Preparations for 2010

Melissa, Brooklyn

Cleaning my car, I shed my 2010 home of years of dirt. Lost memories of cigarette butts, change, broken cd's, ex-boyfriend's business cards, love letters and pens. I save the pens and change. Store away the love letter. Taking everything from my car into my little room here at my grandparent's, I seperate storage from travel luggage. Necessities. Ex-lovers t-shirts from cameras. I notice that everything I own has a memory attached. Inadvertently or directly coming from someone else. I'm trying desperately to shed myself of other people, to rid myself of as many attachments as possible.

Hair spray left at my place by a girl who treated me like shit, a reminder that most girls, they don't see other girls as "wing-men" like guys do, they see them as competition. A burden, though a necessity. Tattoo-goo given by an old roommate who abandoned me, harshly but perhaps fairly. Clothes from the best friend I ever had, who grew tired of my problems and disappeared from my life, sticking with me long after she should have. Movie stubs from movies with could-be boyfriends. Echoes of heartache and arguments spurred by a boot, one missing, given to me by my first boyfriend.

And it goes on and on and on.

But I save a few little pieces of paper, I hoard my journals, I tuck pictures away. Memories.

I left the dozens of parking stubs on my dashboard to remember why I left Syracuse, of partying too much and trying too hard. The dried up flowers that have been there for years, I leave them there, too. They're from Nell, they have a story, too, but they remind me of her. Of my own romanticism, of her quietness. They remind me of femininity and gentleness. And empty promises. And my failure at being a good friend.

Sorting through clothes is the hardest part. I've always been one to know that clothing is the first way to express yourself. Your image. What to keep? aka: Who am I? A leather high-wasted skirt makes it into my suitcase next to long Gunne Sax dresses. My summer clothes, I'm more interested in. Sheer flowing tops, summer dresses and flouncy skirts. Lace. But I have beautiful winter dresses, as well.

Though I have no heals anymore, which is a pain.

Lately I've just been putting on the layers and forgetting the style part, all I care about is being warm and comfortable and not really thinking about what Outfit I'm going to put together. Besides, I'm sick of all my clothes.

Just eight hours to go until this horrible year is over.

Saturday morning, I start my life the way I've dreamed it for years: On the Road.

May sound tacky as fuck, but you know you wish you were doing it, too.

Santa didn't forget me

He brought me a Tom-Tom GPS!! oh how that'll make my life so much easier! No need to use my phone.. which wasn't the easiest, especially in traffic! Cause, you know, it doesn't talk to me, or redirect if I miss a turn... doesn't do the points of interest thing (Food! Gas! CAMPING!!). So I'm pretty stoked about it.

Above is a photo from a couple years ago, when Jaime and I lived together and shot every day. Have I mentioned he's talking about making a book out of a bunch of pictures we did together? I think that's pretty neat.

I miss being a muse. :(

Which I've been for two photographers, now. Striving to be an inspiring model, and self-successful wardrobe/hair and makeup person. Something different all the time. For someone who doesn't expect anything from me but fun and collaboration and great pictures. A friendship and a great working photographer/model relationship.

And love.

I love love.

From Port Huron to Albuquerque

I just spent the last couple hours planning out my trip across country.. Only got from my grandparents to Albuquerque, but that's over three days of driving non-stop, and of course I plan on stopping. I don't know why I bothered to plan it all out on Google maps and even print out the 12 pages of directions. I have an iphone and I know I wont stick to the route. Maybe I will, mostly. I feel better having printed out where I'm going. I mean, what if I have no signal on my phone? Not that I care, I'll just keep going west.... Which was what I wanted to do anyway, just get in my car and chase down the sunset day after day, not really knowing where I was going or caring. But, hey, I guess things go better if you plan. Or so I'm led to believe. Not that any of my plans ever go through, though. Which also makes me want to throw out these print-outs. I really just want to not worry about a thing and just go... But I do want to do modeling on the way so I guess I do need to know where I'll be! I'm such a last minute kind of person, a whimsical kinda gal. I thrive on stress and chaos. I'm at my best when I throw my hands up and say fuck it! THIS WAY!

Move on instinct and desire...

My Mom Is Better Than Yours

Alright alright, so I don't totally hate winter. Snow is pretty, and it's nice to appreciate the warm weather. And I'm from upstate NY so I feel pride in man-ing the snowy roads in my Oldsmobile. hah!

And while I hate Christmas, it's mostly because I always feel friendless and lonely and I never can afford presents for anyone and, shit, I always get very little for Christmas.

However, yesterday I got a package from my Mom, which was really sweet. It says "Do not open until Christmas" and "Merry Christmas, Sweety!" along with a card that has a note "I miss you" with a crying sad face, which made me cry, cause I really think my mom is the best in the entire world.

She brought me up with some very sound advice, such as:

"Find a job you LOVE, not just one that will make you money."

"Women's rights really screwed us"

"Love's not everything"

and much more, including (when I got older), "Merry rich" (which I always got mad about but now it doesn't sound like a bad idea) and "it's not the dick, it's how he uses it". Which was hilarious and somewhat embarrassing when she said it, but it stuck with me and it's so. true.

oh and, "The only way a person will change is if THEY want to."

etc.

She also brought me and my siblings up with an ever present sense of freedom and adventure. We often went on random mini road trips to see our older sister, five hours south of us. One day I came home in fourth grade to a sister who was supposed to be home sick helping my mother load a rented red van headed for Florida. They had me and my brother's clothes packed and we got right off the bus, changed out of our school outfits and were off! She just really needed the sunshine beaches, and right now, so do I.

Here I come Florida!

I can't wait to take pictures the whole way, of being in my car and seeing the land change from winter to summer. Spring time is when I took the picture above, and spring time is my favorite season, and I always have done the majority of my traveling in that time. Those first couple weeks of finally putting the windows down in the middle of the day cause it's just warm enough, the sun melting snow, breaking out shorts prematurely- amazing.

The mud is ugly as fuck, but damn, that spring sunshine is like air out of water!

tick tock tick tock.... !!

ps- Fuck You.

Lessons for the day:

-If you can't beat em, join em. Or at least pretend.

-If you want to win the game, you must recognize the rules.

-Always dress the fucking way you want, Meagan. Who cares where you're going or what you're doing. Just because everyone else looks all perfectly pretty, doesn't mean you have to. After all, that's just SO not you. Get with it.

-In party pictures, the proper way to pose is side-wise, hand on your hip and a nice big smile! Remember: Tuns of makeup when photographers are looming about constantly is a GOOD thing. Being too drunk, pissed off and spitting Red Bull is BAD. (Although I've decided to go with my original plan of wearing dark fuck-you makeup and glaring at the camera, instead...)


Have I mentioned I HATE rules?

Michigan's not that bad...

