Introduction

Welcome to the other side of the canvas wall, where few have been fortunate enough to gain access to. This is one woman’s perspective of the American Circus culture, which has been a part of my life since I was a child. There were a lot of things that interested me about the carnival that magically appeared every May outside the windows of my Catholic grade school. It was amazing to me that people lived in these mobile trailers, which allowed them to go any place they wanted to, bringing along with them this unique form of entertainment.

While early exposure to live circus performance is hard to remember, I do know that I was not very fond of the clowns, mostly due to the fact they made some loud noises which were not friendly to sensitive ears. However, there was always a fascination that filled me when I watched people do amazing things. It is difficult to pinpoint the exact moment I wanted to be one of these people, but there was definitely a yearning to know what it was like. Not so much because I felt the need to be the center of attention, but more so due to the fact that what they did seemed magical, and the audience loved them for it.

My imagintion certainly became even more interesting when I discovered strange things on the midway of a carnival my parents brought me to. At the time, I had no idea what sideshow was, or that there was such a thing as a gaffe. The vivid illustrations certainly caught one’s attention and got the imagination stirring. Natural curiosity wanted to know exactly what was on the inside of these strange metal trailers. Some of them were more rewarding than others, but in the end, satisfaction was found.

The years passed and eventually I found my way to Coney Island, where I saw my first real sideshow, and marked the beginning of a new obsession. There was a constant craving for knowledge of history and any information I could find about this magical place. Part of me could take that step back in time, and know what it was like to see thousands of incandescent bulbs burning through the darkness. An electric Eden that many saw instead of the welcoming torch held high by the Statue of Liberty. Imagination was easily sparked, and truly I felt a connection to the Island.

All of this has helped shape me into the person I am today, along with countless adventures and experiences that some people only dream about. There were moments when I wondered how I had become so fortunate as to walk in the footsteps of those I once admired. In many ways, I feel as though I have carried on the traditions of American Circus, which I feel is important to preserve as much as possible, particularly now that we have become a digital-obsessed society. Everything needs to be instant gratification, and then quickly move on to the next thrill, as though there is an addiction.

The contents of this blog are purely meant to document the events that have occurred over the course of my life to serve as education for anyone interested enough to read this. From my time spent traveling with an authentic 10-in-1 sideshow and late night exploits on the Island to living in the city that gave birth to American Circus and joining the ranks of sword swallowers world wide. Some opinions may not be suitable for all audiences, but I have always stayed true to myself and believe in the ability of free speech.

With that said, please enjoy this assorted collection and appreciate the rare opportunity presented here.

 

Drunkapalooza ’05: Day Five

[Originally written on this date in 2005]

For the past two months I had been looking forward to seeing the King of Surf Guitar at Asbury Lanes.  It’s no secret that I love surf music and consider it to be one of my favorite genres, and I have been a fan since I was thirteen when introduced to Dick Dale through Pulp Fiction.  At that oh-so impressionable age, I saw excessive violence and drug use backed by the most amazing music I had ever heard.   The title track had struck a chord within me that wanted more, and I remember listening to the soundtrack on repeat until discovering the artists on-line.  When the opportunity came to see the man who provided that opening song I knew I could not miss it and bought a ticket three weeks in advance fearing the show would sell out.  It was going to be in a South Jersey bowling alley after all.

The afternoon was spent dying my hair, and though I just had it done a few weeks ago, I saw some photos from a recent performance and did not like the way it looked as much as I thought.  At first the difference between the colors was obvious, but they have faded with time and went a bit murky – I was not keen on what the re-dying process would entail.  Instead I sectioned out my hair, dying half of it black and the other half red [there are six 'stripes' total] and instantly felt it suited me much better.  Plus my ‘hawk will look pretty cool when I put it up.

