becky haycox

Tag: postaday2011

  • love it and hate it — equal measure

    Allow me to point you, with elegant, begloved hand, in the direction of this article, Dita Von Teese: What I Wore. Dita, for those of you who don’t know, is a famous neo-burlesque performer, a very elegant clotheshorse, and not above A. appearing on America’s Next Top Model, or B. marrying Marilyn Manson.

    I acknowledge I just took a cheapish shot. Sorry, so sorry! I shall retreat to my fainting couch whilst I practice my moues in my jeweled Erté compact. Choice quotes to come.

    I appeared on Germany’s top chat show to promote my perfume, and I chose a green wool crepe one-shouldered Elie Saab dress that I’ve been wearing over and over for several years now.

    I appreciate how embedded she is in her imagined life. She does do it well.

    I decided to give a sneak peek of my new dress collection by slipping on a luscious black silk velvet dress. It has a deep plunging décolletage, and I wore it with a black lace overwire bra from my Von Follies collection that peeked out the top.

    You petite minx, you!

    The dress code for the evening’s dinner and parlor games was pajamas, which was right up my alley. I’ve been collecting vintage loungewear for almost 20 years. I chose a royal purple silk loungewear set that has huge Chinese-frog closures decorating the front and ties at the waist with a big silken cord. It’s actually a reproduction of a 1940s pajama set I have that is extremely rare and beautiful. And I wore a pair of mink bunny slippers that my friend Catherine D’Lish made for me as a birthday gift. They are exquisite, with Swarovski eyes and pink silk in the insides of their ears.

    Why am I just not reprinting the whole article?

    Caught the train from London to Paris. I love the challenge of dressing glamorously for travel, and one of my best tricks is to wear a beautiful coat.

    Just a small town girl from Michigan.

    I spent the morning doing some light housekeeping in my Paris apartment. I rushed from room to room in a vintage slip and one of my Wheels & Dollbaby cardigans.

    Okay, now I’m just cranky. And jealous. In equal measure.

     

  • om nom vomit

    eight stations of heaven

    Becky: i apologize to everyone on whom i inflicted my brownies-with-peppermint frosting this weekend. they were so tooth-achingly sweet, i think i made new inroads into chemical engineering.

    Josh: om nom vomit

    Katie: I wish I had been abused by you! Those sound yummy!

    Stacey: They do sound good. Delicious.

    Amanda: Luckily i had a dentist appt today!

    Carol: I am of the opinion that everything is great until someone adds peppermint.

    Josh: if had served it with a good peppermint schnapps, no one would have noticed the frosting.

    Tricia: oh my gosh! they were our late night snack sat, breakfast/brunch on sun!

    Scott: I sure hope you calculated the free energy cost of those brownies, like a good chemical engineer.

  • unleashing the story, deflating its power

    I’m taking an emotional U-turn and discussing a sad subject today. I haven’t told this story to more than a couple people, but now seems the time to tell it, and let it go.

    A friend posted this depressing article from the New York Times website, The Twice-Victimized of Sexual Assault. I am frustrated and bewildered at the fact this subject has to be brought up again and again and again:

    More often than not, women who bring charges of sexual assault are victims twice over, treated by the legal system and sometimes by the news media as lying until proved truthful.

    The numbers are staggeringly depressing. Last year, 272,350 Americans were victims of sexual violence, 80 percent of whom were under age 30.

    So here’s my story. I want to share, I am yet another statistic, although my story is not one of extreme violence or assault. Thankfully, I have not carried it as a deep dark shameful secret, nor has it impacted (as far as I can tell) my relationships with men or trust issues or anything like that. Not that it didn’t suck and that it should never have happened.

    And I don’t like tunnels anymore, that’s for sure.

    When I was 14 I lived with my father and stepmother on the grounds of a hospital in New York. My west coast friends may not know this, but often there are vast tunnel systems running under large building complexes back east, which carry the steam pipes and electrical wires and such. These tunnels are often open to the public, so that one can get around during the winter time.

    This particular tunnel system went on and on — there was an entrance/exit right near our house near the edge of the hospital campus. I used it often to get over to my dad’s office or to the cafeteria or bus stop. These tunnels were as creepy as you might imagine them — low ceilings hung with industrial bulbs; mysterious hissing and clanging around every corner; and a sameness to the twists and turns that could get one lost pretty easily.

