tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-90648711607231644952024-02-19T01:38:39.969-08:00Does This Blog Make My Ass Look Big?Elise Castlehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05883399233734777964noreply@blogger.comBlogger13125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9064871160723164495.post-23113683415599183562012-10-26T09:19:00.001-07:002012-10-26T09:19:11.484-07:00Let Go. Let Go. Let's Go.<br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"> Last night I had the chance to see a friend of mine perform in a cabaret, and after the show I had sometime to chat with his roommate, who had recently moved to NYC. She asked if I had any advice, as much as I wanted to say “YES! Find the Cinnamon Snail Vegan Food Truck and order EVERYTHING, Banana Republic ALWAYS has public bathrooms, and cabs HAVE to take you to Queens”, I turned off the sarcasm for a minute and honestly thought about it. I gave what wisdom I could, about persistence, staying motivated, always being prepared, not having expectations, and being kind to yourself. As we began to mingle with more people, I asked them their opinions, and universally we got the same answer “It’s all about being at the right place at the right time”. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"> “It’s all about being at the right place at the right time”, sometimes hearing that phrase just sucks. We spend our whole lives working towards something, doing the best we possibly can, yet there is not guarantee. We spend thousands of dollars on college, we continue to work to master our craft, and then when we ask someone “How’d you do it?”, they say...”Ya know, its all about being at the right place at the right time”. Listen, last week when I was watching re-runs of the 1980s Fame series whilst obsessively watching my pizza being made on my Dominos order tracker, no place ever felt so right to me. Where was my shining opportunity? Instead, I woke up a little bloated and still really wishing I could bring back a feathered bang. Point being, those people are right, it IS about being at the right place at the right time, which may seem like a game of chance, but it does not have to be. What if we incorporated some of the other things we have learned along the way, maybe that would make some more sense.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"> A couple months back I talked about “You are exactly where you should be”, and then talked about acceptance, and then talked about Delta Burke and Les Mis, but then brought it back to accepting that you are exactly where you should be. So thats kind of like the base for everything. Saying “Alright, this is where I am, and I am cool with it, that bird just pooped on me, whatever I should be here”. You may be saying, okay so I accept where I am is where I SHOULD be, but how do I know it is the “right” place. Well thats where the whole bit about “being taken care of”, and all that “doing the next right thing” and “no expectations” comes in. Oh, and on top of all that, learning to tell ego and fear to suck a fat one because when those bitches start creeping in, no one is getting any spiritual work done.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"> Alright so, you are all like “Fine, I am where I need to be, I accept it, but I am not really sure about it”. Here’s the thing, you ARE taken care of, think of the rest of your life, and how things have kind of worked out for you. A few weeks ago a friend of mine said “What makes you think whatever is taking care of you is going to be like “You know what, you’re on your own now, I am done taking care of you’”. So true. I am not saying there will not be bumps in the road, there always is, but don’t we always look back on things and say “Oh, now I get it”. Like I totally had to have that awkward mullet in the 3rd grade combined with a sassy Winnie the Pooh jumper. Why? Now I have a picture that can be used as photographic comedic genius. So what you are doing right now is what you should be doing, and trust it. You are taken care of, believe it, it will work out.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"> So how do you get to the right place AT the right time? Who knows when it will happen, but the general consensus last night was to ALWAYS be ready. So thats where we bring in the “doing the next right thing” part. We know we SHOULD go to that audition or interview, or sometimes we meet that person and we SHOULD give them our card, or maybe we have a friend that can help us out and we SHOULD ask them, but most times we dont. Why not? We is scared as shit. What will they think? Will they be annoyed? I am not good enough! Blah Blah Blah. Show up, follow through, tell the “fear” you have to go eff itself, just do it. Last night I had a lot of anxiety and fear about something, and I knew I had to let it go. I created a little saying for myself “Let go. Let go. Let’s go”. As in, release it, you are supported, take action. I love that for us.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"> So this is all simple stuff, right? Just trust what you are doing, do the work, followthrough, do not attach yourself to the outcome or have expectations, and breathe. Simple. Simple life skills that are REALLY REALLY HARD! I do not know about you guys but I find myself in the midst of a really dramatic quarter life crisis daily. Thankfully I am learning to notice those moments, just noticing them, maybe make them my Facebook status, maybe laugh about my mini tragedy, but then I know to let them go. I don’t have time for a quarter life crisis, theres too many beautiful things going on. Just breathe, live, accept, and trust. You will be in that right place, just don’t try to figure out where and when it will pop up, you’ll know, and then I will be there awkwardly in the corner wearing a ball gown sipping on a Shirley Temple saying “Go get ‘em!”.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">...not really, but that’d be real great.</span></div>
Elise Castlehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05883399233734777964noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9064871160723164495.post-54726765333286659582012-03-09T12:01:00.005-08:002012-03-09T12:55:14.656-08:00Hopeless Romantic.<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>I will admit I love a good heel. If you have read my blog, or have had a conversation with me you probably already know that I also live for a teasing comb, lipliner, and 15 coats of mascara. Now I know what you are all thinking, "I didn't know Tammy Faye Bakker was blogging posthumously?" Seriously though when I am getting ready for the day I sometimes refer to it as "getting into costume", and when when I am having a clean faced/sneakers kind of day I say I am having a "stars without their makeup" day. I swear all of this has a point. What I am trying to get at is that even though I am pushing 6 feet tall, even though my hair is big AND red, even though the face is full and the lashes are long, it does not give ANY BODY the right to yell "HEY GIRL DO THE CARPET MATCH THE DRAPES?!?"......that happened......