Pondering habits.
I'm completely a creature of habit.
I have horrible web hosting. They never respond to my concerns. They instead send my ambiguous emails, 'we're sorry the servers will be up soon.' Or they encourage me to call them. I do and they have an automated message that tells me they have 'a high volume' of calls and they ask I call back later and they cut me off. It's funny how I write "they"-when there is no they-it's all automated.
I'm finally ditching them. I'm not sure the money I paid them will ever see me again. I feel like I was used. I wonder if there is a support group for women who are abandoned by their web host. Any takers? Heh, maybe not.
Yesterday I shot myself in the foot. There's a lady in my class who asked for help & I opened my trap and offered it before I thought about what I'm about to do. She seems like a nice person, but I suspect she has a lingering idea that she will win the Pulitzer Prize. This is great, but I tend to stray away from people who've never done something before and intend to win the lottery in that area. So, I'll be editing her book. I'm hoping this teaches me something. Maybe I'll come away and I'll not be such an asshole in the future. Then again, 'leopards don't change their spots.'
I've also been trying to change some other habits. Spending has gotten me nowhere. I can't figure out why with several raises in the last year I still don't have a remarkable rainy day fund.
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The site may be down in a week or two-or before. I'm switching hosts and will have some darling people installing new software. This place may also get a facelift-so watch out!
More about love.
"Love, like truth and beauty, is concrete. Love is not fundamentally a sweet feeling; not, at heart, a matter of sentiment, attachment, or being "drawn toward." Love is active, effective, a matter of making reciprocal and mutually beneficial relation with one's friends and enemies. Love creates righteousness, or justice, here on earth. To make love is to make justice. As advocates and activists for justice know, loving involves struggle, resistance, risk. People working today on behalf of women, blacks, lesbians and gay men, the aging, the poor in this country and elsewhere know that making justice is not a warm, fuzzy experience. I think also that sexual lovers and good friends know that the most compelling relationships demand hard work, patience, and a willingness to endure tensions and anxiety in creating mutually empowering bonds.
For this reason loving involves commitment. We are not automatic lovers of self, others, world, or God. Love does not just happen. We are not love machines, puppets on the strings of a deity called "love." Love is a choice -not simply, or necessarily, a rational choice, but rather a willingness to be present to others without pretense or guile. Love is a conversion to humanity - a willingness to participate with others in the healing of a broken world and broken lives. Love is the choice to experience life as a member of the human family, a partner in the dance of life, rather than as an alien in the world or as a deity above the world, aloof and apart from human flesh."
Passion for Justice by: Carter Heyward
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With the commercial holiday around the bend I dug this up. I'm not particularly a feminist not because I don't understand the issues but because I am not of the same clay. I think the line that speaks to me is:
"Love is a choice -not simply, or necessarily, a rational choice, but rather a willingness to be present to others without pretense or guile." This one has taken me a long time to come to terms with. One night last week I spent recalling a relationship I was in a while ago. Though the man is gone from my life there are days when I recount all the things that transpired and think, 'boy am I ever glad I was not crazy enough to stay a moment longer'. I contributed to the madness, but it still makes my head spin to think about it.
This year I think I finally understand what it means to
be present to others without pretense or guile. I think for the first time in my life I live with someone who knows my every little secret and has not once taken the opportunity to belittle me for anything.
Though I feel compelled to report every smell and outline every superb moment wrapped in his conversation; I'd rather keep it all to myself. I'd be silly not to admit that it has taken work. We did not fall into some magical love hole that erased every imperfection and made us untainted versions of ourselves. Instead we are learning each day how to be better partners. For me it's learning to listen when I feel like screaming. To lay the nagging down and pull out some down time. To stop pretending I am not my mother's child or that I am disciplined. Through it all I feel:
We have grown into something beautiful. I can not imagine for one moment raising my cat with anyone else.
My dear Valentine, for you--I wish another year filled with moments of calm, additional maps and an endless supply of pizza.
(Now Super J-we need to talk about the
beagle business. To beagle or not to beagle-that is the question.)
Like I said before.
I have been promising pictures for some time now. I started several times but I couldn't find the enough momentum to look though all the cd's and find things I wanted to share. Finally I rounded up a few that I like:
This one is one of my favorites. It was taken by Sam Minkler. The girl is Sam's granddaughter. Her name is Carmen. I spent alot of time with her during the shoot. She told me all about the dentist. (I never got why kid's blow out their cheeks. I'm sure I did it when I was her age.)
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Photo taken by
Ed Little Jr.I think Ed is the photographer I would hire to photograph every important moment in my life if I had the money (& I could convince Julie). I think when I publish my 3 page book called,
Bo the Great I will call him to come shoot me.