Every time I read your words I cry. I fight back angry and regretful tears. I fight back my closing throat and burning eyes, blinking through that mysterious emotion-filled water. I take a breath and tell myself everything happens for a reason, everything will be fine. I will be fine, he will be fine, everyone will be fine. And hopefully one day I'll be happy again, too.

That's something I realized in my last little photo extravaganza... that I am sad.

After shooting with Dan Lippitt for the better part of Saturday, we were looking through the images and all I saw was this saddness that I didn't know was there. I was so shocked to see these sad pictures of me when I hadn't felt sad at all!

There was this one time, over a year ago, that I had some fucking issues on my way to a art-nude shoot with another model. I was freaking. Near hysterics driving from Brooklyn to Hoboken. I ramble off to the girl about the fight my boyfriend-at-the-time and I had. You know those sorts of tears, the ones where they just fall big and fat like you're 4 years old and just got disneyland taken away from you? Yeah those kind. I couldn't stop, I was so upset. We got there and I got myself under control and thought I could just use my heart wrenching pain as ammo, you know? Like eat that, fucker, look at this awesome picture of me being so sad and you made it happen.

It totally backfired because the photographer had his own plans that had nothing to do with my pain. Which I couldn't understand. If a pretty girl showed up to shoot with me and was like, "I'm really upset but I want to shoot." I'd be stoked and base everything around her heartache.

I don't know, I think he was afraid of my unabashed crocodile tears.

And yeah, now I think I can cry on cue, if anyone's interested. Makes me want to take a stab at acting... I associate being able to cry infront of people in some sort of character role to be the hardest part of acting.

But for now I'm stuck right here. My car is at the shop because it broke down last week. Of course. Better a couple miles away rather than a couple hundred miles away. What if I had decided to drive to Chicago a few days before? What if I hadn't gone out that night and was out in Pontiac? Blah, could have been a lot worse.

I guess that's what happens when you have a car for seven years and never wash it and drive it excessively and can't afford to properly keep up with it. Hopefully now it'll be ready for my escape. I'm starting to already feel trapped here. Often I get this feeling/image of me draped in a cloth or net, that's heavy and tangling, and I can't panic or I'll just get more trapped... but I want to twitch and scream and claw.


on a side ending note, I'd like to say that meeting the beautiful girls I did in the last few days really made me feel homely. That and my shaved head causes girls to treat me like a lesbian. But in a good way. I think girls like girls who like girls. Whether they like girls or not. So sometimes I act like a boy.

Run Meagan Run

I finally get a two hour shift for sure today. Woohoo! At least it's something, and the paid nude work is slowly appearing, which is great. (edit: just as I posted this, I got a call from my boss saying that they were over scheduled for the day and didn't need me to come in. dammit.)

That little voice that says, "get the fuck out of here.. get the fuck out..." is nagging.

I've been accused many times of, "running away". From arguments, problems, etc. But you know what, I'm alright with that. If I walk away (which I often do) it's because the argument isn't worth it to me. Often the only arguments I stick around to continue are the ones with my sister, and I think that's just because they're so old and frustrating that I'm tethered there, unable to turn away. Though she's accused me of walking away, too.

Once again, I'm not so against it. I don't know if I am mentally walking away from my problems though, I feel like I'm not. I carry them with me, I just don't like arguing (unless it's for sexually aggressive reasons, that, however, is for another post). I am often in the wrong and while I used to have a really big problem apologizing, I've gotten pretty good at it in the last couple years. Which I think is good.. good to recognize when you are wrong, and good to bring it to the person's attention who you wronged that you're accepting your fault. I don't like bad blood between me and others. It makes me uncomfortable. Years later, I'm still uncomfortable about a couple people who I have unresolved issues with.

Run away, Meagan, run run run. Run away from your past, run away from your mistakes, start over, run away from your own broken heart and those you've broken, run away from judgments both right and wrong, run away from those who know where your scars came from.

I love that I'm hitting the road soon. Every day is counted...

Live Laugh Love

I've had a headache for days, and I don't know why. I'm terrified that it's my wisdom teeth coming in, really really terrified. The idea of having to deal with this before I begin my adventure is very real and very serious. I have no idea how far that would set me back on my travels, and have half a mind to pretend it's not happening- a big part of me would rather deal with whatever happens in my mouth rather than hang around longer, sitting on my hands and waiting for the snow to freeze me indoors.

I know, I know, it would be stupid to ignore the needs of my dental, especially after having had taken care of them so well up until now. Fuck US health insurance bullshit, it makes me so mad. The idea that I could be set back thousands of dollars because of fucking wisdom teeth is very frustrating.



***

On another note, I've been obsessively thinking about my past relationships and the hugely obvious common denominator: my destruction of them.

Every time I have something good with a guy, I destroy it. Whether it's slow or quick, either way I destroy it. Just fucking blow it out of the water. Why? I don't really know. I think maybe I get frustrated that it's not all I want so maybe I'm wasting my time, or that I shouldn't be treated well so I should split, or I think it's all a facade - that so and so doesn't actually like me, they're secretly embarrassed of my nutty behavior and their friends all talk about me behind my back. And, in a couple instances - I get convinced I like them more and they'll never like me as much as I like them so I better fucking ditch asap because I'm obviously not cool enough, pretty enough or good enough, in general.

I have a real hang up about not being cool enough, pretty enough, good enough at anything or everything. I obsessively look read people, I obsessively want everyone to like me while at the same time screaming, "Fuck you, I don't give a fuck!" Later I look at pictures I've taken of people and see the hate in the girl's eyes, the judgment in both sexes.

A friend of mine suggested making a book: "Girls who hate me" or some such thing, cause I swear, I have a lot of hot pictures of girls who DO hate me. I can see it in their eyes, and it's so unappealing, confusing and disturbing. Then there is that one or two frames where they let their guard down and bing-bing-bing we have a winner!

I swear, the range of reactions my personality gets out of people is all across the board. I guess it depends on my mood. Some people just see completely different Meagans.. depending on how they act and how I feel that day. I'm a moody sonofabitch.

None the less, another friend of mine pointed out that I am not going to change, and shouldn't care about changing. And I completely agree. I've come to the conclusion that I've spent so much of my time trying to be something better, that I've lost track of just being me. I always preach about being whoever you are and fuck anyone who doesn't like it, but I don't think I live it, not truly. Not that I'll ever stop trying to be the best I can, cause I think that's part of the whole journey I'm going on.

Just live laugh love.
Enjoy the ride, you know?
The ones that matter'll come together.

Fuckin hippy.

Just a Pen and a Camera

It's infuriating to me to think that the more I try, the less I get. This seems unbearably tried and true and it seems ridiculously unfair. But the truth of the matter is, no one likes the look of desperation, in any form. People want to see that you're maybe somewhat interested, definitely doing your own thing and uncaring about judgments of other people. Which is bullshit, because everyone cares what others think, to some degree or another. No one likes being alone.

