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.