Time Outs and Outings: Betties & Greasers Makeovers and Night on the Town

Things got a little out of hand.  It’s been a… ride of a week.  If I had a time machine I would erase that one moment.. that one silly text that really.

I hadn’t been classy.

As it would turn out though, it was perfect timing.  Friday nights silly joking around text escalated into another defcon level.  It was time for a bit of a time out.  Hopefully it’s not a game over.  Only time will tell though.

Saturday was the much anticipated Betties and Greasers makeover and night on the town.  A stunning gal named miss Stephanie hosted a girls night of pampering and pinup morphing, dinner, and then drinks.  There were a limited amount of spots as it was hosted in her own home and all done by her and two other women.

It was exactly what the doctor ordered.

I called that I would be arriving a little bit late to the festivities.  I wanted to finish some things before I headed out.  I arrived to come in and see a sea of women, cupcakes, cocktails, makeup, and hair supplies.  It was something out of a 50s dream.

Bite size

Bite size

“I’m not going to be drinking tonight” I told the hostess.

“That’s ok you can drink some Coke with me.  I don’t drink.”

You didn’t need to drink with this group.  It was absolutely wonderful.

My mother is a cosmotician and never taught me all about this stuff.  I saw the world of Steel Magnolias and looked upon my grandmother’s old photos with a bit of envy.

I grew up a tomboy.  I knew next to nothing about these stories of womanhood before coming to California and being taught them by my “shallow” cousins. Even still, I know very little about it.

Stephanie prepares hair

Stephanie prepares hair

A sea of women all pampering eachother.  Talking about boys, and well none of anyone else’s business.  It was great fun and wholesome for the most part.  I sipped soy milk in a red cup as others drank champagne, water, coke, and other assorted bevies.

Stephanie and Jennifer handled the  hair duty.  Libby took care of everyone’s makeup.  The rest of us chattered and painted eachother’s nails.

Libby does Roubis makeup

Libby does Roubi's makeup

The night continued post makeup and hair to dinner at C & O Cucina to meet some of the boy yelpers.

It’s a little Italian dinner off Washington Boulevard near Marina Del Rey.  The space was accomodating and appetizers of garlic knots flowed as we waited with great anticipation for the remainder of the entourage to arrive so we could finally get the rest of the evening started.

Time is beauty and it took a little bit more for the hostess and the rest of the girls to get there.  Slowly but surely they all trickled in.

I sipped my glass of water with lemon as our party sipped sangrias, stella and wine.

“Jena don’t you want to have a beer or something?’ one of the guys asked me.

“No thank you my ass is plenty big enough.  I don’t need a drink to have fun.”

We ate gnocchi, tortellini, triangle ravoli.  It wasn’t the greatest, but it wasn’t the worst.  A photo opportunity came about for all of the girls to get together near the end of dinner.

Group shot

Group shot

As you can tell, I felt a little bit awkward in a way.  To be honest, despite the makeover, I still felt a little out of place.  All of the girls are so beautiful.  They really didn’t need all of the makeup to make them so.  It’s something that I am personally figuring out the reasons as to why I worry so much.  Ah burlesque may help with that.  But that’s another story.

The night would continue on to a rockabilly style bar.  I would arrive late however, due to randomly running into a friend as we were leaving the restaurant.

I had a cozy little talk with my friends- chatting about various real life issues and about the museum festivities that I’d missed due to being out with the group.  I finished up and then met the girls a bit later.

At the bar, the party was in full swing.  I came prepared with my “bag of tricks” and there were quite a few surprises.  Many libations were had by many.  I sipped my water.

All in all, the night ended splendidly.  It was an evening of swell dames, keen but chicken rat pack boys, and much smiles and laughter.

And while I’m wishing that it hadn’t started out the way it did… and perhaps… well…

You really should have been there.  I’m sure you would have had a great time.

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Letter from a gentle man

Want to know if a man really cares about you?  It’s one that I wouldn’t recommend…

It’s the little things.

Maybe you can catch what I’m referring to by looking at the picture and video below.

These were taken before and after a long night out drinking at the Orange County Yelp Elite ‘Stache Bash.

Letter from a gentleman, the night after.

Letter from a gentleman, the night after.

I am smitten and truly honored by this one dear sweet Mr.  Here’s hoping he sticks around for awhile.  I think he just might.  But I guess only time will tell.  I’m going to enjoy savor last bit of it.

Cheers and Happy Friday.

I aspire to be a cat burgler minus the cat and the burgler-ing

In the silence, come the answers.