For the occasion that evening I installed matching weft which cascaded like a mane and I laughed at the thought of being a punk rock pony.  Which may have led to leaning back so the hair tickled my shoulders as I imagined my real hair being that long.  After a few giggles, I applied my makeup: shades of green and purple shadow; thick black cat eye; blue mascara; dewy cheeks and glossed lips.  Dressed in a black lace skirt, red silk blouse, platform vinyl Mary Janes and added red roses to my hair.  Wearing flowers when I go out or perform has become sort of a trademark and some day I hope to have a huge collection of them.

The drive was a  total blur, but that might have been on account I was thinking of all the times I had gone to Asbury with Jon, and how our last adventure there ended in an accident.  Incident is more appropriate.  Upon arrival I sat in my car and drank the Sambuca/vanilla coke concotion I mixed earlier, where the alcohol overwhelmed the soda yet was still quickly consumed.

Outside the lanes were some a-fucking-mazing hot rods I figured belonged to members of a local car club.  It was rare to see one on the road, but to have that gorgeous collection of machines right in front of me took my breath away.  Spent a moment checking them out, waiting for the commentary on where a part of a particular rat rod came from, but there was only the dull noises coming from the lanes and maybe the distant roar of the ocean that filled the night air beside me.

Inside was packed with many people, but that was to be expected.  Somehow I grabbed a spot on the right side of the stage where I had a clear view of Dick Dale wailing on his guitar.  The show itself does not lend itself to description.  There is something incredible beautiful about songs driven by a stringed instrument that can sing like angles, rthymic drums humming along with low bass as a vision forms inside the mind.  These notes tell a story, though whether it is filled with love, adventure, chaos or sadness is left to be interpreted by the listener.  Many hours have been spent assaulting my mind with this music, and even though I suddenly felt incredibly drunk, I was having the best time.

Somehow I managed to record about a minute of guitar-playing that was saved so I could share it with James, though the quality is questionable since I have not listened to it yet.

The show was over and I felt like it went by too fast, but that tends to happen when you are having fun.  Feeling a little too drunk to attempt driving, I walked down to the beach where I did some star-gazing and drew hearts in the sand.  Summer would be coming soon and my heart was dreaming of traveling highways in search of adventure, taking a break from what has been my life  thus far and really making an effort to establish a concrete relationship with Jon.  Why do all my thoughts wind up going back to him?

There are many reasons that I have documented over time, so I already know that answer.

Driving back in the darkness, I wanted to have the courage to go a different route.  Instead of returning to the house I was a stranger in, I would have the familiar warmth of my best friend and the comforting aromas that were carried on his skin.  Together we rode into the sunset and dared not to look back; always ahead to what the future held.

Since Jon’s whereabouts was presently a mystery, I took the proper exit and came back anyway.

Drunkapalooza ’05: Day Four

[Originally written on this date in 2005]

That time of year has come again, when carnivals pop up in local lots and the children pester their parents until they agree to spend loads of cash on junk food and rides that will spin ‘em sick.  Of course there are circuses as well: Ringling Bros has two shows that tour venues across the country while Big Apple takes it to the next step by pitching a tent.  Going to either of these events has always seemed as normal as driving down to the shore every summer.  My memories of being a young child at the circus are vague at best, but the instinct that drew me to this culture in the first place only grows stronger.

This time around it was the Cole Bros and while I have read quite a bit about them, I have yet to see them until now.  As I was driving up the field hosting the show, the familiar sight of a giant red and yellow striped tent put a smile on my face.  The circus in all of its star-spangled glory had come to southern New Jersey and I was bursting with excitement.

My foot was still a little sore, or perhaps that is the excuse I needed to chug a mixture of vodka and that vanilla coke, the contents disappearing quickly as I wanted to get a good seat.  Dined on hotdogs and popcorn as the show began, scanning the faces in the crows around me as anticipation was satisfied with the entrance music struck up by the live circus band.  Every act was spectacular even if it was mostly traditional stuff like high wire and horseback riding; no matter what it takes a lot of practice to flawlessly perform those acts, and I have an enormous amount of admiration and respect for those who do so with great showmanship.  The most death-defying stunt was the motorcycle on the high wire, where a woman in a sparkling costume sat on a fixed bar as the bike rode up and down the tiny wire.  When it turned upside-down, I was cheering just as loudly as everyone else.