At the moment: I'm pissed off.

I'm pissed off because I've been looking through party pictures from Syracuse and I can see on these people's faces the lack of interest or respect for me. I'm pissed because I can't hang on to the people I care about. Because I had a dream about the one pseudo enemy I have emailing me some sort of nice truce. Pissed about having to stay in one spot, pissed about not having a lover.. just fucking pissed in general. Pissed at ex's for being ex's, pissed at Apollo for being beautiful and careless, pissed at a handful of women who are bitches to me for no good reason, pissed at shitty actors, photographers, models and authors who get paid retarded amounts of money for being pieces of shit. Pissed that the world revolves around who you know, not what you can do. Perseverance only goes so far as dedication to shoving your work in the right peoples faces until they're tired of telling you to go away.

Why I'm pissed off, example 1:

The other day, I had an older man come up to me and just rip into me for no good reason. I was sitting at a cafe, trying to write (in my blog, in my journal, just anything really) and he drunkenly comes up to me, pointing out that I've sat behind my computer for a couple hours and asks me what I'm doing. Here I thought he would be happy to see a young person trying to be creative and what-have-you and I smile big and say the easiest answer, "I'm blogging". Which, to me, is simple. A blog is an online journal where anyone can write whatever the fuck they want.

He decides to rip into me for about twenty minutes about how my blog must be shit, must have no worth or substance because I've done no research on anything, never having read the classics, and that just because people read it doesn't mean it has value, it just means that morons are following it.

Excuse me?

After explaining to him that I was currently reading Catch-22 and Wuthering Hights, his attitude changed completely. I drilled back into him about how "an Intellectual" would not put words in another's mouth and surely wouldn't assume intelligence, pointing out that he hadn't even taken a breath to ask me what books I liked or what my thoughts on blogging in general were.

huff.

Not saying that my blog has any substance but I write it for myself. Sure, I want others to read it, and I'd love to think that people enjoy what I am writing, but ultimately it doesn't matter to me. I have secret blogs that I write in that no one knows about. I have paper journals and I write letters that sometimes get sent but mostly they get stored away.

Same thing with my pictures. They're for me. My memories. My life. Feel free to enjoy them, but don't bother judging it's content. I'm just a girl with a pen and a camera. Nothing more.

The truth is, is that I know I have a handful of readers, and I studder over what to say. I do care, and I am afraid of judgment.

Meet Apollo

I remember when I first saw him and I know he remembers it too, perhaps better from how I tell it than from his own point of view, even.

I was with my friend Holly. We always dressed up in some fabulous outfits and we always stood out ridiculously because no one dressed up like we did. It was a Saturday and we held a ritual of drinking wine after work, sure to be the best dressed and oh-so-proud of it (she being a stylist and a vintage clothing hoarder). I wore heals that made me tower at over six foot- mostly a challenge to boys, maybe a desperate call to find someone like Him. Tall. Beautiful. And Beautiful and Tall is exactly what I saw when I walked into the bar that night.

He wore that plaid shirt everyone's seen him in a million times. Black hair, scruffy face, green eyes and the smile to totally knock me over. Perfect. God-like.

Meagan, meet Apollo.

"Holly!" A frantic whisper, barely taking my eyes off of him as he disappeared into the smoking room. I asked her if she'd seen that tall dark retardedly-handsome man, though I can't remember her answer and I don't think I was too concerned with the response. I told her I was going to take my drink and go smoke another cigarette, even though I'd just finished one. Who fucking cared, I couldn't wait to be near him.

I don't think I could have been so bold had I not had a couple drinks before we got there- just enough to give me the liquid courage to saunter up to him and I knew I looked good- long legs, hot black dress (whatever it was, I don't remember except it was black), thick black eye-makeup like I now know he loves.

I eyed you and did I think I asked for a light. I believe I did. Mostly I remember your smile as I told you that you were the hottest man I'd ever seen (still true), taking a drag I rambled the way I do when I get excited in that hyper way, "I'm just going to stand right here next to you if you don't mind and look at you while I smoke this here cigarette," Taking a breath and a drag at the same time- two birds with one stone, "I saw you from across the bar and I just had to come out here and talk to you, my panties are just bursting!" and a leak of giggles slipping out (nerves, I'm sure, and who says that?!).

I look back and wonder what is it I was actually thinking? Was I drunk? Was I that confident that a man like him a) would be single and b) would be interested in me and my model stats? Damn, my ego. Damn my ego swelling outfit!

But good Lord, that smile again! So delighted by my showering of adoration, he laughed and turned to the girl standing next to him and introduced her as his girlfriend. I hadn't even noticed her before then, not even an inkling of an idea that she existed at all. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that she was at least a foot shorter than me- us. Maybe it was the tattoos that so un-femininely covered her arms and chest (the staple of Syracuse girls). But she gave me a smile that could shatter most evil-eyes, bright red lipstick stretching across a sweet but knowing face. As if she was used to him hitting on girls in front of her, though with the bite of an actual threat this time.

I tried very hard to be nonchalant about it. I tried hitting on her a bit. Complementing her on her.. shoes or something. I think my Apollo watched me, still happy with my strong attempts and perhaps enjoying my not-so-well blanketed discomfort. I remember him saying, "It's okay." But by that point there's no other option but to leave.

I dismissed myself with a blush and a smile, him standing there, slouching to one side, his head cocked a little further- his whole body tilted on an angle, grinning at me, assessing me.

Most girls would call his unshaven face, long hair and cocky smile "scumbag". And while I can't really disagree, he was still the most beautiful man I'd ever seen in my life...

Freedom of Thought, Freedom of Expression

I've been giving my blog a lot of thought. Well, actually, I always give my blog a lot of thought. Today I realized I've maintained an online journal for eight years. Eight years. Long time, I think. And I look back to my first posts on my first journal and it's terribly embarrassing. In fact, I've been working on copying those entries into appleworks and DELETING THEM FOREVER. But, really, I'm not so embarrassed about my 16 year old self. The girl who ached over her lonely heart, who jumped to conclusions, who sought out curious information on occult topics, who said stupid immature things constantly. Just a couple of friends, totally naive. Not much has changed except the naive part.

But it's served it's purpose. I can go back to journals from when I was eight years old and find out what I was interested in. Back then I spelled terribly and wrote simple sentences like, "to day wus melody and me berthday. we ternd 9."

Again. Not much has changed. ;)

But I also recognize my desire to tell more of a story, rather than just purely expose my general feelings on life. But I fear judgments from those I care about. Perhaps someone gets their feelings hurt. Perhaps someone wont realize that there are multiple sides to a story, even your own.