If you really want to get an idea of how someone’s life is, you can just go inside their home and let the stuff do the talking. They say that you can tell alot about a person by their home.  What they don’t tell you is that this is a pretty good gage at how their life really is.

You see, things contaminate our every existance.  The collection of ones “junk” and organizational systems show you more than you would ever imagine if you only pay attention.

For me, today marks a new direction of sorts.  You see, I didn’t end up in Los Angeles originally because I wanted to.  At least, it wasn’t my first choice.

After leaving San Diego and on to Bakersfield (the armpit divider between southern and northern california) I vowed that I would move back to the one place, despite having grown up in an entirely different state, that I was able to call “home.”  I even kept the same area code on my cell phone.  If you see the 858, that would be me.  I will always be an 858 girl.  Except now, I will also be a 310.

After my divorce, I struggled quite a bit.  I had been that “stay at home mother” working jobs that I could do from home and then when I hit the ground running, he just stayed in place.  It wasn’t a surprise to anyone that had met us or even see us together.  I was that wild horse and he was just… not the running type.

I remember the day it happened… or well, the “it’s time to realize that no one is going to give a crap about you but you” moment.  After I got let go from my game mod job due to being late because of spousal abuse, he hit me again.  This time, it was with an eviction notice.

You see, my ex husband fled to be with his new girlfriend that he’d met in a video game while I was away at a conference trying to find my next job.  I wish I was kidding.  Unfortunately, I am not.

A little bit different than your average Love tap

A little bit different than your "average" Love tap

He’d promised me a lot of things when first got together.  And I believed every single one of them.  Why?  Because I was an idiot.  Even after all was said and done he’d made me yet another promise-to pay the rent for the remainder of the lease.

Liar liar pants on fire.

I guess I should have saw that one coming.

I had so little money then.  I was but a broke artist, though when I was with him, I rarely was able to create.  But that’s another story.

I was a victim then because I allowed myself to be one.  While it is a part of my past, and thus, a part of my identity, I’ve come to peace with it.  There are so many stories that proceed this.  So many tales that I am forever thankful for being able to experience.  Even if it took a man hitting me for me to wake up, get started on the road to independence, and really live life again.

Dead eyes. Lost inside.

Dead eyes. Lost inside. Circa marriage 1.

When I moved to Bakersfield, it was rushed.  I never wanted to move back there.  I fought it as much as I could.  But it wasn’t time for me to be home yet.  And at the time, San Diego didn’t feel like home anyway.

I remember how much disarray my apartment was.  I moved from a 2 bedroom condo in a upper middle class area of San Diego (Tierrasanta to the locals) to a studio hole in the wall in Bakersfield. Why there? Nepotism.  My cousin was the landlord originally.

While I wasn’t completely unhappy in my time there, you could tell that inside I was miserable and my apartment showed it.

I looked for things to make myself happier.  The things that had the greatest effect were those of which were most childlike in nature. One of which, won me the nickname of “the mermaid” as this curtain hung over my bed (which ironically, is still over my bed to this day) because, well that was the only thing I could find to cover up the institution-like window.

These are a few of my favorite things

These are a few of my favorite things

I found it in a box one day somewhat randomly.  It had been something that my dad had given me for my first apartment years before I got married.  My husband and I thought it was too ridiculous to ever use.  I’ve come to realize that he was just a stick in the mud.

That curtain got me into trouble too.  I hung it in the window of my street facing apartment.  When the blinds were open or up, it was no mistaking which unit was mine.  In the mornings the sun would shine through it and the colors would pop.  Trudging along in Bakersfield, it would make me smile to come home to my one piece of sunshine.  My landlord didn’t agree.  She thought it was tacky.  She also dresses like shes ready for the nursing home and she’s not even 30.

While living in the apartment, I serendipitously met a wonderful pair of friends- Drew & Leah.  (Ironically, they lived across from my soon to be future bat from hell landlord.)  They helped to make that place somewhat bearable.  But unfortunately, they couldn’t make that place home for me.

beach balls are serious business

beach balls are serious business

Because only the raddest dare rock bling on their coffee mug

Because only the raddest dare rock bling on their coffee mug

My grandmother is a packrat.  She has amassed a great amount of wonderful junk.  So much so, that she has 2 houses full of it.  They say this behavior is generally inherited.  Hands raised for being a statistic.  I wonder if there are meetings like AA.

I later made  a brief stop in Claremont- suburbia upper middle class Los Angeles near the dreaded 909.  It was my dad’s compromise to not sending me back to San Diego, despite challenging me to find an apartment there in a few hours and well, I won that bet.