Trapeze is still my favorite act, and part of me would love to give it a try at least once.  Perhaps I have watched the movie of the same name one too many times, but it helped me understand why tradition is so important in circus.  That afternoon I watched a fifteen year-old boy fly through the air and pull off a triple, so clean it nearly brought me to tears, and I wondered if anyone else realized how difficult the feat was.

When the show had ended and people were filing out of the tent, I had the opportunity to talk with the ringmaster and probably gushed about circus history while he listened politely.  Then we were in a discussion about sideshow, and he actually knew a fair bit of history of Cole Bros having a sideshow.  To me it is incredibly important for the ringmaster to be a liaison between the public and the circus, being able to answer a variety of questions with the utmost patience while staying in character.  Being able to talk history with someone like that was a great experience and I left the tent in a fantastic mood.

Somehow I navigated myself to a diner where I had a cup of coffee and piece of pie, knowing that after the last performance the circus would have to disassemble the marvelous world they created, pack it into a truck and haul it to the next place they would be setting up.  Jon often spoke of what this process was like and that everyone had to work in harmony to get it done as efficiently as possible.  There were times where one was taking the tent down at night in one town and putting it back up the next morning in a completely different one, where everything needed to be in place by show time that same day.  To an untrained eye the scene would be chaos, but the way he described it made it seem as though actions are guided by instinct and no one has to question what goes where.  How someone even learns that is mind-boggling, and to do it what some would view as a stressful situation makes the accomplishment that much more impressive.

Before leaving I sat in my car and was overwhelmed by too many thoughts, pausing while my head swam with emotions.  All I could think of was how at that moment I wanted sell everything that I did not need or had no sentimental value and practice for hours every day until Jon came back.    When he did we would reconnect as always and then leave the Garden State for a tour of the country, hitting diners, motels, roadside attractions and any other kitschy distractions we encountered, racking up miles and photos and stories.

If not today, than tomorrow.  If not tomorrow, than next week.

Drunkapalooza ’05: Day Three

Earlier this month I found out that Monster Mania Con 3 would be happening in Cherry Hill.  It is a major horror convention that draws hundreds of people where you can meet goregeous celebrities and cult icons while browsing collectibles and other merchandise.  How fortunate that it coincided with Drunkapalooza.  Since I had other things planned for two of the other days, I decided to go on Friday.

Well, when I was checking the website I saw that Dee Snyder, Mister Strangeland himself would be there for a midnight screening of the film along with Robert Englund.  They would be doing a big of a lecture prior to the movie and then a bit of banter afterwards as well as being available for autographs.  Usually I do not really get excited about meet-and-greets since I am no crazed fan or anything like that, but I was in the mood to try something new.

A bottle of Sambuca and vanilla coke were my provisions for the evening, perhaps a nod to the major nostalgia I was feeling and the fact that my partner in crime was missing in action.  He would loved to have been there to shake hands with the man who created Captain Howdy and made people uncomfortable by showing forced body modification procedures.

Driving to Cherry Hill seemed to take a lot longer than it used to, but I may have been caught up in emotions and whatnot prior to departure.  In any event, by the time I arrived the convention itself was pretty much over.  Vendors were beginning to pack away their wares but there was a line already forming where people waited for the chance to meet Dee.

While browsing what booths were left, I happened to run into the guy who hosts Karaoke Sideshow and inevitably had a chat about what had happened the previous evening.  He was very blunt when he said that the glass walking routine would no longer be performed at the venue, though I doubt it is solely due to the request of the Rail’s owner.  He babbled on about having seen other people get hurt performing the act and said something about how the risk of injury was not worth it for that crowd or some other bullshit.