I tend to look at a situation from multiple angles. A simple one being that of a love-hate relationship. You love someone for this reason, hate them for that reason. But can you really love and hate someone at the same time? I don't think so, but it is a way to express yourself. So, it's easy to say you can tell the story from the love side or the hate side, and yet neither would be completely true without the other.

Hence, I suppose, memoirs are based on truth.

Here on out I plan on sharing stories. They will be based on truth, shaped around my feelings- which often change reality. Names will be replaced. So don't believe anything you read here. Things change, people change, feelings change. I may drive you away or drive you toward. Here goes...

Movie Review: New Moon

1) I'm going to become an actor. If they can do it, I sure as fuck can.

2) You'd think entertainment budgets would be able to supply us with more. Particularly with this plot line. It was fucking terrible. I felt like the movie would never end...

3) Dakota Fanning, you stole it. Thankyou for saving me from certain death with your five minutes and two lines on the screen. (She'll turn SIXTEEN this February, can you believe it? And she looks so timeless as the evil Jane... I look forward to seeing her in the next Twilight movie, and hoping to see her as more evil characters in the future! We don't get to see many child actors maintain the screen, but she could play some serious rolls in her teens, and I hope she does.)

4) I don't believe Kristin Stewart has EVER had a kiss that's knocked her off her feet. You know the kind (for those who have read the books.. the kind that Bella and Edward are SUPPOSED to have), the breathless shivering mind numbing type. Instead they're groaning on screen so all us sudden 13 year olds can be squeamish. She almost got it with her depression and crying but once again, I doubt the girl has ever been truly heartbroken.


Overall, a disappointment. Not that I expected much.

Book Review: Eclipse

Maybe I should change the title from "Book Review" to "book Reflection". Seeing as all I have after this book is this: If I found someone I really loved and who really loved me and we thought we honestly were going to be together for the rest of our lives, I'd love to get married.

Now, I don't see myself as the marrying type. I see myself as the kinda woman who will drift around doing what I do and never settle anywhere or with anyone. Though not for lack of desire to do so, but because that's just how I believe it'll go. That and I don't have faith in people to be able to dedicate themselves to one person. I want to believe in soul mates and true love, but it's hard when I see so many broken families and divorce and cheating and.... you get the point.

But.. you never know.

Book Review: The Alchemist

If you want an easy read book that will inspire you to follow your dreams: this one is perfect. At first slow, and definately a fairly elementary read, it winds you with phrases like "Personal Legend", "Soul of the World" and "universal language" that by the end has you aching to do some inner searching to find your own path to your own treasure.

My treasure is calling me from California.

I, for one, believe that we all have a right path, one that will make us the happiest and most fufilled. I also believe that when you stray from this path, things start to go wrong until you find it again. I honestly believe that the Universe or God or whatever you wish to believe in, wants us to be satisfied, have love and be happy.

Book Review: New Moon

Honestly I have the same complaints I do about the first, though perhaps less so. It wasn't so bad this time, seeing as I didn't know what was going on because I haven't seen the movie first. Still slow and frustrating (particularly about her taking so long to figure out the warewolf part... I JUST watched the trailer for it and it's RIGHT in it... it take Bella HALF the book to finally figure it out...). Man up, Edward!! And what was all that about her heming and hawing about getting married? But she wants to be a vampire? yeah that makes no sense. Particularly when it's obvious that in these books, vampires take life-partners and get all suicidal when theirs die.

I think that's what kills me the most, though.

I want that kind of love that she feels and it makes me so depressed and anxious, so torn up and emotional. To think that there is that sort of love out there, that kind that is renching and heart splitting. Bed ridden heartache, mind numbing. How she explains holding herself together, physically - it just makes my heart ache.

My heart usually aches a lot, anyway.

While I'm sure most girls dream about it growing up, it's been an obsessive part of my thoughts for as long as I can remember. Wanting so badly that unconditional responsive love, from both sides. That one where you both KNOW that it's just meant to be, where your souls just meet and never want to part. It's the unquestionable driving force behind everything I do and the worst part is- I don't think I'll ever get it, and if I do, I believe it'll be fleeting. Or worse, one sided.

The terror I feel when I think of that sort of love is real, and has lead to many many tears for me.


eh, on to the next book.

I'm In Another Book!

Which you can pre-order here.

This contains pictures of the more risque nature - the ones I'm secretly terribly proud of but too shy to show off. They're the type your boyfriend might take. You know, Tits the center of attention, flash and running eye makeup. The butt-pop. I don't advertise these photos like I do the rest of them because I don't want GWC's thinking that I freely do this sort of work. First of all, Tony approached me in an extremely professional manner and immediately offered it as a paid shoot, no if ands or butts about it. Just my cup of tea. Plus I got there and he was cool as shit, talking about him and his wife's place upstate, showing me pictures of his re-decorated summer house. No pretenses, no expectations. Plus, he told me I reminded him greatly of Sasha Grey and, shit, if I was going to be compared to a porn star it better fuckin be her. I got naked in a park. Boys love that public nudity thing. It was right next to a free-way and I'm surprised I didn't cause an accident. Maybe NYC is just THAT desensitized. Even MY tits can't cause bumper lickins.

Apparently I'm all over the book. Even though there was never any food involved. There was an amazing sequence dress from Thriftwares.com which I wish I still had. Have you ever seen those disk sequence dresses? yeah it was one of those. Like quarter size. Shimmy-able, flapper-ish. Hot.

Anyway. I can see lake Michigan from the window here. It was sunny out, and pretty nice.. but the clouds rolled in. I like being able to see the beach from inside here. Pretty awesome if you ask me.

Tasks for today:
-Apply for a few jobs
-bring my Konica Auto-Reflex to the doctor (I'm fucking terrified they'll tell me they can't fix it and have been putting it off for over a year :( )
-Type a page on my typewriter
-Clean out my car and organize my room


Most likely I'll get caught back into New Moon sometime before and after I bring my camera to the shop.

Oh, did I mention I get a free copy of said book? Oh yeahhhhh
One day I'll be able to buy Sander's and Frank's.

Book Review: Twilight

In two days, I read this book Twilight. It's really fucking big and I pretty much spent all my time reading it. I'm a slow reader but I'm determined to read the whole series in record time. Which is a bit grueling, considering the story is terribly drawn out. One day at school, I swear, takes at least two chapters. I mean, by all means, stress to me the importance of Bella waiting for her Prince Charming to return from his week-long hissy fit that she smells so damn good, but does it really need to take up a third of the book?

I suppose I'm just irritated that good vampire books don't exist for adults without being romance or graphic novels or something. Is there such a thing as well written, well plotted fantasy books? Or is it all lost on adolescence? I remember reading on particularly good vampire book when I was younger, though I don't recall the name of it. It was not a series and it was not painfully drawn out.

