Every now and then I like to play with paper. I love scrap book paper! It's so colorful and you can buy it by the sheet or in big pads. There are so many varieties and designers! I also find it very appealing since there are a few fabric designers who also make scrap book paper! I make all of my tags with little bits of scraps and a stamp I had made for me with my business name and Etsy shop on it.

BLOWN AWAY Necklace

JORDAN BAKER Earrings.

A LOVE NOTE Card

WHITE RABBIT BIRTHDAY Card

While my paper goods are not my main craft, it's something I love to do! It also allows easy gift giving for my customers. No need to wrap or buy a decorative gift box or bag. A one stop Etsy shop! :-)

It's no secret that very unexpectedly in the Fall of 2010 I was hospitalized and diagnosed with some serious Cancer. It was very scary. It was Cancer of the Uterine lining that had metastasized into lung and breast Cancer. I was on an oxygen machine for a few months and had to start chemo immediately. I did my first does of chemo right there in my hospital room. When I cam home all of my hair fell out in less then a week. On top of this, I had to have a full hysterectomy which meant no children in my future and an early menopause. My hormones shifted and I had more testosterone in my body then I could handle and estrogen therapy wasn't an option. I felt like I was cracking up. Who was I?

Jillian after hair fell out.

Naturally this all hit me very hard emotionally. My self esteem plummeted. I felt like a big bald blob. Everything that made me feel like a woman was gone. Literally! I cried all the time and mourned what felt like the loss of my femininity. I spent most of my days on the couch or in bed watching lots of TV in hopes of forgetting about everything. In my mind I couldn't even say I was still a woman. I just felt like an It.

My boyfriend at the time was very supportive. He did his best to try and let me know he still thought I was the same attractive woman he loved. That being bald was sexy too and lucky for me he was into it. But I still didn't feel like me. I just felt like a weepy gender confused mess. Then we started watching RuPaul's Drag Race Season 3 on VH1. We were hooked! Both of us loved the show and would watch it together.

 There was a huge part of me that identified with these drag queens. These were men who with a pretty wig and the flip of a make up brush were more feminine then I ever was - lady junk and all! Fashionistas who were part illusionist. It was like each Queen was giving me their own lesson on what was pretty and what made a woman. It gave me hope.

I started taking mental note of how all the contestants put on their wigs. Did they pin? Use tape? I learned how to style my wigs, store them, keep them clean. I learned how to match make up to a wig. I would take all of my make up and sit in the bathroom and create a face to match my hair style. I was inspired to buy better clothes. I even learned how to walk in heels. If that dude could do it by sheer will power, so could I! These bitches even made their own clothes and jewelry like me! So slowly over the course of Season 3, I became a Queen as well. 

RuPaul became a positive role model for me during chemo. "If you can't love yourself how the Hell you gonna love somebody else"  became a personal mantra constantly reminding it's ok to be like this. I had to love me regardless. That I didn't need to play a character in a wig. I just had to keep doing me, the best I could. Cancer shmancer poopoo. I could use wigs and clothes to express how I was feeling each day and still be ME. The same female me I've always been. Ru preaching love yourself no matter what really struck me right in the heart. See Ru and her queens made me want to get up out of bed and put my wig on. It made me want to be fabulous!
I became a fan of Ru's music again. Whenever I got down on myself songs like Champion and Jealous of My Boogie picked me up again. And just when I thought I'd learned everything, RuPaul's Drag U started airing on Logo. I saw women who were going through life changes like me, and being dragged up to learn to love themselves again! By God - drag saves!

The fabulous RuPaul.

Of all the Queens of Season 3, two stood out for me.  Raja was my biggest inspiration. When Raja walked out in her punk look on Season 3, my mind was blown. He was a tough guy, AND a hot bitch walking the line of male and female. I felt like that. I understood that. Not only that but her look came from the same places mine did - pin ups, glam and punk.
Patrice Royale was another inspiration, her story made me cry. She was in prison and a big girl at that. She overcame everything in her life and still had the courage to line those lips and say I am Patrice Muther Fuckin Royale!

Ru is now on Season 5 of Drag Race and my hair has grown back in. I am still going through recovery and am doing great - still becoming me again. While I will never know how hard it is to come out of the closet, and then come out of the drag closet - I do know what it's like to fight to be a woman. RuPaul where ever you are, thank you.

