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.