(...and Nana if you are reading this, or if anyone else is reading this who was born before 1950, thats a phrase that a-holes use who are apparently really interested in the color of pubic hair...the drapes being the hair on your head, and the carpet being..well you get it).<div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>As a woman living in New York City you eventually get used to this sort of thing. It is unfortunate, but you quickly learn that these people WANT you to get mad, they WANT you to get offended, and if I just keep walking, they lose. There are many different kinds of phrases that these dapper gentlemen like to shout. Real quick before I go any further, I am by no means the ONLY target of this. These people do this to any person who even slightly resembles a woman. I could leave the house in a pair of poopstained sweatpants, poopstained Uggs, and a messy bun with a poopstained scrunchie and there would be some douchebag on some stoop yelling "Yea Good Morning to YOU Miss, I like to watch you walk away!"....</div><div><br /></div><div>There's the guys who yell the phrases that really make no sense in relation to being a "come on". A friend of mine often get's the "Good Morning!" as she walks down the street. I am not talking about the "Good Morning!" that is shouted throughout various crowd scenes in a ravishing 1943 Rogers and Hammerstein Musical, no my friends this is more of a pervy "I cannot take my eyes off your ass and I have been standing in front of this bodega for 14 hours and I would normally yell 'Let me stick $%$#%%#%$#$%' but my wife and kid is inside so this will have to do" kind of Good Morning! Another phrase along these lines is the "God Bless YOU!" Now I spent quite a few summers at Vacation Bible School, I learned all the words to "Rise and Shine and give God the Glory....Glory", however I must have missed the day when we were taught that when we bless our neighbor we have to be staring at their cleavage. I feel so breast...I mean blessed...I mean...</div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>Then there are the guys that are just outright vulgar. The gem that I referred to in the first paragraph would probably be put into this category. I am not a demure lady. I am often gassy, profane, can binge on pizza, and occasionally...okay often, refer to shits by the number of matches required to extinguish the smell (ooh thats a TMD...two match dump). All that being said, for the most part I don't yell things at passerbys that should cost at least 2.99 a minute to hear. Mostly because we are in a recession and times are tough......nothing is for free. Listen people, these guys are pretty sick, there have been a few times when even I have had to stop and say..."gross". More often then not I stop...whip out my notepad and go "ooh! good one! ill remember that for tonight!". I don't mean to throw all of this on the guys, however I have only come in contact with one woman ever who was screaming sexual obscenities to other women...and actually she did it non stop from Chelsea to Queens on the N train, so I think she actually made up for all the lost time in that one 35 minute ride...</div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>Then there are those who are not that gross, sometimes even endearing, but just have WAY too much to say. The other day I was walking down the street and this guy with a cane was screaming for people to give him money for food. I then walked by and he said "Wow looking at you makes me forget that I even got the shit beat out of me last week by those assholes and cant afford my rent or even a cup of coffee". I gave him a dollar, to which he replied "God Bless You". I think he meant it in the normal way, not the pervy "I want to do you" way....</div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>Then there are the visualists. They do say actions speak louder than words, however in this case, I prefer a novel. Another friend of mine was telling me about the unisex sauna at the gym he attends. He said the men usually stick to one side and the ladies to other, mostly for convenience of location to the appropriate locker rooms. He said there was one precious man who decided to sit on the side closest to the ladies locker room, actually facing the locker room, and then start pleasuring himself. Now if I were in that sauna I may have sat down next to him and started asking him questions about the health history of his family and if there was a reason why he felt the need to give himself a routine self testicle checkup in the middle of the sauna? Or maybe I would have started singing "I don't want anybody else when i'm in the sauna I TOUCH MYSELF!"....but really dude, gross. My friend took the mature route and spoke to an employee about the situation, but why does this happen?</div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>Why do people, men, women, whatever, feel the need to do such things. There have even been days when I have thought to myself, on those days when I am wearing heels, and I look all fancy "Ya know what, its my own fault I dressed up, I was asking for it.." NO! I was not asking for it, do those guys running down the street shirtless always have to worry about women screaming "LET ME SEE THAT $%^&!" Not often. I mean I am sure it happens, and I am sure there will be some people that will try to argue this and talk about what men go through, and I am also sure unicorns exist. People are pigs. People yell gross shit at people who don't deserve it, sometimes they even stick their hands down their pants while doing it. It should probably just stop.</div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>There have been a few times when someone has said something to me along the lines of a "pick up line" that was sweet, that I replied to with "thank you", and went along my way...but do these people who act like those I have mentioned above, seriously think that their tactics will work? EVER? I mean call me old fashioned but I don't picture anyone sitting down with their grandparents and saying "Grandma how did you meet Grandpa?" and Grandma saying "Well honey, I was walking down the street, and Grandpa was on the stoop with his hands down his pants screaming 'BITCH LET ME TAP THAT!!!' I knew he was the one..."</div>Elise Castlehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05883399233734777964noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9064871160723164495.post-62328421631574726742012-03-02T07:59:00.002-08:002012-03-02T08:48:27.246-08:00When I Grow Up....<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>Guys, I don't mean to brag here, but I did win the "When I Grow Up" Speech Competition in the 3rd grade. I wowed the judges with my yearn to be on Broadway, telling them that someday someone would hear MY voice on a cassette tape! I also talked about how much I loved Carol Channing and that I had discovered my calling whilst in the chorus of the King and I. This morning as I sit here with my oversized mug of black coffee, getting some writing down before I have to head off to play waitress, I look back at this time and smile. It is important to remember these things, not only because it really gives me a clear vision of why I am still single, but also reminds us to go back to that place where anything is possible. Now, before I continue I will have to come to terms with the fact that I may not be able to hear my voice on a cassette tape seeing as though this is 2012 and I think I missed that boat in about '97, also I think i finally retired my Channing tee-shirt (yes I had one, that I wore...to school....often), and outside of the Metro-Detroit area, I doubt anyone will ever be able to find a place for me in the children's chorus of the King and I. Oh well, at least I have the memories.....MOVING ON!