    It was there I encountered someone I recognized, a guy worked in the cafeteria. I was headed into the tunnels just as he was there at the entrance, taking a cigarette break. He followed me down, being friendly and chatting. I felt compelled to be friendly back, though I was creeped out. At some point, he cornered me, grabbed me and tried to kiss me. I ducked under his am, still smiling (nice till the end), and waved bye as I ran and ran away.

    I went home, crying, to my stepmother. After I told her what happened and went to my room, I could hear one of my stepsisters asking what happened. My stepmom was dismissive in her tone when she said “oh, just some guy tried to kiss her, that’s all.” I’ll never know if she was minimizing it for my stepsister’s benefit, or if it just didn’t sound like a major issue to her.

    When he got home, my dad wanted the details. Though I begged him not to, he reported the incident to hospital security. Strangely, he gave an inaccurate account of my story, which implicated someone else entirely. I have no idea what happened with the error, or with what happened next, at all.

    And that’s it. End of story.

    Of the things that have stayed with me is the “no big deal” attitude that pretty much everyone had in connection with what happened, including me — I didn’t want my dad to take it security because (partially taking a cue from my stepmom) I didn’t want to make a fuss about something so “minor.” No making waves for me!

    I also am amazed  at how my (society-imposed?) need to be nice got me into, and continues to get me into, trouble. Every instinct was saying no from the second I saw this guy, yet I need to be friendly, to be passive, to be nice.

    God know what was this dude’s game, and if he got away with that behavior — and if he got away with more with other girls. I’d suspect so, wouldn’t you?

    Just so we’re clear, I was very naive at at that age, and a late bloomer — I looked like a kid when this happened; there was no mistaking me for anything but a young girl. Ugh.

    If I had a do-over, boy would I make some waves now.

     

     

  • goodbye, fig

    The Fig, the old station wagon I drove between the Nissan that got freeway-smashed and my current “vintage” Camry, has found a new and loving home. All parties involved are very happy about this, including (I’m sure) my neighbors, who have had to witness a driveway full of jalopies for months now. Now, back to being a one jalopy family!

    My friends C and A mentioned last week that they were living with the hassle of being a 2 job/2 person/1 car household.

    Et voila. Fig just got driven off by his/her new owners. It’s a pretty bold adventure for a car that came to my family as an infant, when Kurt Cobain was still alive, our economy was “rosy” and too many of us wore lipstick that was way way too dark.

    This isn’t a pure mitzvah or act of complete selflessness, as a bit of money exchanged hands, but I think we all think we got the better end of the deal, and I’m feeling my grinch heart grow a couple sizes with how nicely this turned out!

    So, little Fig, try not to bother your new mommy and daddy with your electrical issues, cracked windshield and weirdness with the ignition! Romp and play in the fields. God speed.

  • topic #330

    Hi hi again, you punishing daily blog hellchild.

    Fortunately, WordPress, who planted the evil seed known as Post a Day or Daily Post or WHATEVER, has daily topics available for blogspiration. So here we go! Relevance a go go!

    When you go to an movie theater, do you prefer it to be empty so can sit anywhere you like? Or do you prefer a packed house like on opening night? When you can sit anywhere, where do you sit and why?

    Such an awesome question. Guess we’re all feeling the strain. Oh, no, Daily Post, you know I kid. Off to answer your question!

    I sat in a lot of movie theatres for a whole lot of movies for a short number of years, when I worked for a film foundation. While there was a certain amount of giddy excitement at an opening night or festival premiere, during which a packed house added to the excitement, I ended up preferring emptier venues.

    Usually so I could put my feet up and snooze if need be. Oh, I can fall asleep sooo easily at the movies. Just ask the Boyf, who this summer witnessed me passing out during the final (oh so loud) scene of Thor 3D!

    I also dislike packed houses because of the noise factor, which only gets worse as the years drag on. When did it become okay to bring toddlers to the movies? — I would ask if I were the late Mr. Rooney or some equal-strength curmudgeonly figure.

    I also am somewhat scarred from an incident at the Silent Film Festival, strangely enough. I put my jacket down on a seat and went elsewhere, only to find someone sitting in my seat upon my return. The interloper had failed to see the jacket, which had kind of sunk down into the crease of the seat, in the dark. Since it was a sellout show, we had a situation. I don’t remember the outcome, but I sure remember how gross it was, since were both kind of in the right and I usually hate the stranger confrontation.

    When I go to the movies with someone, I always ALWAYS defer to their preference as to where to sit. Ultimately, I don’t really care where we are*, so it’s easier just to give in to people’s little preferences (aisle! way close! way far! exact center!)