And, for the record, I thought the movie fucking blew. Like really big time sucked. But I love vampires to no end and will read every vampire book I can get my hands on, no matter how grueling. Okay, I lied, I can't stomach forcing myself through Anne Rice and her gay boy fantasies and over descriptions (and, once again, DRAWN OUT).

I would also like to point out that by the end of Twilight, it's just like the movie- no meantion of some other warewolf boyfriend coming along. However, the cover of New Moon has a movie cover on it, with Miss Bella standing with some douchebag who is NOT Edward (who she apparently is MADLY in love with).

First of all, this is a terrible spoiler. Second of all, they go further to include a poster in the inside, with Bella being all slutty on Mr Warewolf and Edward looking all sad and pathetic.

This just makes me mad. The boy's been 17 for a hundred years and looses his human girlfriend to some harry moon beast and gets all pouty? Bitch'd be crying, not me, if I were him. piff!

Alright, off to read New Moon.

On last thing: I will read New Moon within the next couple days and then go watch the fucking movie. I will hate it and bitch about it for days after that, too. You know, while I read the NEXT book in the series. I bought that stupid Twilight movie and watched it like three times trying to convince myself it wasn't as bad as it was, but I'm telling you what - there's no saving that movie. Those kids can't act and the script was taken right from the book. I don't want to feel like I'm being read to in a movie, I was to experience it. They just did such a poor job on a movie that had so much more potential.

And the part that really boggles my mind: So many people love it!

I could understand kids liking it, but common. If you're out of High School, you should be able to tell the difference between a cute fantasy movie (How about The Lion The Witch and the Wardrobe? Or The Golden Compass?) and something that should have been THROWN AWAY before it hit the theaters.

I guess it just comes down to the fact that everyone's obsessed with these beautiful eternal demons.

I miss when different was actually different.
Eventually we're going to be reading books on devout Catholics.

Michigan

I've sat down at a computer many times and pulled up my blog wanting to say something, and continuously draw a blank. Being in Michigan is the first step to an adventure I've been mentally planning for years. This desire to drive around the country and do some soul searching and photographic work is overwhelming and just a breath away. I thought at first I'd be able to find paid modeling work to make this dream a reality, yet I have a very hard time hunting down photographers who pay. Money talk makes me uncomfortable, for sure, so asking to have them hand over a certain amount for the lending of my tits weirds me out. But I so desperately want to travel around the country and really SEE it... photograph it myself... do some road meditating. Whatever. I'm sad and frustrated and feel like I'm suffocating, buried alive, drowning! I just wish things would neatly fall into place so that I knew I was going the right way. Fuck this winter! I don't want anything to do with it. I want to write on my typerwriter every day and take pictures constantly. Model for beautiful images and make money so I can actually do this.

fuck. I'm craving salad.

What a stupid entry. More tomorrow... at least I posted something.

Pot Roast, again

photo by Frank Petronio

I get really tired with my lack of people to rely on, befriend, trust and hang out with.


You'd think making awesome home made pot roast would be incentive to get people to come chill with me, but I suppose that my crazy behavior is more damaging than I realize.

I try hard to learn from Melody's behavior, try to imitate her... to be more like her. She is fun and hyper and crazy. She's never angry, short tempered or rude. Sometimes crass, she always has grace in it.

Fuck... One day I'll get it.

Don't be a crazy cunt, Meagan.

New York; tick-tock!

A breathed name
The world pinpointed
spark.

go..

Mysterious

A couple days ago, I was called "mysterious".
I've always wanted to be mysterious,
and I say to him, "Mysterious!? But I wear myself on my smeared all over my sleeve!"
He replies, "That's why you're mysterious.. I guess the more you know, the less you think you do."


alright. I'll take it.

The Good Twin Visits

Our entire life everyone we know has labled Melody the Good Twin and me the Evil Twin. We both embrace our titles with pride, although I think we both would agree that we are equally Good and Evil, it just so happens that I'm more crass. Honestly, I think Melody hates more people than I do, I'm just mean about it when it does happen. I'm sort (hot) tempered. And then we really took to our said roles and she went blonde and me black. The ditz and the goth.

She came to visit last weekend and we had a great time. I made pot roast which came out amaaazing. Thanks to Mr Graham for taking me to that amazing little restraunt around the corner from his house in Park Slope (where is it?) which gave me the idea for the extra special gravy with nutmeg in it. (I'm a pretty good cook (if I do say so myself..), specializing in what I like to call "gormet comfort food.")

We partied hard. Pictures to follow soon.

Life in general is looking up.

I've adapted the idea of "NOT MAKING PLANS" for anything. I don't know why I started, I've always been a spontanious person. Embracing myself.

Though I miss this Meagan, in the below picture, who was fairly nieve and innocent. I hung onto it as long as I can... but I am becoming a woman. A closed, dark mess. Oh well.

At least I can cook and fuck. Though I haven't tried doing both at the same time, though it's come close. I mean, lets be serious... what more could men really ask for in a woman? ;)

READ LIZ'S AMAZING POETRY!

Liz, my roommate and new awesomeness in my life, is a great writer. I read this poem she wrote and cried. Enjoy.

Here is one that I love, titled,

"Untitled, Twice"

My heart and soul remain in deep conflict now
half of me desperate for stability, for
anything to count on ever.
Knowing full well that nothing
will ever be the same again.

Do you:
give in
straighten up
consolidate your debt
very low interest!
easy monthly installments!
Do you:
trade in your rust box and
sign a lease for Something Shiny?
Pay Your Bills When They Arrive.
Brush Your Teeth With Bleach.
Or do you:
GET OUT NOW.
pack your shit up for your landlord and
throw yourself to the curb.
leave your dog at your boyfriend's with
that spare key he gave you on her collar.

TAKE OFF.
hit the road running
head south and
start a fire without matches.
Build that bungalow with a sod floor and
sleep in hammocks wrapped in
the heavy scent of magnolia.
Roast persimmons with light bulbs
and smear that juice,
that red orange of liberation will just slide down your throat
Like You've Always Dreamed Of, and

no man will ever swing his cock at you
again.
Willl never make you suck your yeast infection
from his foreskin.
Will Never Hurt You.

You will sleep naked,
with no fear of violation.
There is a woods out there where
you can start over.


written by mis Lizzy Boness

Goal

Please let my passion for photography not be misplaced,
Please let me be as great as Ellen Von Unwerth...

Roaring Jeeps

Jeeps are taking over my life. And appropriately. Anyone with a fucking jeep is cool, I swear to god.

But that's really besides the point (other than the fact that four wheeling is absolutely amazingly fucking fun). The real point is that:

Tonight there's a meteor shower. Amazing!

I could not be more excited.
I'm setting an alarm for 4:15 and I pity those who are in big cities and are missing out on such adventurous marvels.