<div><br /><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>Basically what I am trying to get to here is that growing up is scary. When you are young you have so many dreams, some are big, some are more realistic, some will come true, and some we are too afraid to go after. As we grow the things that seemed so important to us then are not as important now. In highschool our parents were constantly telling us "In 10 years, NONE of this will matter". They were right. It doesn't. I thought my life was going to be over when I couldn't go with the Marching Band on the trip to Hollywood. Folks, I survived, I also heard the trip we had to Cleveland, Ohio was a better time anyways. What is important are those things that stay with us. Well most things that stay with us, the awkward backfat and muffintop I have been trying to get rid of for years, that shit can go fuck itself and doesn't matter anyway. What I am talking about are those things that we talk to our friends about when we are younger, the same things that we eventually work towards in high school, those dreams that help us choose our path in college, those goals we talk about until 4 AM when we are screaming for one more vodka soda and convincing our friends that "our lives start tomorrow!", those things, the things that have stayed with us even when we realized Zack and Kelly wouldn't last past Bayside High, and that the Backstreet Boys were actually awkward looking. The things that seem much harder once the bar stool is pushed in, and your fear is on display. For me, today, growing up is about being who you always wanted to be, and growing into who you are meant to be, and loving who you are turning out to be. Growing up is ultimately acceptance...which is hard.</div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>With so many social media websites around, it is hard for us not to compare ourselves with one another. While on Facebook I see the lives of those I went to high school with. Most of them married, with children, and a house..with a washer and dryer. This is when I begin to fear that I am not growing up. I am sitting in my Queens apartment that I share with 2 other people, I just finally graduated out of a twin bed this past year, and I have to play restaurant at night in order to pay my bills. This is also when I have to stop and breathe and say "You is kind. You is smart. You is important." Actually I never say that but I did just watch The Help last night and I really needed to throw that in here at some point. But seriously, this is when I have to stop and say you got out of Warren, MI and moved to NYC, you have lived here without struggling for 4 years, you have a job, you woke up on Black Friday and said "I AM BETTER THAN THIS TWIN BED!" and hauled your ass to the mattress store and bought a big girl bed, this is growth. This is growing up.</div></div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>Most importantly I have to look at my life through the eyes of the 9 year old Elise. The 9 year old Elise that would have done ANYTHING to achieve her dreams. When I look at my life through her eyes, everything seems to be going at the right pace. When I am on the subway coming home late, when I start to look less like a classy server and more like Deb the Diner waitress, when I get up far too early to wait in line at an audition, when I don't wakeup for the audition because I don't know if thats what I want to be anymore, when I feel like my time will never come, and when I feel like my heart is so full, I have to think of her. I have to remember that sometimes growing up is just about looking back, sometimes growing up is about gratitude, and sometimes growing up is about the small things.</div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>In closing, I would like to say that I was ultimately disqualified from the competition in the 3d grade. Once I got to the district level my plan was to win over the judges with my velvety 9 year old tenor chords. I closed my speech with the following "..as Judy Garland so beautifully sang in the Wizard of Oz<i>, If happy little blue birds..." </i></div><div>"Miss Castle, you cannot sing any copywritten material without the consent of the author...you are disqualified..."</div><div>DREAMS.</div>Elise Castlehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05883399233734777964noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9064871160723164495.post-544125171733562002012-02-06T20:35:00.000-08:002012-02-06T21:16:43.921-08:00Summer of '01<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>It was the summer of 2001. I was waiting patiently inline for a callback audition for the summer community theatre production of Annie. Inside I was filled with excitement and anticipation, I mean I had just finished a riveting portrayal of Golde in Fiddler on the Roof...at 15 years old. Outside, I probably looked a bit like Tracy Turnblad mixed with Napoleon Dynamite. A little big, a little awkward, and probably wearing a tee-shirt that said "Future Broadway Star". I was clutching my Broadway Hits for Tenors songbook and nervously eyeing my competition. I was a showgirl at heart, but extremely shy and had yet to discover a flatiron or a good box dye. As I was staring off into space just dreaming that they would decide to cast a bit young for Miss. Hannigan a voice caught me off guard.<div>"Hey! Im Billy, this is Sara, and this is Jason! Whats your name?!"</div><div>I looked over my shoulder and there was a group of 3 people sitting next to me.</div><div>"Uhhmmm....Elise" I replied. These people were definitely showgirls inside AND out. I was nervous, I didn't know what to say, I also had no clue that this moment would really change my life.</div><div>"Well, Elise.." said Billy "We are just sitting here trying to liven the joint up a bit, and really think a production number of "Summer Nights" from Grease is appropriate, do you know the words?"</div><div>"YES!" I Replied "I actually played Jan last year!"</div><div>"Perfect!" Said Billy "By the way.." he continued "I'm going to call you Jan!"</div><div>At that moment I forgot about how self conscious I was, I forgot about the intense amount of fear I had for the dance combination, I forgot about every little bit of high school bullshit that made me feel "different". These people spoke my language, the universal language of showtunes. If we were going to do this number, we were going to do it right. I believe we found a picnic table, perched up on it (side saddle of course), and sang. Tell me more, tell me more, it was love at first sight. I belonged.