband to come over. “You gotta see this!” she intoned with a glee that I suspected might have been laced with malevolence, until she softened and said, “No problem, he’ll let you out!”
Assured that I had paid my dues by giving them both a story to tell all her friends and family for the next few years, she merrily set me free, and I returned home fully traumatized, but strangely revitalized. Suddenly, ‘The Divine Diva Tour: A Fairy’s Tale’ had a comedic element that presented itself like a hidden jewel, unlocking the key aspect that took out the entirely-too-earnest and serious stance that I gave to all of my projects up to that point. Rather than a studied and meticulously glamorous romp, I could see the silliness of the endeavor, and face the fact that I would never be a true diva.
Because a truly divine diva wouldn’t be caught dead locked up in a cemetery.
~ The Divine Diva Tour: A Fairy’s Tale ~
- Pink Frilly Fairy: Part One, Part Two, and Part Three
- Homage to Herb: Part One, Part Two and Part Three
- A Purple-Hued Interlude
- Style & Panache: Part One, Part Two, Part Three and Part Four.
- Purple Puff Confection: Part One, Part Two, Part Three and Part Four.
- A Blue-Hued Interlude
- Fuchsia Fabulousness: Part One. Part Two and Part Three.
- Bad Boy Bangs: Part One, Part Two. and Part Three.
- Vanity Under Where: Part One, Part Two. and Part Three.
- Sugar Plum Ballerina: Part One, Part Two, and Part Three.
- A Pool Frolic: Part One, Part Two. and Part Three.
- A Cemetery Interlude: Part One.