Claremont was… alright.  The village was a bit like a mini San Francisco.  Except San Francisco has a ton more and is a place I would actually consider living.

City of numerology

It hosts… the number 5.  Looking around you will see that it repeats numerous instances throughout the town.  There are 5 colleges.  There are 5 movie rooms at the theatre.

This is where I started to get a bit of OCD cleaning traits.  Part of me believes it may have been a positive after effect from my volatile relationship that I had with Big (the obsessive compulsive cleaning emotionally unavailable guy from San Diego).

I dumped quite a bit with the last move, and this one as well.  My roommate was also an artist (read: slob).  But here I found myself cleaning up after her.  Frankly the mess bothered me.  That, and she had animals.

And while I was happier there than I had been in Bakersfield, you could tell in my eyes if you were paying attention, that it still wasn’t quite right.

Porch sweeper, dream sleeper

As my lease came to a close I knew that I no longer wanted to be there.  I was working my ass off and reaping nothing in return.  I barely had time for me.  It was work work work.

“When you pay your own bills you can live wherever you want to.” dad told me.

“I already do pay my own bills dad.  I’m going home.  I’m not happy here.”

He shoved a pennysaver in my hand.

“There’s apartments in your price range right here.  Do it.”

But I’d already met Steve (my roommate) then.  Another after effect from dating that same OCD douchebag many of you all know and sometimes love.  I’m only half joking of course.  He’s got a good heart when he choose to share it.

But enough about failed romances, back to my roommate!  Little did I know from that fateful night- the tweetup in LA hosted by Greg Barnett, that I was on the way home.

Why hi, nice to meet you soon to be roommate!

Why hi, nice to meet you soon to be roommate!

Yes, I said it.. home.

I’ve lived here a year and yet, you wouldn’t know it from my room.  There are still quite a few bins out.  Clothes strung everywhere.  My closet is full of hangers.  My dresser is near empty.

Today is the day that that changes.  Consider me booked with being boring for the interim.  I was due for a responsible day or 3.  Have to balance with the karma and all.  I secretly aspire to be more boring (but never really boring) anyway.

I didn’t want to move here when I first got here.  I wanted to be in San Diego.  It is the one place that I’ve been able to call home.  But I know now, that it will not likely be where I hang my… wigs.

Dear San Diego,

I must profess my undying love for you.  You are the lover I will always come back to.  But you are also the one where I won’t end up with until possibly the end of the movie when my ashes are sent among the city after I expire.

I have fallen capture to Los Angeles.  It’s “cesspool” of fun carried me away.  My childhood dreams and fantasies… never forgotten but evolved into things you just can’t give me.

I’m “unpacking” today finally.  It took me a long time to get here.  This is my home now.  You will always have… pieces of my heart, but I’m afraid you will have to share me.

Ours is a tale that will live on forever.  Written in granite amongst the waves and never to be washed away.

Yours Always,

Jennifer

***

Dear Los Angeles,

I just broke up with San Diego.  I let her down easily.  I think she bought it.  She doesn’t know I’ve just been toying with her.  She’s wonderful but it just wasn’t working out.  I’m a terrible person.  Comfort me?

By the way, I have something else to tell you:

You have yourself another lifer now.

Cheers,

Scandalous

It’s time to take more ownership of my stuff and not the other way around.  But hey, at least I’ll have plenty of junk to send my mother right?

Postcards: Zodiac (buzz)Killer

Dear Jennifer,

Hope you like this card.  It has to do with Zodiac and looks quite spooky!  Today’s my birthday.  My friends just left and we had a good time in the garden.  The weather is great here! (for now!)

Best wishes,

Ellen

The rising turmoil of Aries

The rising turmoil of Aries

Ellen,

Ah the turmoil and spooky in this card.  My last major boyfriend was an Aries actually.  He seems to.. be as chaotic as the imagery on here.

Maybe it’s a sign of what I left behind as I moved forward and on.. to a Sagittarius.  Or maybe it means something else… a new version of messed up?

Ah well, I already knew I was a bit emotionally masochistic anyway.

Here’s hoping for the best though.  I kind of really like this current one a bit… maybe.  But that’s a secret 😉

Cheers,

Js.

This is not the only card that I have received from Postcrossing that has hit a special tone with me.  I am due to potentially see the grip tonight at some festivities.  My accomplice for the evening?  You guessed it, The Mr.

While I do not believe that there will be any issue tonight, I am hoping, praying if you will, that I this card is not a sign of the potential that there could be.