</div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>That summer, <i>Summer of '01 </i>as it was infamously called was filled with moments just like this. My heart was so full, for once I had found people who understood me, who despite my outward appearance <i>KNEW </i>that inside I had the heart of a middle aged show queen, and that I yearned to wear lashes and Max Factor panstick daily....and a good brooch. My new friends were introduced to my old friends, and new memories were made.</div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>We had sleepovers that only consisted of binge eating, watching Little Shop of Horrors or Spice World, and makeovers. Oh the makeovers. Some of the boys were flirting with the idea of beauty school and I loved being the model. I was able to sport the full face and big hair I dreamed of, all the while helping my friends achieve their dreams! We laughed a lot, of course we argued, but most of all we accepted each other. Nothing shocked us, dispite how we felt about ourselves we all had open minds and open hearts. </div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>I don't know why I was inspired to write about this today. I think its because I am grateful. I am grateful that I had these moments, I am grateful I had these friends (some I still have to this day). I am grateful that at 15, when I was so insecure, so shy, and "misunderstood", that a little bit of glitz was brought into my life, a glimpse of what my life would be like. Today I live the same way I learned to that summer, a little spontaneous, always with an open heart, and ALWAYS ready to recreate a good production number. Here's to the Summer of '01, thanks for giving this girl a spotlight.</div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span></div>Elise Castlehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05883399233734777964noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9064871160723164495.post-25811529962275402702012-01-23T13:48:00.000-08:002012-01-23T15:47:46.253-08:00Showgirls are CRAZY!<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>I will admit I am a little crazy. More importantly I am OK with it. Not only am I OK with my crazy, I embrace my crazy. I feel as if it makes me who I am, well that and a lot of hairspray. Not gonna lie, there have been days when I am walking down the streets thinking my crazy thoughts and wondering "Am I only 3 cats away from being a full out Edie Beale Grey Gardens case?". Then I think "Ya' know? What if I am? At least I have got a good story to tell, and I always have loved a good head scarf"<div><br /><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>I have always been fascinated with the correlation of mental illness and creativity. Some of the most brilliant artists have turned out some of their best work in a manic episode or a deep depression. These artists are so lost in themselves that the only way to escape is to create an alternative universe. They create a world through music, painting, words, and dance that takes them out of themselves, and in many cases results in brilliant work. I have not been as fortunate as to create a brilliant opera, or museum worthy painting when I am in the throws of depression. I however, have worn out my VHS copy of "Beaches" and can OWN a pint of "Oatmeal Cookie Chunk" Ice Cream.</div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>Just today I was discussing with a friend how I think some of the best performers are those with a little "grit" in their story. They've been through some shit, in some cases they may even have 14 personalities, but they can usually tell a good story. I then got to thinking that maybe if they ran the auditions a little differently we'd be able to snatch up these "broken gems" and weed out the boring ones.</div><div><br /></div><div>Actor : Good afternoon! I will be performing 16 bars from....</div><div>Random Casting Director: Hold On! Before you start, do you have any daddy issues? </div><div>Actor : Umm...No I had a great family life.</div><div>RCD: Thank you thats all I need to see today.</div><div><br /></div><div>or</div><div>Actor : Hello! Would you like to hear the classical piece or the..</div><div>RCD : One minute! Have you ever resorted to prostitution in order to survive?</div><div>Actor : Actually I am a virgin and..</div><div>RCD : NEXT!</div><div>Actor :...well only because I have severe issues with opening up to people and don't really love myself and therefor do not think I will ever be capable of loving another, or ever allowing someone to love me.</div><div>RCD : Perfect. I will see you at the callback.</div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span></div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>O</span>f course there will be exceptions to the rules. Those people who have held on to their marbles, have a happy relationship, come from the perfect family with the perfect house and the perfect dog, and can still deliver like the craziest. However you think they do good work now? Wait until her husband leaves her for the man that was actually once married to her mother and she is now addicted to pills, malt liquor, and daytime soap operas. In between her wine coolers and her tears she'll begin to create. You thought she was delivering before, now she's giving you ART. As my grandmother always said "A sane mind can never sell The Man That Got Away". Actually my grandmother never said that, but I think it's true, and I think she should fully take credit for it and share it with the ladies at church. </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div></div>Elise Castlehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05883399233734777964noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9064871160723164495.post-88835710928185497272011-11-24T05:28:00.001-08:002011-11-24T06:22:36.991-08:00FAMILY BAND!<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>What happens when a family full of musicians, actors, singers, and relatively insane people all get together for a holiday? Most would say "Drama!" or "Drunken fights!". No. Not in the Castle household. We put our talents to work. Once the table has been cleared and the dessert has begun to digest, we all reconvene with our weapon of choice in hand. It is time to begin, FAMILY BAND!<div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> <span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span></span>For as long as I can remember my father has always brought his guitar with him to family gatherings. At the end of the night he would play, and the family would all sing together. Sometimes other relatives would chime in if they had an instrument and my Uncle Dan was always keeping rhythm with the spoons. At the time I didn't realize how special this was.</div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span> </span>As the years passed, the family band grew. My brother followed in my fathers footsteps and learned the guitar, friends we had made had become family, and our family had become larger as well. The Castle Family Singers (I really wish we had a name like the Brady Bunch, or at least matching track suits) had acquired a full band behind them. At one gathering my mother decided to pass out instruments, tinwhistles, bongos, a sensible 1934 bugle, shakers, and the list goes on. You know, just the typical things every family has laying around the house. I always looked forward to this time, but I didn't know how special this really was.