Though I understand that gore is not the intent with the show, shit happens and you move on from it.  On the bright side, now I can say I have an act that has been officially banned by a venue and that’s got to count for something.  It may sound rude but I tuned him out as I tried not to be self-conscious about any scars that may have been visible.  You damn fools have no idea the amount of risks I have taken, the cuts and bruises I had,  the blood I spilled while keeping a smile on my face.  Everything in sideshow comes with some degree of risk involved – if I failed to understand that or did not already accept the consequence years ago, I would not even be performing.

Anyway, the encounter left a sour taste in my mouth and and Strangeland was not going to be playing for at least another hour, so I went out to the car.  For the third night in a row I drank, though the decision was fueled by anger and frustration, furiously wishing I had a way to get in touch with Jon.  Instead I started doing shots of Sambuca and forgetting all about the vanilla coke.  Hey, my foot needed a drink.  The licorice flavor got too intense and I finally took a swig of the soda, hoping the scowl had vanished from my face.

Returned to the convention and was in a good mood so I paid the extra money to stand on line with the other autograph seekers.  It was worth hearing Dee say “Those are seriously stretched” in reference to my lobes as he shook my hand. It was worth the extra bucks to actually shake the hand of the mastermind behind that great film.  After he finished signing the photo he asked what I had sticking out of my purse, and at that point I gave him one of my business cars while explaining I was a local sideshow performer.  He mentioned having just finished working with a troupe but was always looking to do more, though who knows if anything will come of it.

The encounter left me smiling and I followed signs to the auditorium where they were showing Strangeland.  Pre-film commentary was provided by Robert and Dee; there was hinting at a possible sequel in the future and other hilarious moments.  Even though I have seen the movie quite a few times in the past, for some reason it was fun being around a bunch of strangers yet all being able to enjoy the same thing.

My plan to make the Sambuca last for the rest of the weekend was scrapped when I returned to the house and grumbled to myself about how my foot needed to be drunker.

Drunkapalooza ’05: Day Two

[Originally written on this date in 2005]

Tonight was the first time something went wrong with a sideshow act in public.  While I do not discuss my Outlaw Cirkus performances, there were times when injuries were acquired though whether that was on purpose or not is a mystery.  Despite outlandish claims, I am human made of flesh and blood, skin and bone; I am not impervious to pain but I pretend to be as that is what helps people understand the acts I perform carry an inherent risk.

Sometimes I have to laugh at the fact I willingly walk, jump and lay in broken glass when it was a big bad evil as a child if encountered on the beach.  Memory dictates my sister cut her foot on a piece that had been lurking in the sand; there were tears and red stuff gushing out of her foot.  The point being no matter how gullible rubes are, glass is sharp – the more your test its boundaries, the likely you are to find out how deep it can cut.

Earlier in the evening I was relaxing before heading off to the Rail, drinking the remaining watermelon flavored Smirnoff’s.  My daily meal was had earlier than usual which resulted in catching a buzz a lot quicker than I thought I would, but I did not want to consume any alcohol while I was at the venue.  A few too many slivers of glass in the feet convinced me it was a bad idea, not to mention it started to feel unprofessional since I did not want to give people the idea I needed to get liquored up before performing.

When I arrived at the Rail I was pleased to see the audience’s participation in that evening’s pajama theme.  Where else would you see people in their bedroom attire sitting in a bar waiting for sideshow entertainment other than in New Jersey?  Reasons why I love being a lifelong resident of this state just keep on growing.

Inside there were plenty of people complimenting my new hair, so that boosted my confidence a lot and filled me with plenty of adrenaline in anticipation of Electric Sideshow’s set.  It was all going incredibly well, particularly during the Human Drinking Straw routine when Windex was used as a substitute for the usual jar of skulls ‘n blood.  Following that with the Condom Floss and not having to struggle getting it through got a great reception.  Some guy in the audience actually requested to keep it, and off course I was happy to oblige.

