So, I won the annual audience costume contest last night at Oh Susannah! at the Varscona Theatre! Wahoo! My homemade Mona Lisa costume was a hit, and several people even told me that from across the room, I truly looked like a painting rather than a woman dressed up as a painting. Several professional photographers asked to snap some shots of me in all my renaissance finery (but cleverly cropped out my skate shoes) and I expect to be emailed at least some of those photos to share with you. Pop back another day and they may be posted here.
Last night went so well largely because I figured out through trial and error on Friday how to get the makeup just right. I noticed in the photographs of me in costume from Friday that the makeup flattened my features and caused my eyes to look, as little old ladies might comment colloquially, “like two piss holes in the snow,” which was not exactly ideal. For the big event last night, I carefully highlighted certain parts of my eyes and face, including whatever that dimple is called just above my top lip, and the results in photos were fabulous. I also managed to cover up my eyebrows pretty much completely, using gluestick, diligence, and cuss words; the effect was very true to the original painting.
Here’s my trophy. Note that it says “Sexiest Costume,” although I was far more demure and classy, for once in my life, than sexy. Wait. That sounds totally wrong. What I mean is that I’m generally awkward, outspoken, and geeky, not sexy, and that my trade-up to demure and classy last night was a good thing.
Note also, that unlike Oscar, who appears to be buck naked in any photo I’ve ever seen of him, my shiny new trophy depicts a witch wearing some sort of skin-tight jumpsuit. Said outfit is cut basically to her navel, the moulded plastic cut into a deep, deep V between her way too pert goldtone curves.
I’m not complaining, since my mantel has never looked so elegant, but shouldn’t a first place trophy make a woman feel great, not batter her self-esteem? The (plastic) woman has perfect proportions (damn her) and it’s not a realistic depiction of the female form.
If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go fashion a pair of tiny sweatpants and a hoodie for my first place trophy. That floozy is gonna get co-old this winter otherwise.
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