</div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span> </span>The strumming and singing that had always just happened organically began to become one of the most anticipated portions of the evening. We began to call it "Family Band", and in true Castle fashion poked fun at it and ourselves for participating in it, and secretly couldn't wait for it to start. We no longer had to wrangle up the family and explain what was going on, we knew. We sat on the floor and grabbed our instruments. My dad got his Martin D-28 out of the same blue hardshell case, and began to strum the familiar chords. In unison we began, "Puff the Magic Dragon, lived by the sea, and harbored in the autumn mist...."</div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span> </span>I haven't been able to return home for the holidays in a few years. Some of my family has moved, and we rarely get the chance to see each other. I am surprisingly emotional as I write this morning. Like I previously wrote, I didn't know how special this was. It seemed so normal to me, it was all that I knew. Today on Thanksgiving, I am filled with gratitude. My heart is so full with these wonderful memories. No matter what was going on in the family, no matter what stresses were engulfing our lives, for those moments we were all in bliss. I hope someday soon there will be a time when we are all together, when my dad grabs his guitar, Uncle Dan grabs the spoons, and we all just sit around and let go.</div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span></div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"><br /></span></div><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiO82Y7nxUSTC1EvBM7yZOtigqNV7YoCPLIEJ3UT7cpZvqIK1cciYcFZ09YVRCLxXyLRu89br010Jn5m3ivfcBKP9Uo8xonJRgz7qlIKAGvRJqaiqKobAahIQG-qrRyZmo6XALzLVNwz5k/s1600/19267_622110389016_38500336_35332146_635707_n.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiO82Y7nxUSTC1EvBM7yZOtigqNV7YoCPLIEJ3UT7cpZvqIK1cciYcFZ09YVRCLxXyLRu89br010Jn5m3ivfcBKP9Uo8xonJRgz7qlIKAGvRJqaiqKobAahIQG-qrRyZmo6XALzLVNwz5k/s320/19267_622110389016_38500336_35332146_635707_n.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5678564816995752002" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbsbJIUARLZYsm56QT6xlRwpHmc0uNXvZ9yPbAqxmSUSqgFNy0ARWWR5-PfSin5TKku8QxTgeMX10-j-gaHtfhNcn_S8KGEoFNlu1WdlgcffmepGcIxZTdowuFXTeiqObRTfpiKbvtvsw/s1600/n38500336_31967910_6038.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbsbJIUARLZYsm56QT6xlRwpHmc0uNXvZ9yPbAqxmSUSqgFNy0ARWWR5-PfSin5TKku8QxTgeMX10-j-gaHtfhNcn_S8KGEoFNlu1WdlgcffmepGcIxZTdowuFXTeiqObRTfpiKbvtvsw/s320/n38500336_31967910_6038.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5678564815163796786" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh53lyJfR0ht_zDcAczUYxvvvtPvH048zoP7Fxl_BZD7nMRoOmmQ-E1M7GU7_5eDbURHIUZVa4geLOELo2Igy20j-M4Af4zHklWosemQdrpxkKYNE0hHzY2yG1U9YP2ZW0U1R3NNHTJlDA/s1600/n38500336_31967914_7044.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh53lyJfR0ht_zDcAczUYxvvvtPvH048zoP7Fxl_BZD7nMRoOmmQ-E1M7GU7_5eDbURHIUZVa4geLOELo2Igy20j-M4Af4zHklWosemQdrpxkKYNE0hHzY2yG1U9YP2ZW0U1R3NNHTJlDA/s320/n38500336_31967914_7044.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5678564799349227298" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgj3MfbbJ4TzhuAMqJoXFa71z2NtNBzqHIdp4McGvaqCI0Ff9IhGlRkG498Tt0QCXBT8pg6YvlUsN5aw6Gl4pwf5DI7RM9FlQO-_Q8EIFjflx82Yxik1xpMcBfqjwB0eNzXe3PhqzH6JiM/s1600/19479_765297595538_21701198_43305831_4346139_n.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgj3MfbbJ4TzhuAMqJoXFa71z2NtNBzqHIdp4McGvaqCI0Ff9IhGlRkG498Tt0QCXBT8pg6YvlUsN5aw6Gl4pwf5DI7RM9FlQO-_Q8EIFjflx82Yxik1xpMcBfqjwB0eNzXe3PhqzH6JiM/s320/19479_765297595538_21701198_43305831_4346139_n.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5678564789829889234" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1Biu78eGSzlTNS1vSPRnRbsXyULKe09ENt9U0nTJIWfA_WC3CM9AW7MZh-il-OQ8GyGARVcHMxtYyDGTrPt4ezuoSxUGZ8qFhCmL6RTKku5qW-kMKD4u3MaibBGv_nAb24l08tP0rEDA/s1600/19479_765297595538_21701198_43305831_4346139_n.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><span><span></span></span><span><span></span></span></a><span><span></span></span><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXDlkdFJZbtlOvFcTnOnJWut5xVgHJPuiK4b4zpQNp-rIvMZzA2VBYYKm7hKH5E3z58Svvkqns8w3I8OklcgyRAgi6MA9kBmnGYjh805O6WewSSvUbIIUDO-Hj1eARWD_905HcOgEShFk/s1600/19479_765297595538_21701198_43305831_4346139_n.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"></a><span><span></span></span><br /><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>Elise Castlehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05883399233734777964noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9064871160723164495.post-40288510664012043742011-11-17T18:37:00.000-08:002011-11-17T19:12:58.228-08:00She bangs.<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>Today I went for a haircut. As I sat in the chair I looked at my hair and thought, girl, we've been through it all.<div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>The first major hair change that I can recall happened when I was about 5 or 6. I had long <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">blonde</span> hair and I was obsessed with <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">Pippi</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">Longstocking</span>. I decided I wanted to have hair like <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">Anika</span> (<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">Pippi's</span> sidekick), so I did. I got it all chopped off into a <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">Anika</span>-bob! Looking back at this experience I can really see how I was destined for mediocrity at a young age. Really Elise? You wanted the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">Anika</span>, the supporting character? No Mom, I don't want to be Annie, I wanna be the butch orphan, Dixie, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">thats</span> my DREAM!</div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>Things pretty much stayed at a standstill "locks-wise" until high-school. A few of my friends and I had decided as a group that we were all going to go "bleached-<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">blonde</span>". Some groups of friends in high-school have pregnancy pacts, my friends and I were bound together by boxes of Clairol. Cheap. Boxed. <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9">Hairdye</span>. This was also around the same time where one of my friends had decided to take up "braiding". He was very good at doing all this intricate braid-work and we all agreed to be models. Picture this. Mob of relatively awkward/uncomfortable females with bleach <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10">blonde</span> hair braided in the style of Salt N' <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11">Peppa</span> on their way to Marching Band rehearsal. I think every school dance I went to had a hairstyle involving braids and we also somehow incorporated the braids into the school plays (<span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12">Renaissance</span> braids, 1950's braids, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13">Anetevka</span> braids). In our defense the braids worked very well under our band hats and really <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_14">thats</span> all that matters.