I am glowing when I am with this man.  I am glowing at the thought of this man.  Even if it’s nothing.  I just know that whatever it is between us, undefined but great in its form, I just don’t want any problems with it.  Here’s hoping this card truly was just a sign that I am better off where I am than where I once was with that previous relationship.  I firmly believe that’s all it is.

I really need to stop worrying so damn much.

Bam! Yet ANOTHER project

As some of you may know, I attended Comic Con a few weeks ago.  What many of you do not know is that my background in video games is only proceeded by comic books.

Growing up, my family, in particular my father, has had a love for books.  Dad would hand me books since before I could read.  He told me tales of fantasy and these larger than life characters.  My mother never understood this aspect.  I truly believe dad may have been doing it partially to piss her off.

They are now divorced and happier.  She lives in Illinois still with her new husband.  Dad lives in suburbia Los Angeles in the dreaded 909.

The comic books that I collected growing up are currently stored in a trunk in a garage at my mother’s home.  I am actually quite amazed that they are still there, regardless of whichever condition that they may be in.  You see, my mother burned the baseball cards I collected at the time.

Dad’s house is like another world entirely.  Everywhere you look is traces of his fixation with comic books.  He has a full bedroom for my son that is nothing but Spiderman.  Dad is a big kid at heart.  He frequents comic shops weekly.  He raised me on books like Tales from the Crypt, Batman, and Spiderman.

Uncle Jay & I in my sons Spiderman Room

Uncle Jay & I in my son's Spiderman Room

Despite my recent cosplay endeavor, I wasn’t always a Supergirl fan.  Dad wasn’t interested in Superman.  It seems that you are either a Batman fan or a Superman fan.  We were the former.  The new Detective Comics featuring Batwoman are currently in my monthly “must pick up list.”  Superman still has of yet to make a regular home for me.

However even back then I really didn’t partake as much from the mainstream comic book lines.  There has always been a draw for me to the artistically popping, underdogs of indie comic books.  Maybe that’s why I was rebellious growing up.  Maybe that’s why, to a degree, I still am.  It feels awesome to be a cliche.

After the convention I began to re-evaluate where my passions were.  While I do love video games, I have found that the community within the comic book industry has some very important things to offer me that, well video games really don’t for me- timelessness and a foundation in encouraging literacy and imagination in its execution.

I found myself looking back.  At my own childhood.  Of sitting on shoulders with loose teeth as my dad pointed to superheroes on comic books.

In present day, I have passed these things to my children as well.  I encourage my son to read comic books.  And, while he may go with his grandfather and read those mainstream books, he also reads indies with his mother.

my son reading The Edge a story within Volume 3 of the comic Flight

my son reading "The Edge" a story within Volume 3 of the comic "Flight"

I realized that I had not been completely true to myself.  Perhaps part of the reason why I never felt at ease or why it didn’t just all fall into place was that.  I was denying myself the potential to reach further.

When I went to Comic Con, I was representing Girls Entertainment Network.  And while I am thankful for the opportunity I had to work with them, I have come to realize that I have a different vision for how I would like to proceed with my venture into comic book journalism.

Approximately 2 years ago I purchased a series of domains for various projects that I was considering.  I had been mulling over the thought about a comic book site for some time but never made the jump into it.

I went to a movie showing of the 1943 rare Batman serial and an exhibit this weekend on the Golden Age of comic books over at the Skirball Cultural Center.  It reminded me so much about what we, as a culture, have lost, what we have gained, and what remains the same though it may have a different face.

It was profound and moving with its subtleties and brash overtones.

The time has come.  The past doesn’t always have to be so scary.  Neither does the future.  It’s time they shook hands.

I will continue to write freelance for comic book realted sites, but am also gathering steam for what I need to make a website that I believe will be something I am proud of.  Please stay tuned for further information about my site: Superficially Iconic: “a site for comic book intellectuals.. and everyone else too.”

The skys the limit oh dear Superfriend of mine.

The sky's the limit oh dear Superfriend of mine.

See you at Long Beach Comic Con.  And now I have to get ready for a superhero birthday party… Marvel turned the big seven-oh today don’t you know?

Letting go: Material Immaterial

This weekend was phenomenal.  It was also quite frightening for a few hours.

I tend to over worry about things sometimes.  I’ve been working my fingers to the brim.  I’ve been toiling hours away at an idea… at many ideas… at pushing to making those things happening and preparing for some major presentations to debut them.