And of course, I'm bringing my awesome Rolleiflex.

eek!

Hot Mess

I've been cleaning all day. I should say, "cleaning". What I've really been doing is thinking about cleaning and actually not doing a lot of it. But I terribly enjoy having days like this. I've eaten wings and watched The Secretary and Pans Labyrinth, both of which I've watched like a trillion times and both I love love love. Like top five love. Others would be Children of Men, V for Vendetta and The Night Porter.

They all have two things in common: Rebellion and Love. God, now there's me in a nutshell. But they all are something different, too. Embracing yourself, dreaming, freedom, goodness, evil, justice, power, BDSM. Or maybe they all include all of those things. I dunno, what do you think?

If you've never seen one or all of these movies, I highly recommend them. Pan's Labyrinth is in Spanish, The Night Porter is in French. If you don't like movies with subtitles, get the fuck outa here, loser.

Anyway. Kitten cuddling (we named him Bowie, because I thought it was a girl, but alas, those are balls..) and laundry and dishes and general picking up. Putting away clothes

I have the most intense (mostly vintage) wardrobe. I have like twenty nightgowns. Hundreds of dresses. I have this obsession with being as womanly as I can in some ways. Night gowns, making breakfast, cleaning. I did my roommates laundry for her, and while some people argue that there are people who just do things in order to be nice, having no desire to get something back, I think that's bullshit. Because if nothing else, you're like me, and want love and approval. Often that's the only way I get a lot of cleaning and shit done.. I hold in my head my non existent lover's acceptance and approval of everything I'm doing for said non existent lover. I wash dishes, sweep, mop, do laundry, put away clothes, clean.. in love with them, for this person. It's like practice for when I finally get to have someone to rely on and love me. Dammit, I'm such a romantic. An angry spitting spiteful bitchy romantic.

Otherwise I'm a lazy shit.

That besides the point, I have like a million rolls of film I'm dying to develop. I have no idea what's even on them. Nakedness, sex, beauty, drunk, men, women, bars. My life in photos.

Which reminds me.. I thinki I might be the only one who desperately hates people looking through my binders of negatives. That's my life, it's like a journal. There is all sorts of shit in there I don't want people to see. Mistakes, private things, etc. It causes me terrible anxiety when someone starts flipping through one of these massive binders. It's like get the fuck off my shit maaan. It's caught me off guard before and I'm like "WHAT ARE YOU DOING!?" no no no, you can't do that.

And I wonder why everyone in my college didn't like me. I came off as such a bitch, but really I was REALLY into photography, unlike all of them. I live it, I breathe it. Everything is a potential picture and I've been collecting cameras since I was a child, for Christ sake.

So many people just pick up a camera and figure they can MAKE it. But it'd be like me picking up a paint brush and trying to become a famous painter when all I can draw is stick figures. I mean, I get it, it's easy, you push a button and the digital shit does everything for you. You fuck around a bit in photoshop. Easy peasy... NOT. Where's that angle, depth of field, intense look in her eye, good hair and clothes and makeup?

I tell people I take pictures (cause I'm uncomfortable calling myself a photographer.. or I say "I do photography") and they want to compair notes. I tell people I'm a model and they're impressed. I'm not a fucking model, I'm a hot photographer.

end of story.




bah, embrace the modelographer.

The Road To Success

I can't stop watching the Travel Channel. I can't stop wanting to meet and photograph locals everywhere, anywhere! I keep telling myself to start here, in Syracuse.. fucking armpit of new york state. Kill me now, I need adventure! How am I going to get out of here, how will I survive? My saving grace is my new friend Liz who is just as fucking crazy as I am and I fucking love her. She drinks, fucks, cuddles, randomizes, knows what she wants and is funny as shit. I laugh and am comfortable and MYSELF around her and it's glorious. I am lost and chaotic! And she is okay with it. Nice!

I feel like if I could take her, Shakti and Sarah with me on a long road trip, it would be pretty awesome. They are all intense and crazy.

I could talk to everyone and anyone and be on top of the world. What? I am on top of the world. I am under a rock, stuck and squirming but I'm on top of the fucking world. The world is my oyster? I'm a shark, I'm a ghost, a gold fish! I'll try anything once and let you watch me exploit myself. I'll be louder and crazier than you which will make you look awesome. This whirlwind will love you unquestionably, will bring fire, fight the biggest asshole. I'll cause second hand embarrassment and flash you to find glee in your awkwardness and arrousal. I'll apologize for being too drunk and angry and then do it again. I'll molest you and sleep alone. I'll pop birth control and be celibate. I'll fuck you AND your boyfriend. Girlfriend. Whatever. I am nonjudgmental except for snobs and then I might spit in your face and loose the fight that ensues. I'll laugh at myself. I'll kiss you and ditch you. I'll sit naked at a bar in the middle of the night in the middle of the week, sober. I'll get smashed and put my clothes back on. I am an attention whore. I am an exibitionest. I say things I don't mean. I am a gypsy. I am a photographer. I am honesty, a lover, contradicting, hypocritical, gay. I am fucked. I am your orgasm. I hate you. I don't care. I care. I am comfortable.

I'll make you breakfast in heals and panties, then chain smoke in front of your family.

Them chains, they're 'bout to drag me down..

So I got arrested.


Are you surprised?
(didn't think so)


I seem to have a run with shitty landlords. And then an even bigger sausage-head fat-ass short little Napoleon brunt who probably got kicked out of highschool football and decided to be the biggest asshole in his fraternity.

I mean, yeah, I'm talking about the cop the landlord brought on Saturday morning. The first of the month. I'm such an idiot for thinking casually. That last day means the line between 19 hours of locked up four wall freezing no-rights torture. Miranda rights are apparently optional..

"People should not be afraid of their governments, Governments should be afraid of their People."

Fuck, man. I'm starting to really believe that people are innately evil, whereas I've always believed the opposite. This whole thought of, "nice guys finish last" is terribly true, I'm realizing. HOWEVER that doesn't give you right to be a dick about it, letting it make you evil, too. Which, I suppose, goes against what I just said about innately evil.

It's a confusing thought that I've struggled with,
that linked to the idea of Nature vs Nurture
(which, I suppose, is the same).

I really think all of this (the hate against a group (any group)) is some American Dream mindset gone completely sour. Everyone's better than everyone else. Many people (most?) judge you upon meeting you. The worst of them are the chivalrous-less brainless power-by-force types that squash others on their scramble to be bigger and better than YOU. I keep saying it, but what happened to manners and a sense of community?



Don't ask me what happened, just listen to the grape vine.
I know you're all waiting for some juicy gossip.

I"M PART OF A REALLY AMAZING BOOK, MMKAY?!