</div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>Later on in <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_15">highschool</span> I chopped my hair and died it brown with chunky brown highlights. My initial intention was to look like Kelly <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_16">Clarkson</span> circa "Moment Like This". My weight at the time made this look more Tracy <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_17">Turnblad</span> than anything. That wasn't a winning moment. So I did what any lady would do. Grew it out and bleached it again....</div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>I continued to bounce back and forth between colors. I was <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_18">blonde</span>, then brown, then highlights, then RED. In 2005 I went to a salon and decided to go red. It was a risk but I figured I had nothing to lose. After the color was completed I knew I had found a match. Friends agreed and I knew I was in a <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_19">LTR</span> with red hair.</div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>Now throughout the years it has been a lot of trial and error in order to find something that really "works". I have been almost every shade of red. Maroon to orange. True Red Pomegranate to #69 Spicy Salsa (The legit names of the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_20">Garnier</span> box dye I used in college). There were years when I was rocking some <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_21">blonde</span> eyebrows with my crimson locks, and many times when my hair looked like Josephs <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_22">Dreamcoat</span> (it was red and yellow and green and brown....). After 6 and a half years I would like to say that I have figured it out. No more boxed dye, I request a natural looking red at the salon, and MAC makes a great eyebrow mascara in a shade called <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_23">Girlboy</span> (which I love for me) that matches my <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_24">haircolor</span> PERFECT!</div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>So <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_25">thats</span> the riveting tale of my hair. FYI I got bangs today. It was a <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_26">reallly</span> big deal. I mean I have had bangs before, actually I have had them for most of the past 6 years. They had finally grown out and I was worried I was going to somehow look like I did this one time I got this awful bang induced haircut that made me look like George Washington. I am pleased to say that these bangs are not colonial at all. This is some 21st century bang shit.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /><div><br /></div></div>Elise Castlehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05883399233734777964noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9064871160723164495.post-9011088660004067912011-11-13T09:39:00.000-08:002011-11-13T10:54:35.451-08:00Eating My Feelings.I remember the day like it was yesterday.<div>I was in the aisle of a grocery store with tears streaming down my face. My stomach was empty, as was my cart. I was so lost amongst the Lean Cuisines and Tuna Helper. I had no idea what to buy and was overwhelmed by the daunting labels of the food. Each label telling me which diet they were approved by, which items had no fat, which had low fat, which had no sugar, which items were vegan friendly, which items had low carbs, which had no carbs. My head was spinning. I just wanted to grab a 6 pack of Tab, some Melba Toast, and hop in a time machine back to 1988 when dieting was simple.</div><div>I left that day with a bruised heart, and a bottle of Franks Red Hot.</div><div><br /></div><div>What is good for us any more? I have tried every diet there is, I have been losing the last 15 pounds for about 5 years, and just recently have I finally began to look at food as an energy source as she was intended, as opposed to the backstabbing bitch I have called her for years.</div><div><br /></div><div>I began counting calories at a young age. I didn't beg my mother to let me take gymnastics or to go to summer camp. I pleaded with my parents for months to go to Weight Watchers. Every little girls dream. However it didn't really work with my life. Ya know, pulling out your Points Finder in the lunch line and bringing my food scale to sleepovers didn't always go over well.</div><div><br /></div><div>As I got older I began to tackle other diets. South Beach seemed to work for a couple of weeks, but then I had to "moderately" reintroduce foods into my diet. Elise Castle and moderation go together like 50% of heterosexual marriages, it just doesn't work. I also tried veganism for a bit. I totally support it, and think it is a really great healthy way of living. I also think you have the worst gas of your life, you piss off all your friends, and your grandmother doesn't understand when you say you're a Vegan and thinks you are now in a blood-drinking cult.</div><div><br /></div><div>The list goes on and on, you name it I have tried it. I drank that water with cayenne pepper, maple syrup, and lemon juice. Bullshit. I ate too much, I didn't eat enough, I didn't eat sugar, I ate things that tasted like sugar but were not sugar and probably made from whale ass, I had a vodka only dinner for years, I stopped drinking all together, I counted calories, I counted pounds, I gained weight, I lost weight, and then I lost my mind.</div><div><br /></div><div>My brain was consumed by all the diets I had tried in the past. Weight watchers said I could have a little bit of bread, Atkins said not at all, it was a staple in my Vegan diet, and in my vodka diet I was passed out with the loaf in my hand. Then something changed. I woke up one day and said "Let it go. Just for today. Eat when you're hungry. Eat what you want. Stop when you're full. Repeat."</div><div><br /></div><div>I was shocked. I did just that. Surprisingly after years of hellish dieting I had learned SOME things and my body had no interest in fried or sugary foods anyway. I began to eat when I was healthy, eat a sandwich and not feel like I had committed a crime, go to the grocery store and leave with more than just a resentment and hot sauce. I began to feel free.</div><div><br /></div><div>So what is good for us? Food. Eating. A healthy relationship with the energy that keeps us going. Now, I am not going to lie. I am not a 100% reformed woman. There are times when no one is home, I put on my black dressing robe, grab a pint of Ben and Jerry's, turn on a delightfully sinful Shannon Doherty Lifetime shitshow and eat my feelings. The difference today. I am OK with it.