Then came the glass routine: introduction went smoothly and we thoroughly convinced the audience how deadly the shards were; microphone was placed next to the pile as I slowly shifted my weight onto it, ever pop and crack amplified.  This is enough for the crowd to applaud but they have no idea of who much I am capable of.  Restraining myself, I feign hesitation and jump in the glass – they want me to do it again.  This time when I come down into the pile, I have a small pain in my right foot.  As mentioned, in the past I have had small pieces cling to the bottom of my foot that maybe create the tiniest drop of blood no one sees me wipe away.

Well, when I got off the glass and looked down, I realized I had a large shard sticking out of my foot!  Or should I say it was in my foot.

The act is cut short and I walk away from the stage to find a place to sit down.  My partner comes over to pull the piece out and the blood started to flow.  Not sure why he chose to do that, I was more concerned with the small puddle forming and then someone has a white shirt to clean up the floor.  Someone else is shoving paper towels into my hands, I look at them like ‘what do you want me to do?’, and finally I am escorted to a chair where the cut is examined.  Though it is a bit deep, the bleeding has stopped and I get a band-aid to put on it.

The ultimate compliment was paid to me at that point: “Out of all the sideshow acts here, yours always makes me cringe.“

Yea, that’s my job.

For the remainder of my time at the Rail, people kept complimenting me on even having the guts to perform the routine in the first place.  It seems that while they were aware of my blood loss, they also understood it was part of the risk and the fact I was willing to put myself through that somehow earned their gratitude.

When I got back to the house I needed to be alone and went for a walk despite my foot being sore.  Too many thoughts about things I did once upon a time without ever worrying whether it was dangerous or not.  Then the car accident.  Now this.  We are not invincible yet want to be perceived that way when defying logic by shoving nails in our noses, swords down our throats and needles through our flesh.  It is a strange position to be in, especially to make the choice to do these things to yourself.

All I know is that I had wanted Jon to come pushing through the audience to tend to my not so serious wound, treating me to water ice and much ribbing afterwards so I didn’t get hung up on things that didn’t matter.  Kind of like what I am doing right now.

Shit happens, that’s what Jon would say.  You can’t enter into this lifestyle under the delusion it will play out the way it does in books or movies; it’s real, dirty and gritty to the end yet there is something you still love about it.  Maybe I just want to hear the soothing twang of his voice as he chuckles and assures me everything will be alright.

Drunkapalooza ’05: Day One

[Originally written on this date in 2005]

For once I do not really much to say, and though I have been busy it feels as though something is off.  To be honest it has to do with Jon and how his behavior shifted following the accident we were in a few weeks ago.  For someone who used to willingly risk their life, it is unsettling to see him so shaken and I wind up feeling helpless on account I am unsure of what to do.

Getting the money from my settlement has led me to formulate an absurd plan I hope to execute quite soon, and perhaps that will change my mood.  While I am not in a bad one per say, I want to be moving in a different direction.  Almost eight months have passed and a certain something is still lacking at the moment, and it is time I actually do something about it.

Last week I decided to change my hair color again as the black was becoming boring and I was struck with an idea as I  was playing around with my ‘hawk.  At the beauty supply store I purchased some Wella in ash blonde, natural blonde [three shades lighter than my natural color] and this lovely violet-based red.  When I returned to the house, I stripped the black out of my hair leaving it a nice deep gold shade.  Have to say that stripping hair is much different from bleaching it, as I was not left with annoying orange tones.

The next day I traveled up to E-town to dye my sister’s hair in exchange for having her help me with mine.  A slight interjection, if I may.  Being up there in the old ‘hood was a bit weird.  Though I do not really have any feelings towards the Asshole, passing by the place I used to live gave me chills.  The fact I still dream about him does not help, but I have no control over those and ignore them the best I can.

Commenced dying of hair; hers was easy since all I had to do was mix the dye,  apply it to the hair and wait.  Of course mine had to be more difficult, though that was due to having three colors.  Had to mix each dye, make sections and then carefully apply the dye.  The pattern I laid out started at the front with the natural blonde, followed by the red, ash blonde, black [I couldn't resist keeping just a little bit], ash, red and blonde again; the sidelocks were just bleached again.