So I've been sitting here smoking cigarettes and sipping on the same Stella for about two hours while catching up on my internet life and wondering why the fuck I'm still awake after busting my ass moving... when I decide to click the link on Sanders' Model Mayhem page to the url where you can buy his newly published book.

In the email he sent me he says "it's not cheep", so I'm driven to wonder how much it is... Well, I was expecting $100+ but it's *only* $70 and I'm sofuckingready to drop it as soon as I have it because it is, well, astounding. Every single picture does exactly what the title says it does: tell a whole sort of story in the simplest ways... naked. Each photo is a beautiful capture of pure personality. I was forced to look through page after page, from beginning to end, to see what was next, to see what Sanders got out of all these girls.

Insanity, I tell you!

How does one person shoot so many people and get them so in their own skin over and over??

It's terribly inspiring and I fucking need it.


Double Exposures: Essays in Portriature by Sanders McNew



And I'm absolutely terrified that I don't belong in this collection, yet there I am. The above photo you can find littering one of the pages of this killer book.


eeeeek!

Homeless

As of tomorrow I am sorrrtaaa kindaaaa homeless.
I mean, I always have my grandmother's and that IS where I hauled all my shit today.
Three car loads and a cargo van full.
Mostly all by myself.
And while this partly extremely frustrating.. It's also very empowering.
I packed, carried, lifted, struggled, sweat (a LOT)
Over and over and over and over
up stairs and down stairs and up and down and up and down..
I had help with the dressers and desk.
And by the end of it, I am exhausted.
And free.
I am fucking free.
Free free free FUCKING FREE!!

I have no home, no money, my car is falling apart, my computer is not far behind, my baby kitty Pan disappeared ( ;( ), I chopped my hair, I got rid of half my shit(uhm, again..), I have no reliable friends, zero love interest, no sex drive, no plan, no fucking obligation or expectation!

So fuck you, too!


And I love you. :)

(but not you... and sorta you... definitely not you... maybe you... but you, you, you and you? yes.)


What?


stfu.

Random Facts 1-5

1. I believe in love at first sight, yet I'm jaded as fuck
2. I shower with the lights off
3. I have a traveling bug that is insatiable
4. I drive without music all the time, and I think my lack of music is what makes me more fucked up and sad
5. I make great breakfasts, which is my favorite meal of the day

Sand Filled Wings

"Ask and you shall receive."

Well, I've been doing a lot of asking for strength and help. To better myself, to put myself on the right track, to know the way, to find happiness.

Or at least peace of mind.

I have the ever present ticking itch to travel, to move, to run away, to find what I'm looking for (whatever that might be). Purpose, I want purpose. Life is too short to be sitting around on my hands waiting for something to happen. There has to be a reason I was born with this traveling bug, a reason why I love taking pictures and I love beauty, new places, interesting and fucked up people and environments.

Please, life, give me purpose...
Don't let me stay useless, dead, and half buried by my surroundings.


Step one: Drink less, save more.

Princess Weekend

My Mother always declared, "It's my Birthday week... You have to be super nice to me two days before and two days after!" I quite like this theory, and I stick by it. Like Mother like Daughter. (Scary!) So, it is two days before my birthday. Tonight, I work at Half Penny, a "hole in the wall" Irish style bar in down town Syracuse. Which I like working at a lot... Lots of interesting people. Mostly punks, goths, bikers and other degenerates. Perfect.

Unfortunately, I fear this birthday. I fear no one showing up- some solid decloration that I've gone so nuts that no one wants to celebrate with me. Scaring people away and burning bridges comes fairly naturally to me.. and while I love to declare I Don't Care, I really do, and it's quite annoying, actually.

But Holly and Rachael and Pete will be there. They are my best friends, and I cannot have a bad time with any of them, let alone all together!

Quality over Quantity, Meagan. Plow ahead!

Good BYYYE twenty-two. I like odd numbers better, anyway.

Men.

I've been prying myself from days in my bed and alternately denying myself sleep or food just to feel more alive (or, in fact, punishment), writing in my journal all night as if one day someone may read it and find it interesting (where does getting wasted fit in?). Or, better yet, that I may look back and feel my life amounted to something, that my suffering wasn't in vain(ity?). Goodness in truth. Art fag. And, currently, all I feel is utter loneliness, that I try hard to cover up (maybe.), hoping that my smile might attract some sane faces. Or perhaps everyone can smell the Crazy Bitch on me; can sense with some tendril of Knowledge that I am, indeed, one of the most self destructive people you will ever meet. Consumed. If I love you, I hate you, and nothing's ever good enough, particularly me- me, so full of faults and anger and conviction. Stumbling conviction. Solid anger. A Mess. The never ending flow of faults, faults, faults. So much chaos and confusion that all I want to do is rage and destroy - before, in fact... You do; Whoever. I will hurt you first, I will leave you first, I will show you with false pride the chink in my armor, the battle wounds, my Achilles' heel and God knows I'll show you my heart on my sleeve (even if you're so dizzy from my spinning circles); forever gushing gore. Spitting in the face of Man. Oh, Man, who I adore and search after for too much approval. Never enough. Here! Eat my sin and know insanity. Prove to me (again!) that you are not strong enough to yield me while I craze about with poison and daggers and hate. Fuck you, you 'men'. Your drool and your talk and your indecisive. Fuck you for not buying me dinner, not holding my hand or showing me strength. Fuck you for being little boys, for having no manners or worse - no sensitivity for the annoyingly delicate female emotional stability. Fuck you for telling me obsessed is some sort of a weakness, as if there's not (some?) greatness in one who will never back down, give up or turn their back. Fuck you and your useless penis, gangly stumbling hands and wandering eye.

Beautiful (stupid!) Man..

Fuck you for torturing me in my own masochism. For all I can do is adore you for causing me so much pain.

(Blog n. : Satisfaction in exploitation.)

A Gypsy Life

the Wren
June 10 - July 7
The wren Celtic animal sign is associated with freshness, and opening to new insights, and sunnier dispositions. They are natural care givers and will sign sweet melodies to cheer their friends and family. They remain calm in the midst of stormy weather. You want to have these people with you if you find yourself in a crisis; they are resourceful and stay cool under pressure. Wrens are self-motivated (they know how to get what they want) and work best in solo situations. They are also have a high sense of responsibility and moral integrity. They seek balance in their lives by being leaders at work on in the community, but secretly they would rather be traveling abroad living a life of a gypsy (this however, is often against their better judgment).
(whats-your-sign.com)

I will not make that mistake. I live a fucking gypsy life.

I See Evil

I see evil in me.

All my life I've been the "Evil Twin" and it has a just place as a title for me. There is anger in me that is on constant simmer, waiting for a spark of more heat to fuel a raging destructive path. I daydream about torturing girls that tick against said bomb and have flash fantasies of doing generally destructive and hurtful things. I snap at the smallest annoyance - although I only do this to people who are closest to me (mostly boy-friends). Biting my tongue is something I've tried to learn, but it's so hard! My brain to mouth function lacks grace and has been the downfall of all my relationships with everyone. I see red. I shake with fury.