This photo looks much better
big.
Another one by Ed. I cropped it because I liked the lack of expression in this one. (Notice the similarities in the two.) I think this is how I look at home when I'm sitting at my sewing machine or watching the tube.
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This one, man this one is one I still can't get over. I asked that he shoot me in a way that made me look 'womanly'. I got exactly what I asked for, but in my ignorance I wasn't ready for what I got; some of them were superb. The photographer is
Ed Flores.
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This one is more recent. The sole gentlemen in the picture is
Michael Horse. The image is a bit grainy for my taste-but hey at least I got one. I look surprisingly short in this shot. Lime green outfits can be purchased from
Navajo Spirit.
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"The true way to render ourselves happy is to love our work and find in it our pleasure."--Francoise de Motteville
rant & rave #42.
I've been stalking
Maroon 5. I've even gone as far as recording Late Night with Conan O'Brien. Right, it's those
15-year-old feelings all over again. Soon I'll have a poster with Adam Levine in his underwear draping over my closet door. If you saw the show you'd know that the boy can't dance, but that hasn't upset my syndrome over the band.
Speaking of premature love, I'm in love with my writing class. For once I'm in a class with no goal except to have a good time. There is no scholarship office looming over my head or prospect of homelessness if I don't do well. To my utter delight I spent time discussing my characters. My scene has characters! I thought, "
who are these people" and "
why have I not taken a class before?" Of course, I could be a bit premature and in two weeks I'll be ranting about some bad feedback. But...
This weekend was my last hoorah; my last modeling
event. No matter how much I tried in the month leading up to the event I couldn't charge myself up. Moments before the event I finally felt excited. The event turned out well. The fashion show was on Saturday & much to my surprise I was not the fat model. Not that anyone was fat but I couldn't stomach a day in the presence of women who can't be bothered to eat food. Fortunately I didn't have to worry about that. They were all superb, well almost.
There was of course one jack ass in the bunch. I think it would be too much to ask that you get a bunch of pretty girls together and assume they'd all behave. To my credit I have enough tact not to post pictures of her or name her outright. But if she ever reads this let me just say, Retire Your Fucking Ass already. You make us look bad, no one wants to see another has been parading her tractor trailer onstage. Right. And the next time you want to bring your 'designer' friend over make sure she doesn't offend everyone by saying, "I don't think anyone will fit my clothes they are all size 2's." (At this point my size 8 nearly 6 foot body wanted to MOO like no other.) Size two my ass, if I need to use a safety pins to HOLD UP a not finished skirt--it's NOT a size 2. 2x maybe, but not size 2.
Regardless, I has a wonderful time. Nothing like pretending to be in someone else's skin to make the day fly by.
Even though I had a good time I found myself in another self critical mode. At one point a high school model was watching me put my make-up on. She seemed enthralled by the whole process. All I could think is,
"I hope she isn't idealizing me-this is not something I want people to remember me by." Seriously, that's not the legacy I want to leave. I'd rather be remembered as being a good counselor and getting someone sober; thereby supporting my decision to leave this nonsense in the sand.
Sunday was not my cup of tea. Some kid grabbed me during the auction. It was disgusting. I expected at any moment to be grabbed, duck taped and shoved in a trunk. He instead settled for shadowing me and smiling like he was hurting and I was a nice rock he could smoke up. The kid was about 15 or 16 but that wouldn't have stopped me from taking out at least an eye with my heel. Further proof that I would attract a serial killer if I ever met one.
I think my new tagline should be: Dannabug.com home of the retired Navajo/Jemez model who officially attempted to offend yet another human being.
"
And all I wanted was the simple things, a simple kind of life..."
-No Doubt.
update.
I have a story to tell you. But not right now.
In other news, I saw a guy I used to know in high school. He doesn't look anything like I remember him. And his voice has normalized, it no longer booms. Which is too bad, because it was neat having a boomer in the class.
Also all my jams from school are now playing on the old station. Holy hell, I truly am old. Consider this-I went out dancing last night and again one of my jams was rocking in the
old person room. Mind you I am morbidly against 40 something year old people grooving to my jams. More on that later.
The pretend gardener.
Today I finally got around to planting my tulip bulbs. I bought them last October and was waiting a month or two to plant them. Somehow they got misplaced and forgotten.
I'm sure by now that it's too late; but I planted them anyway because they're only good for one season & I'm secretly an optimist. After planting them I moved another pot to make room. I noticed an earthworm came rolling out. I can't tell you how happy I was to see that worm. I ran inside and told Super J.
"there's a worm!" He smiled his familiar smile and said, "cool baby..." I was quite proud.