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span></div>Elise Castlehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05883399233734777964noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9064871160723164495.post-88962291059272315752011-02-06T19:15:00.000-08:002011-02-06T19:53:14.619-08:00Black Coffee, and Prozac, and Cocktail Rings...THESE ARE A FEW OF MY FAVORITE THINGS!...so today I was playing waitress during a VERY SLOW lunch shift. I said out loud "I want to make 100 dollars...I am 'secreting it!' " (for those of you who don't know what The Secret is, it is some book where you 'vision' these things you want and put them out in the universe. I actually never read it but my bat-shit crazy ex-roommate Renee is obsessed with it and sometimes I like to 'secret' things just to be an a-hole)....ANYWAYS...my co-waitress, Chris, informed me (I think he actually read the book) that I had to then list 5 things I am grateful for...so I said "THAT WILL BE MY BLOG TOPIC!"<div>1. MAC Spice Lipliner</div><div>I have been wearing this for YEARS. I love it love it love it. I constantly have 2 in my possession at all times. When I cannot find my lipliner I get a little intense. Once I ripped the lining out of my purse in a frantic search for my pencil of life. I really think this cosmetic masterpiece is actually a Harry Potter/Willy Wonka magic wand because no matter what lipstick you pair it with, it ALWAYS looks the same. Magical.</div><div>2. Black Coffee</div><div>I used to go to Starbucks and order "Grande Non Fat Sugar Free Hazelnut Latte with and Extra Shot of Espresso" (That was before these 'skinny' latte things were invented...) Then I realized that I was "that person" and I was broke, and lazy. Bottom line...it is much cheaper/quicker/and Barista friendly to just say BLACK COFFEE. Then I started feeling like a bad ass. Everyone else needed cream and sugar, but not me, I was the bad ass taking the risky java road of simplicity. </div><div>3. Bette Midler</div><div>My idol. The Divine Miss M is my ultimate FAVORITE album. Her phrasing in "Am I Blue?" is heartbreakingly perfect, and her performance as CC Bloom in Beaches reminds me that I DO have a soul. </div><div>4. My Black Silk Dressing Robe</div><div>When I get ready in the morning I like to wear a black silk robe. Preferably while my rollers are setting and my facepaint is drying. I think it is more lady-like and I also like the way the fresh morning breeze flows through....i mean....wait...</div><div>I think my friend Alicia said it best. Once before a show I walked onstage with my rollers/makeup/robe...she looked at me and without skipping a beat said "Nomi Malone, you're a star".</div><div>(for those of you who do not know who Nomi is...she is the character played by Elizabeth "Jesse Spano" Berkley in the cinematic masterpiece 'Showgirls')</div><div>5.The Original Broadway Cast Recording of "Aint Misbehavin'"</div><div>I don't know. It came on my iTunes the other day and I forgot how WONDERFUL it really is. I mean Nell Carter's rendition of 'Mean to Me' leaves my speechless and I always start shimmying during the opening number. Then I started thinking...do you think that "Fats" Waller ever got sad and cried in his room alone because he secretly hated being called "Fats"......</div><div>So those are 5 things I am thankful for today....I am sure it will change next week...well not the Spice Lipliner. I am in an LTR with that one.</div><div>Huggles!</div><div>Leesy.</div><div><br /><div><br /></div></div>Elise Castlehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05883399233734777964noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9064871160723164495.post-6092991093455430012010-12-19T19:39:00.000-08:002010-12-19T20:22:07.618-08:00Christmas Shopping Stresses Me Out.<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>I have said it before, and I will say it again. I do not find Christmas in NYC magical. I think the Xanax I take before "experiencing" it is indeed magical. I get it the lights are nice, the "Rockettes are all-a dancing", and there is shopping galore...but there are people, CRAZY people everywhere.....<div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>I attempted Christmas shopping the other day. Now, a few years back when I would go Christmas shopping in Michigan I would always add a little something to my coffee to make the day a little smoother....and by a little "something" I mean 100 proof Peppermint Schnapps. I still was a hot mess and ended up crying in some awkward corner of Sears praying that the perfect gifts would just find me. Well, here I am now in NYC, attempting Christmas shopping...with no Schnapps, just me...whatever dignity I have left....and a teasing comb.</div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>The thing is unlike shopping in Metro-Detroit you cannot just make one or 2 trips and find EVERYTHING. You cannot just go to the nice mall to get most of your stuff and then hop down to the "other" mall for those Old Navy gifts...nope not in NYC. You must plan your shopping like you are plotting World War 3. Then ONCE you figure out which stores you are going to, you must then find out which area of the city has the most of these stores in the same area, THEN you must plan your travel route so you don't go WAY out of your way to get to said gifts. Now before I continue I am going to shut all of you up that are thinking "Doesnt she know the true meaning of Christmas?" Yes I do. However I also know the looks on everyone's faces when they open up empty boxes from me with notecards inside that say "The Reason For The Season"....People like presents on Christmas. We all agree...moving on.</div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>Lets go over some possible gift options....</div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>Housewares : So I venture into Crate and Barrel..Pottery Barn..Williams Sonoma..CB2..West Elm.....All of those stores that are WAY out of my price range but perhaps I can buy some napkin rings or a tiny clock and make my friends think I am loaded. NOPE. I walk into them and I am smacked in the face with Christmas Ornaments and awkward kitchenware. There is nothing practical. Perhaps a nice engraved bootflask, pillbox, or even a grapfruit spoon set? NOPE but you will be SURE to find a zester for citrus within the range of 14-16 cmm, or a deviled egg tray for premature ostrich eggs. Eff you yuppie awkward homemakers!</div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>Clothing : Will someone PLEASE tell the "Hipsters" that Robin-Hood/Anne of Avonlea "Chique" is not cool. These terrible muted browns and faded maroon hues paired with silly ankle boots that rival those worn in my middle school production of "The Music Man" are just getting old. I am trying to buy some holiday "staples", like a nice sweater, or a hat and glove set, maybe even some pajamas but they DO NOT exist. I swear to God I found racks upon racks of these terrible MC Hammer pants with a sensible Victorian buttoned waist/belt thing. You know what I am talking about. Then I asked about scarves...the scarves. The man with glasses that did not have lenses pointed me to the 2 styles they carried. One that was the longest thing I have ever seen. I told him that by the time I unraveled myself from the "beast of knittery" that he was trying to sell me, it would already be time to leave and I would have to put it back on. Then he introduced me to a scarf that could be worn 45 different ways. I dont understand why I need to be able to wear my scarf as a fashionable halter top, or a mini skirt. In 1985...maybe...not in the DEAD ASS WINTER of Aught 10. (Thats 2010, just another Victorian reference). I leave empty handed.