    * since, changes are, I will probably drift off.

    Okay! Subject: exhausted!

  • identity crisis

    freakout

    Not really. It was just a long weekend. Here are some things.

    Becky’s Hair Design! Look at my furtive camera work; someone had just pulled into the parking lot and was giving me the hairy eyeball, obviously not realizing that I was a Becky and therefore had every right to snoop around Becky’s Hair Design.

    IMG_0905

    And then, destroying my weak thread of an “identity” theme, I present my office Christmas tree. All items from the dollar store except for the lovely peacock topper from my coffee shop which also sells gifts. Surprisingly, a fake tree with some trimmings helps to make me feel a tiny bit festive. Going to an unreally wholesome “Very Jazzy Christmas” concert last night also helped.

    And THAT IS ALL! Tomorrow, there will be a very important post!

  • aaiiieeee!! mayhem and destruction!!

    ANGRY HATE BIRD!

    [link]

    THE MANY DEATHS OF STEVE BUSCEMI!

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    DEMOLITION OF THE ALASKAN WAY VIADUCT!

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    OCTOPUS WALKS ON LAND, PREPARES FOR WORLD DOMINATION!!

    [link]

  • charming at the checkout line

    Express lane. I had four items, three customers away from the register. We were motionless. The Slowest Checker in the Universe was staring into space as something was delayed. Line, ever longer. All I wanted was my sports drinks, gum and Christmas card. Come on!

    A young man, nonscruffy, approached me and asked if I could go ahead of me, he only had one item.

    Dammit. I only have four items, I said, and we’ve all been waiting a long time.

    But it’s the express lane, he said, uselessly. It should go fast.

    Dude, I only have four items.

    Are you going to let me in or not?

    And like a jerk, I did.

    The line crawled.

    He was short five cents, and the Slowest Checker in the Universe said, don’t worry about it, hon.

    And he asked for a plastic bag for his small bottle of water.

    Ungrateful shit.

    I desperately need a do over for this.

    What’s the etiquette for something like this? He was basically asking for cut-sies — should I have said “it’s okay by me, but you have to ask everyone else you’re in front of”? Should I have just said no? Should I get over myself and just be polite?

  • a small role made large

    okay role made brilliant by actress

    Elizabeth Wilson as Benjamin’s mother in The Graduate. Hilarious and weird take on a role that could have been overshadowed by all the others, but she makes it so great.

    Her character, as well as Anne Bancroft’s Mrs. Robinson in the same movie, are huge inspirations to me in my improv life.

    And that shirt. I want that shirt.

  • things that have improved things greatly

    Things that have put me into the — well, I hesitate to say “holiday spirit”, so let’s just say: things that have put me in a festive and/or appreciative mood.

    IMG_4565

    Nice take on an AIDS ribbon, no? It’s of African design and the wearer has owned it for 20 years. Bittersweet, yes?

    • Stopping by a friend’s store tonight, finding it closed, morosely heading to the dollar store — and running into the aforementioned friends! I squealed and ran at them, which I’m sure spiced up their canned food price comparisoning. They reminded me that their holiday party is two short days away, which actually made me jump up and down.
    • Then I got complimented on my boots by a stranger. Thanks, dollar store!
    • I had to kill time a couple days ago in a somewhat unfamiliar town. I found the mall and figured that Macy’s was going to be the least painful spot to endure the crappy pre-digested holiday bleck. And, I have to say, it was quite lovely and magical. Lots of glittery fun decor, and lots and LOTS of sparkly outfits for me to ogle.
    • There was a shiny besequined jacket that would not leave my little mind, though it only came in a tiny person’s size. So I went by the Macy’s in my town and found it in my size and bought the hell out of it. I cringe at the price (I am a cheap, cheap person) but every time I visit it in my closet, I feel just gleeful. It’s so SHINY. Sometimes a little splurge just … you know.
    • I need to spend some dough not on besequined finery but on business stuff before the end of the year. Circumstances converged for me to buy a spot at an incredible conference, I’m so excited about it, lord it was so expensive, but oh my god. I will go into more details in a later post. Thank you to key friends and internet buddies who encouraged me to go for it. Much like the shiny jacket, I think about this purchase and just know I did the right thing.

    IMG_4556

    Flowers I arranged for the Thanksgiving table. Very festive until the Elderly Relative, in a fit of Senior Moment, dumped the arrangements in the trash. SIGH!