I feel like I personally created my own little system where a worm happily lives.
And for a minute there I was sad because I don't have a plot of land here to plant & all my plants live in crowded little pots. (I blame the pots when they die-but I'm sure it's just me.)
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In two days I'm throwing a baby shower for one of my old co-workers, I should call her my friend, but that's a big title reserved for those who've seen me cry. I'm trying not to blow it out of proportion and spend more than I should because I'm doing it alone. It started with about 12 or 13 people talking about it and thinking about it. She's supposed to have the baby any day now, so I finally hammered down a date and place, now no one will help with the cake or decorations. I'm not sure why people do that. It always bothers me when people volunteer and bail out at the last moment or find random things to do when they've already commited to something. So far one person has given me three dollars. I stared at the three dollars and thought, "what the hell am I supposed to buy with three dollars?" But I kept my yap shut because I was happy she at least pitched in. Now if I could shake down the rest of the bunch...
Sheepishly
I was just thinking to myself,
boy it sure is quite in here that's awesome the cat is finally chilling out. Then I remembered the cat is OUTSIDE. And I bet she is playing with that homeless orange toddler cat that I can't catch. However, I did leave food out for it.
This is another one of those, "damn it I'm turning into my mom." Her house was the local stray hotel. I swear almost every time I go home there is a new dog, cat, duck, or bird. You'd think that by now she'd have enrolled herself in the local veterinary course.
I don't think I can remember a single season in my life living with my mom when she wasn't trying to rescue something. If one of our dumb dogs managed to catch a bird she'd shoo the dog off and bring the injured bird inside. So we'd have this little thing with a broken wing chirping around sitting in the window sill. This always minorly irked my dad. He couldn't believe that my mom had brought in another mouth to feed. He's always joke that he'd 'kick a field goal' with our cat. He never did it; but he liked getting a rise out of us. We'd all run to our pets and hug them and tell them their mean grandpa was lying and jealous.
What's ironic is we never did this for sheep. We weren't even allowed to name this because we knew we'd end up eating them. I found this cruel and unusual. But that's another story for another time.
Grown like a tree on crack.
I've been meaning to celebrate the fact that I've let go of my stupid ways. There are not pictures of me on the net scoping for modeling jobs. I was never really good at keeping my big mouth shut. More often than not I butted heads with people & had to walk away and tell myself repeatedly, "
this isn't worth it you're too fucking smart for this crap anyway."
And you know what? I don't miss jack shit. I don't miss designers asking me to model for them and having them scuffing at me when I ask to be compensated for my time. I used to have a shit list two miles long of all the photographers, fellow models and designers who owe me photos and time; however I walked away with more than I left-so I'm golden.
Not that I regret it. I made some wonderful friends. I learned some profound things about myself. I will always be a tom boy. I will always love my people and I will always have something to say about injustice. However, there is no place for these things in Native Entertainment; nor is there any place in it for me.
And I feel good. I feel strong. I still have one more event to do. I agreed to do before I made my final decision to let it all go. I just hope I do a good job & don't enrage anyone with my ambivalence about it's importance (in my life).
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In other news, I'm supposed to be doing my homework for my class right now. Except I can't get started. I can't seem to find my center, the one that allows me the freedom to say what I want. I don't want to tell total strangers about my childhood. I know it sounds insane because I do it here all the time, but it's 2 degrees removed from me. There is a distinct difference between words spoken and words written. With spoken words you only get one chance to make them sound right. When you speak there are only a few moments between the silence after the words have left your mouth and the time someone responds; the terror lives in that two seconds.
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Recently I had a dream about this man I used to date. However date doesn't quite convey what happened between us. I feel compelled to report he was the first man that I ever contemplated
foreverness with. The dreams was simple. We are talking. We are normal, we are friends, we lack the complication that we have in real life. Don't get me wrong; I don't miss him. I don't regret for one moment that I left his backward-cap wearing ass in the gravel. That night we both in a moment knew (for what was probably the 16th time) that we were not supposed to be together.
I think if I ever wrote a book about failure I would dedicate it to him. And that's the simple truth. We both knew in the span of two hours that whatever it was that pulled us together wasn't strong enough to hold two pennies together. And for once I didn't cry. For once I didn't think that I had failed, but in fact did the best thing I could have.
And the dreams? I'm not sure about them. We aren't friends; nor will we ever be. The way I feel can best be explained by something he once said to me, "j
ust imagine when we get really old, I'll be at the store and I'll see your granddaughter across the room & just KNOW that she belongs to you..."
I am certain in 60 plus years if I saw his grandson, I too would KNOW that he belonged to him, & my heart would smile. Maybe the dream was a reminder of that.