</div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>Everything else. This is where my brain goes when I have no clue. I start to debate the "weird Holiday food/beverage gift sets". You know those things that we all secretly want to recieve. The Hickory Farms Sausage that NEVER spoil..which is totally weird, but totally delightful. In New York you cant really find those Midwest gems. Instead we have overpriced Jams made of Fig/Arugla/Pigsblood, and cheese spread made of Organic Vegan Farmraised Cagefree Soy/Rice/Almond/Raw/Non-Milk. Nothing anyone WANTS to eat...Giftset Fail. Then I ponder electronics. Affordable electronics are a thing of yesteryear, and the Apple Store is a WHOLE other anxiety attack. Gift Cards? Totally thoughtless, yet another thing that everyone secretly wants. You know the receiver will LOVE it, however then THEY know how much I spent and I know my super saver inside could get them so much more on sale in the sale sections of all the stores in NYC that don't EXIST and I can't find a SALE ANYWHERE...so WHY dont I just buy a f%^king GIFTCARD but I can't BECAUSE I WILL FIND THE PERFECT GIFT!!!....</div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>...and that's how I ended up in the hospital. No not really, I mean I got through it. I left with one gift for someone else, and some spatulas and a tea pot for myself, and then got food poisoning the next day (that's a seperate blog..). So I must venture out again....and face my fears again...this time also buying the overpriced wrapping paper and bows because we can't just use newspapers these days.....it's all too depressing....</div><div>HAPPY HOLIDAYS!</div><div><br /></div><div><div><br /></div></div>Elise Castlehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05883399233734777964noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9064871160723164495.post-51459855583023168802010-12-15T19:15:00.000-08:002010-12-15T19:51:39.482-08:00Leesey...put a little lipstick on.<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>The dictionary defines a "Lady" as 'a woman who is polite, refined, and well spoken' (...I really wouldnt say I qualify there..) also as 'a woman of high social position or of economical class' (..I grew up in Warren, MI...so did Eminem, need I say more?) and thirdly defined as 'any woman, female' (..folks, with the amount of times I have been confused for a Drag Queen, even THAT is pushing it..). However I still have some dignity left, and won't let any dictionary bring me down, I am still a F%^%ing LADY!<div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>When asking for topic ideas for this blog my friend Jessalyn suggested I write "The Rules of Being a Lady". Now I don't think I have the authority to write that (my mother on the other hand..), however I will write a few SUGGESTIONS...</div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>Big hair. Now, I love a good flat iron, but even more than that I love a good teasing comb. Growing up my mother, Sally would often shout "Leesey! Let me feather your bangs!" I am not quite sure what "feathering" ones bangs truly entails, however I just remember a lot of Aquanet, and some sort of hair creation in front of my face that looked like a peacock's ass. Thanks Mom. As I have matured into a young lady, I have continued to back-comb, tease, rat my artificially colored mane, because as they say "The bigger the hair the closer to God"...and I need the extra points.</div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>A Girdle. No one likes muffin top, everyone likes cookies. It's an awful problem. There is a solution. Suck that business in! Yes, the undergarments donned at my Senior Prom may have rivaled those of a Elizabethian Queen....but I looked good. If those pantyhose don't say "Control Top" they go right back on the shelf, next to the other useless items at the Drug Store..like tinted moisturizer....</div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>Which brings me to my next topic. FULL FACE! Whoever said "less is more" with makeup needs to be slapped with a stick of pancake foundation! LADIES, PAINT IT ON! When I put on lipliner and the 14th coat of mascara I feel like I can conquer the world! Well that...or a Southern Ice Cream Social. </div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>Most importantly, a lady needs to be confident, ballsy, and hard-working....in heels. Love YOURSELF.....well I mean poof your, hair, suck yourself in, and paint your face...THEN love yourself.</div><div><br /></div><div>"Sally, she's an old school Showgirl. She's a tough broad"-My friend Billy on my mother...</div><div><br /></div><div><div><br /></div></div>Elise Castlehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05883399233734777964noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9064871160723164495.post-77853307005256859022008-07-25T11:56:00.001-07:002008-07-25T12:00:26.287-07:00The Broadway Bunch?Here it is folks! My friends and I are moving to New York in September, and decided to put on a show! Ta-Daaaaa! So I present<br /><a href="http://s2.photobucket.com/albums/y37/evcastle/?action=view&current=bbflyer.jpg" target="_blank"><img src="http://i2.photobucket.com/albums/y37/evcastle/bbflyer.jpg" border="0" alt="bbflyer" /></a><br />You'll laugh, you'll cry, but I can't say it's better than Cats. It could be comperable to Cats....but only if Tom allows me to don my "Ole' Doots" costume in the second act. So if you are in the Metro-Detroit area...be there. If you are not, put in your DVD of Broadway Leading Ladies, its the same thing, I promise. Ben does a killer Andrea McArdle, and Renee's weave is promised to shake just like Jennifer Holliday's on the "You're gunna love MEEEEEEEEE-OWWW".Elise Castlehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05883399233734777964noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9064871160723164495.post-25507770337391343802008-07-16T10:04:00.000-07:002008-07-16T10:27:35.673-07:00Welcome Ladies and....Ladies?As Jerri Blank says so proudly in <em>Strangers With Candy, </em>"IVE GOT SOMETHING TO SAAAAY!!!!!", well not really, but doesn't everyone want to read a blog consisting of dry wit, musical theatre references that will make your stomach churn with pure cheese, and countless tales of vodka, fat jokes, and trying to make sense of life?<br /><br />I present....<br /><br />"Does This Blog Make My Ass Look Big"<br /><br />Coming Soon.....<br /><br />And by soon I mean as soon as I..<br />A. Have something worthwhile to post and/or<br />B. Have a cocktailElise Castlehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05883399233734777964noreply@blogger.com0