Since I had no idea how the dyes would take over the stripped hair or if the roots would blend, I must say that the end result is quite pleasing, particularly the sidelocks which are light blonde fading to a gold tone.  Now all I have to do is be patient and wait for my hair to grow, and by Autumn the multiple colors should be more prominent.

For some reason, I came up with the idea it would be fun to see how many days in a row I could get drunk.  Apparently imbibing alcohol is the way I deal with overwhelming thoughts and emotions, which I have been experiencing a lot lately.  There was a restaurant having a grand opening up the street so I decided to check it out since I did not have to go far.  Of course the place was absolutely packed when I arrived with standing room only at the bar and a half hour wait for a table.  Since I was in the mood to try out one of their advertised margaritas I did not mind waiting at first.  However, after forty-five minutes had passed and the bartenders shot off cap guns I had my fill of people and decided to leave.

Wound up at a quiet diner instead where I had chicken fajitas and spent half my time staring out the window as though I was expecting Jon to show up at any minute.  Every day it gets warmer all I can think about is how much I looked forward to Summer on account it meant I would be performing with Outlaw Cirkus and going on adventures with my best friend.  Perhaps that is what has motivated me to see how much booze I can feed my body until it cries for me to stop.

Following a filling dessert, I walked from the diner to a liquor store and got there right before closing.  Which meant that I actually had to purchases the case of Watermelon flavored Smirnoff [malt liquor], as I was curious of how it would taste.  Okay, I also wanted to prepare myself for the heavier drinking I had planned for the weekend and was trying my best to save money.  Then again, having someone send me funds a few weeks ago to use as I wished helped me to not feel too bad about spending some.

The six-pack accompanied me to a wooded area of a local park where I spent the rest of the evening drinking and writing.

Garden State Diners

[Originally written on this date in 2005]

My mission for the day was to locate a thrift shop as I could use a few new garments since things that used to fit are now baggy and there are some items I have had for far too long which could be replaced.  When I was in grade school the other kids made fun of me on Tag Day – that was when we all paid a dollar to not wear our uniforms for a day, part of the joy of having attended a Catholic school.  Anyway, they had wealthy parents who bought them name brand clothes while my sister and I got ours from a thrift shop in a church basement.

There irony is that people are doing it now to save money or to be trendy or whatever, but I never had any shame in shopping there.  As much as I enjoyed frivolously spending cash in NYC at places like Trash and Vaudeville or Religious Sex, I also figured out that stuffing a bag full of clothes for a sawbuck and being able to wear them to more places than just the club was a wise investment.  Besides, the quality has seriously declined so if I can get something they sell at the GAP for a third of the price, I know it will last me for a while.

If I want to customize something to suit my tastes more, it’s not that difficult and in the end will cost less than buying mass-produced shit that a hundred other people are going to have.  Then again, I suppose that sense of pride which comes along with going the DIY route has always been a motivating factor in such decisions.  On one hand I get the point of buying quality, but when you can’t afford that you make due with what you have and sometimes you decorate it with studs, paint or lace.

Anyway, earlier today I was rolling down 130 South and passed the usual plethora of useless shopping complexes, sleazy motels [ah, did that bring back memories] and a few diners.  Sensing that I would not be coming across any thrift shops down there [except for that one, but it was long closed], I stopped at the beautiful USA Diner instead.  It’s kind of awesome how I have come across more chrome diners in the past nine months than I discovered all of last year.  No complaints here though, as I am constantly coming in contact with beautiful structures that are a true representation of Americana, and there is just something about them I greatly adore.  There is definitely a list of diners I want to visit that I have encountered during my many travels of New Jersey’s highways, but I seem to get distracted and forget the mission I started a few years ago.