Raja

Patrice Royale

So John Waters' Baltimore lead the way to my discovery of cult films. I explored exploitation and trash, indie and art house. But it wasn't until the late 1990's that I found what would be my one true love. I rented a film called Valley of the Dolls. I knew nothing of the late great Jackie Susann or her scandalous novels. I had always had a slight affection for classic films. But it had never occurred to me to search for classic BAD films. Valley of the Dolls was like finding the Holy Grail.
Upon first viewing I was engrossed. It set a criteria for me on which I now base my love of a quintessential wonderfully bad flick.

1) There must be an identifiable female lead in turmoil. In VOTD it could be all of these characters. Jennifer, the hot bitch with "only a body" and no talent. Anne, the good girl who falls into stardom and love with the wrong man. Helen Lawson, the old star who's still fighting to stay a star. And the BEST of all Neely O'Hara. She is the scrappy go-getter. She's got the talent and the drive but she just can't get by without that damn booze and dope. I heart Neely.

2) There must be loud ridiculous costumes and/or sets. Luckily for VOTD it was the mid 60's and Travilla did the gowns. GOOD GOD! They are so beaded and bright and fabulous. Travilla had done many trademark gowns for Marilyn Monroe, Jane Russell and Elizabeth Taylor. But these were like Travilla on psychedelics! Maddening!



3) There must be scandal! The more the merrier! VOTD is chock full of scandal! Now this is the point in which I'd like to recommend the book. If you have not read it, well you are a fool. Every library has it, I think at one point it out sold the Bible. So find it and pour over it's juicy narrative. Flick wise, the movie is fine on it's own. Separate it from the film. You really need to think of it as an entirely different entity. The film includes infidelity, disease, abortion, drug addiction, porn (ze art films?) ugh and so much more! You have to remember that this was made very much so in a time where these things were only discussed in the smarmy underbelly of film. So kind of ahead of it's time.


4) Lastly, it has to have every person on the film making the worst possible decision through out every frame. Valley of the Dolls is a wonderfully bad film for a myriad of magical reasons that all come together. The director seems more focused on the look rather than the actors. The actors seem to be trying to out chew one another on a buffet of scenery. The music is hilarious. The things that should have been cut out of the film and are oddly over looked (pay special attention to Patty Dukes boobs in the scene where she sings on a telethon.) It all culminates into movie magic!

I have only found a few other flicks that have met this criteria:
Showgirls, Total Recall, Black Book,(Paul Verhoeven is the patron saint of big budget camp!) Glitter, Peyton Place, and some Douglas Sirk flicks. They are rare gems to be treasured.
However, everyday I yearn for something similar. I'm forever chasing Neely. Looking for the next flick to appease my heart and fill the void that Valley has so thoroughly created.

Originally published in Come On Flick Me 1/2/11

Well it's St. Patrick's Day! I've got my Kelly Green dress on, some corned beef slow cooking on the stove and a great big ring of Irish Soda Bread waiting to be devoured. Today I'm going to share with you my recipes for a delish St. Patrick's Day dinner!

  Slow Cooked Corned Beef 

- One 2 -3 pound corned beef with seasoning packet
 - 4 cups of water
 - 1 pint of Guiness
 - 1/8 cup of peppercorns
 - 1 tablespoon of sea salt
 - 1 tablespoon of parsley
 optional 1/4 cup of garlic powder
 optional 1/4 chopped onion

 1) In a large pot place corned beef fat side down. Fill with water and Guiness then add seasoning packet and spices.
 2) Bring contents to a boil, the turn down to simmer. Check once an hour and stir. The longer it cooks the more tender it will get. I simmer for about 4 - 6 hours. I actually throw red potatoes in during the last 45 minutes of cooking for a yummy side dish.
 3) Place meat on carving board or platter and let it rest for about 10 minutes. Then slice and enjoy!

Irish Soda Bread

 Irish Soda Bread
 - 4 cups flour
 - 3/4 cups white sugar (or 1/2 c. Splenda)
 - 1 teaspoon salt
 - 2 teaspoons baking powder
 - 1 teaspoon baking soda
 - 1/2 cup margerine, melted
 - 1 cup raisins
 - 1 1/2 cups buttermilk at room temperature
 - 3 eggs at room temperature

 1) Preheat oven to 350 degrees and grease a 9 inch cake pan or bundt pan. You can make this in a ring, a loaf or like a round bread. Whisk together buttermilk and eggs until frothy and set aside.
 2) Combine dry ingredients and stir. Slowly add in melted butter and buttermilk mixture. Stir until thick and dough like. Pour dough into greased pan.
 3) Bake until bread has risen and is a nice golden brown color. You should be able to put a knife through the center and it come out clean. Let it cool for 10 minutes then remove from pan onto wire wrack to cool for another 30 minutes.