Writing my first official blog entry as, ahem, “Lady Geisha,” all I can say is, “Como estas, babydolls!” (Scream-laughing optional.) “Memoirs of a Geisha-in-the-Making” is my twisted tale of how this GEISHA-MANIA!™ craziness came to be — AKA, my back story. (Which is not, BTW, just about glitz, glam, and that secret touch to make him man.)
It’s more like a big, fat, juicy gift to all the underdogs and cray-dream believers out there who never took their shot, put themselves on the line, or allowed fate to prove they “could’ve been the proverbial contender.” Hell, I STILL don’t know … and maybe never will. (Hopefully, you’ll all be ever-so-kind, download the damn song, and maybe, just maybe, buy a t-shirt. Or ten?)
I definitely know I stepped well out of my comfort zone and gave myself permission to try something new — while adding“recording artist” to my repertoire in the interim (still hard to grasp even though I hate being pigeon-holed). I’m the first to admit I’m NOT a singer in the traditional sense of the word. No news there. But does one actually have to “sing” to top the proverbial charts? Just sayin’.
For someone who considers herself a successful “career chameleon,” I totally recommend this reinventing life concept. I’ve gone from creating art/design, greeting cards, and costume jewelry to writing for a major studio/entertainment conglomerate. But this is the very first time I’ve ever felt so raw, so exposed — and it’s not often semi-jaded adults get to play newborn. (Keyword: PLAY. Isn’t it strange how we forget that it’s fun?)
Lying around my white-girl geisha lair conceiving GEISHA-MANIA! was one thing, but cross-dressing geishas, sushi bikinis, and my very own “Flava Flav”-style sugar daddy took tight little topknots beyond a “Gaga-goes-Gangnam” level. Not to mention our own original dance moves that’ll trollop Psy’s horse steps. (Yes, I said sushi bikinis, but you’ll just have to watch the video — no spoilers here.) Oh, and don’t forget the kimono-clad Chihuahuas. Six of’em, totally to die for, and I’m just getting warmed up.
Yes, I was up, down, and all over Santee Alley trying to bring this project to fruition. It surpassed labor-of-love status and I now enjoy the sleeping disorder to prove it. But has that (or the many, MANY disapproving eyes) stopped me? Ummmm, nope. I’m from the Bronx bitches — we defined having “elephant skin.” And for those who couldn’t guess, my motto throughout this journey has been “F*CK THAT NOISE.” (A modern-day, albeit very un-geisha like, twist on “Illegitimi non carborundum.” Take note: I thrive on proving people wrong.)
Let’s not get crazy, there were plenty of tears. Everyone involved cried at some point. Giving birth was easier … but I’d repeat every single second in a heartbeat. It’s been a frightening, frustrating, FABULOUS experience, thanks to the amazing support of my family, friends, cast and crew. (You ALL know who you are. Hugs.)
Here’s my take on writing/recording a song, conceiving/producing a music video, creating an original dance, garnering media attention (hopefully lots), and potentially beginning a mid-life career as a “recording artist” – sometimes with lengthy explanation, often without. Sometimes I might just say “Duh” and leave it up to your own imagination. Either way, these are my memoirs an’ I can say what I want.
And there you have it. Please join my adventures, laugh, well up, or click back to Candy Crush Saga if you must. Whatever. Just remember, it’s a blog, not the Great American Novel. So if I mess up, get a grip. It’s entertainment — not brain surgery. xoxo