There are around 600 diners in the Garden State, though I am willing to bet that less than half of them are chrome and that’s a shame.  Yes, it is personal preference but I find nothing appealing or attractive about a cement cube that dares to call itself a diner.  They are usually full of tacky, outdated decor that is far from kitschy and might make you a big queasy, the waitresses are slow and in my experience, the food is pretty terrible.  Meanwhile, every chrome joint I have been to put a smile on my face, good grub in my belly and has a special place in my memory.

At the USA Diner, style oozed inside and out to the point that even the bathrooms had chrome in them.  Sitting alone was weird, but I ordered myself a massive garden salad with grilled chicken.  It might be difficult for some people to imagine something that seems so simple could be incredibly delicious, the freshness of the vegetables melding with the warm chicken and creamy dressing.  Then again it was the only thing I had to eat all day and still I could not finish the whole plate, which is rare when I am hungry.

On the drive back I thought about all of the times Jon and I had sat in vinyl booths sharing conversation over plates filled with food, something many other people did and yet every moment we spent together was special.  Even though it felt selfish, I wished that no matter where he was or what he was doing, somehow he would know I was thinking of him.  Not in the usual way either, but more of an earnest desire that he was aware of how much I appreciated everything he was to me.  Where would I be without him?  What kind of person would I be?  Would I even be writing this?

While I am certainly an individual pursuing their own evolution, it is also undeniable that I draw my inspiration from a number of sources and he just happens to be an integral part of who I am today.  Without him I am a ship lost at sea, tossed among angry waves while seeking land but never finding it.  Perhaps that is a bit melodramatic, but there is already a weight on my heart that will not lift until he returns yet I have to continue with life as usual.

Pinup Couture: Harlequin Print Top

Modeled after the Pinup Couture dress of the same name, the Lauren Top is similar in structure to the Doris Top, as this fantastic separate is made from stretch sateen designed to be form-fitting.  The neckline here is more of an understated ‘V’, where the collar and cuffs on the 3/4 sleeves can be worn up or down.  Contemporary refinement meets retro charm in a High Waisted Peplum Pencil Skirt, where the tailoring is meant to show off curves while the flirty flair of peplum gives the garment movement.  Suitors are sure to follow you anywhere you go when strutting in Iron Fist’s Little Lamby pumps, the bright coral decked out in white polka dots [some of which are skulls] while a chain t-strap stretches from the spiked ankle strap to the studded bow above the toes.  While ideal for any occasion, the Gingham Studded Picnic Bag, where sturdy black handles connected to ‘D’ rings ensure you can fill it with all of your favorite goodies, giving you the ability to tote it anywhere and not having to worry about it getting worn out.  The black skull and silver studs also happen to coordinate nicely with the shoes, and you can continue the picnic theme by wearing Picnic Basket Earrings, hand crafted out of fine pewter to resemble a loaded basket.  One of those items might be fresh fruit, which you can display in cute charm form on this Watermelon Necklace, which has been hand made in Punky Pin Studios to ensure durability.  Bring a touch of citrus freshness with an Orange Fruit Bracelet, where gold plated links connect clusters of Czech pressed glass oranges, leaves, round beads and flowers.

Turning to innovators of bold, daring cosmetics, Illamasqua offers a Skin Base Foundation that takes inspiration from Asian Beauty Balms which is suitable for all skin types, smoothing, softening and conditioning it while providing natural coverage that is undetectable even in professional HD equipment.  Contrast all of the red in this outfit by reaching for Fledgling and covering your eyelid in its vivid green goodness, blending slightly up into the crease, then sweep on the soft sorbet yellow green of Pivot, continuing to blend the two colors for an ombre effect.  Once the shadow is set, take Fiesty and punch in hot coral red accents on the inner and outer corners of the eye.  Augment cheeks using Lover, a soft apricot powder blush that has a matte finish yet still has the power to illuminate your face, and boost the power of your pout with iridescent baby pink sheer gloss that will Electrify your look.  Complete the tangy tangent through a sleek manicure, painting nails bright coral pink and not having to Lament about the finish product wearing away since the polish is chip resistant no matter where you are dining.