I'm glad I'm a woman.

However, somehow, I'm told I'm sweet. I'm kind. I'm a good person.

Sometimes I wonder if my kindness is only my inner Beast plotting an easier way of living. I can't decide if I care too much or too little. I am conscious of everything I do. How I look and act, my meanness and my sweetness. Conscious chaos. Conscious disaster. Reckless calculating.

I see Evil in me.

Melody

Almost every frame I took of this set is great. We finally were on the same page, I saw it on her face when I got excited how it encouraged her to keep going. I haven't let her open up to me photographically.. I guess because I expect it not to be an issue. It made me feel really really good when she told me that she loves the pictures, that she feels like these are pictures that show her personality, who she is.

Great success!

Yay.

I love Women, I love NYC

Two things that rarely fail to push me to be inspired: Beautiful women and NYC. And together? Shit, fahgetaboutit. I love the small curves of women; in their neck, fingers, mouth. I find myself blatantly and shamelessly staring at pretty girls, admiring and holding their image in my mind, figuring out an angle, slowly piecing together a photo that slips together bit by bit. It's fascinating and I love it.

There's this girl I met (from Model Mayhem), who I hung out with and talked to for many many hours; over coffee, lunch, drinks. Which meant I was free to look at her as much as I wanted, excused in the expectation of intimate watching as we exchanged stories after stories (as girls will do). It really was so terribly nice, watching her expressions, her moments of intense talking and then peaceful calmness. She'd get this look in her eyes while holding mine, her mouth set and she'd let whatever small tragedy she was sharing with me pass - as if to say, "shit happens". And, of course, burst out in passionate oppinionated and very expressive banter about god knows what.

And suddenly I understand the idea of Muse.

But that thought, of shamelessly observing, that to me is wonderful. How often is a person allowed to actively admire a gorgeous person face to face? Women, indeed, are meant to be admired for their beauty. Somehow because I have a passion for my cameras, and I am female as well, this makes it okay, right? Or maybe it's my shameless adoration for charming girls. Which, by the way, I know a few. Lucky meee!

So. My miserable winter depression is breaking, New York let me fall in love with life again, and the six beautiful girls I got to share company with made me hopefull that I am not an untallented photographer. I got my closure with an ex, I got to kiss a pretty girl, I was free and had fun, I got naked in a park, I came home and was taken on a date and got to kiss him, too.

I'm BACK!


by Marko Cecic-Karuzic

Change in the Air

I haven't been shooting.

I have, however, made my sixth move in the last four years, finally out of that hell hole armpit of New York state: Utica. My uhaul brought me only an hour away, to Syracuse, but it's new, and it's not Utica. I can't stress that enough. Perhaps what finally got me out was being evicted.. or perhaps it was the promise I made to a friend to get out of that shit hole by March in exchange for this beautiful camera. A strange promise, and surely wholy for my benifit; kindness from a stranger. Well, near stranger. Months ago, when this 'promise' was made, it was put in my head that March was some sort of catilis. The idea snuck in my head that if I didn't get out, I didn't deserve this camera, which I grew to love - thus not deserving to be any sort of recognizable photographer or maybe even an ambitious person, period.

Sometimes I think all you need to do is hold a want in your mind strong enough, and the world will yeild if your desire is strong enough. I didn't know how I was going to get out. Thank-you Melody for visiting for a week and partying with me enough to piss off my landlord. Thankyou Vinnie, my landlord, for not putting up with my careless bullshit, even if it really pissed me off.

Thankyou Sanders McNew, for the selfless push to someone you barely know. I am in your dept.

On a different thought.. My last move a little over a year ago, I left half of my belongings behind in the frenzy. This time, I did also. I have no furnerature. I have a bedroom full of simple pleasures: bed, tv, movies, books, decorations and photos to keep me reminded of the things I love. I have a small storage space with my dresser, my sisters dresser, bags of clothes and six boxes of photo shit. I've put all of my negatives away - I'm done with all of that for now, I hate most all of it. Time to move forward.


New city, new people, new apartment, new neighborhood, restraunts, bars, stores, grocery store, routine, YAY!

My Work Is Shit

I hate it all.

Well my "recent" shit, because that's what it is- shit. Though in all fairness I haven't been shooting much, and the winter depresses me. But I was so determined to shoot in the snow, the beautiful upstate New York winter. But I can't do it, apparently. I'm stuck in my apartment, stuck in misery. Like every winter. Spring is my savior. February is the bane of my existence.

So I'm gathering all my polaroids and putting them in order. They go something of the order of Prosper, Nate/Nell, single/Prosper, single, Jaime/Sarah, single/Holly, James and company, single/holly/etc. Or something like that. It's hard putting them in order, particularly the two years flopping back and forth with Prosper, I mean, he wore the same fucking outfits all the time. Melody's hair length and style helps, though.

anyway, along with those polaroids, and my "photography" and other snapshots I'm putting together the ultimate Utica scrapbook. My life in the last four years. I'm doing it for me. Since I was about ten I have taken pictures and gotten photo albums with the intentions of keeping them going, up to date. And never did that, so I suppose now is a good time to do that.

So much has happened.

Some Random

- I had no idea that finding black nylon/polyester rope would be so difficult

- 25 feet isn't much

- Glory be to fearless and trusting friends/girls

- I started taking birth control and it's making me even MORE emotional, if that's possible. Less, though, with the anger, more with the wanting-to-cry-for-no-reason

- One can only be a daily-blog-visit sort of person if you update daily (like Chip).

- If I don't go develop these rolls soon, I'ma die.

- How many cameras do YOU see in the above photo?

Weddings

I got back a bunch of stuff from Holly's wedding. The above photo is actually from her birthday, a few days before her Big Day. She never smiles with her teeth showing in pictures which drives me nuts, so this photo has a special place in my heart, seeing it's the only part of her face that you look at - and her bloody knuckles.

Shooting weddings is terrrribly hard! I learned a lot by doing her's, I just wish it wasn't my first one - that and once again I am terribly reminded that I need a digital.

This was the first time I used my new Olympus, but unfortunately it doesn't work as well as the other one I had. Must be slightly different? I don't know. Maybe the other one was just magical. I think I'll stick with shooting high speed black and white with it, anyway.

I'm just dying with the itch to photograph someone properly. I've been adding girls on myspace around the Utica area, anyone who looks decent. I don't care, I just want to shoot SOMEONE, which apparently is very difficult up here. I'm glad I didn't take advantage of my time in the city when I was able to go down all the time, though I do miss all the beautiful girls willing to hop infront of my lense!