I am a perfectionist.  I want to do everything just right.  I am hesitant to announce something unless I have already invested considerable time and effort into it.

As some of you may know, I am midst work on a documentary project entiteled Muse for Hire. The name is shared by an umbrella of projects, including my previously unnamed copy writing services (inquire within) as well as a web series project I am working on that came about as the documentary started filming.

But that’s another story.

My camcorder has become an integral extension of me.  The amount of time and devotion I have to the projects and thus the attachment to one small Flip Mino that I purchased for the project, is quite… it’s one material possession I would be upset if it was lost.

This weekend that nearly happened.

So what do you do when something you have such an attachment to disappears?  You freak of course.  I was no different.

Friday night started off a bit rough.  I’d been working on some other projects and not gotten much sleep.  Little things got to me a bit more than usual.  This time it was some comments made out of context in reference to a certain Mr that I am…

“She made some good points though.  I’m a little afraid of how I’m potentially presenting myself here.  I mean, what if she’s right?”

“Calm down.  I’ve seen you two together.  I don’t know the guy but it’s likely nothing and you know it.  What are you referring to exactly though?  Explain.” Mo replied in attempt to get me to calm down a little.

“I’m sure its not but… well, what are you doing tonight?  Let’s go see a movie.  It’d give a better idea of what I mean.”

“I’m not sure I can.  I’m supposed to go out tonight later.”

“Please…”

“Get dressed and come by work.  We can figure out the details and catch an early show.”

I got dressed and headed out.  We talked outside his work for awhile before deciding to get some coffee at a local Starbucks.

Between the caffeine and conversation, I quickly calmed down.  I wasn’t super stressed about it before but sitting at home racking my brain only added to it’s nonsense- and potentially true statements.  Only time will tell.  Assumptions and worrying about it will only get me wrinkles anyway, and I’ll pass on the botox treatments thank you very much.

Conversation changed over to a friend of mine that I thought Mo might like.  I texted her to ask what she was up to.  She was at a bar near me.  I dropped Mo off and went to my place to change into more suitable attire.  He picked me up a little bit later.

“Thank you.  Have a good night.” I received as a reply to a text I’d sent hours prior to him.  Ah the wonders of two super busy people something something. It was something so tiny but it made me glow and calm down even more so.

We arrived at quarter after eleven.  It was her birthday and she was with a group of people.  We headed up to the upstairs portion of the bar.  There are couches along the wall and the perimeter.  We sat down at some with the party.  Such a wonderful group of great people… new friends and old.

The guys were too chicken to approach me.  I cared nothing about them.  I felt the heat of stares and caught people blushing and looking away.  I felt unbelievably confident that night.  I approached men and brought them to the group.  I made sure my best friend wasn’t bored.  We had a great time and I behaved.  It was quite…

At one point my purse was knocked off the couch accidentally.  I’d thought that I had everything when I picked it up, but we didn’t dive into the cushions nor reach very far back behind or under them.  ( You can probably see where this is going.)

The club closed down and we were ushered out.  We talked outside the club.  At this point I realize that something is a bit off.  I’m not sure where my camcorder is.  I dumped my purse out onto the sidewalk.  It wasn’t there.

I freaked.  I can’t afford a new camcorder right now.  But it was more than just that.  While there was quite a bit on there that I hadn’t been able to take off from Comic Con just yet, there was one clip that was pretty important to me.  You see, the thing about filming a documentary is that while you may have a ton of content as you are you are working on it, there are just some moments where you know when they happen that they will be in the finished product.  This was one of them.

I was upset when we left that night.  I knew that I had to be there in the morning to try and get it back.  I was hoping for good karmic retribution.  I knew that there was a chance it might not happen.

And then I thought about it more.

Even after I freaked and worried… I remembered a conversation that bid me to do some reflection I had a long time ago.

“There are some things that are meant to be legendary.”

While the moment I filmed recently will forever be permeated in my mind, regardless if it worked out or not (please let it work though), regardless if I had gotten the camcorder back or not, it didn’t change that simple fact: I’m thankful that it happened because it was legendary.

I accepted that if the camcorder did not return to me that it was simply not meant to be- the moment being in the documentary that is.

We, as a culture of Americans, build up this attachment to silly possessions so easily.  While they may be founded in passion or emotional connection, the possession itself is relatively worthless.  It’s just “great junk” essentially.

And while, yes I did get my camcorder back the next day, I feel amazing.  I know now that I can let go of everything and be alright.  Material stuff is fun to have.  It fuels my art.  But even if I don’t have it, it doesn’t change what I am at the end of the day in the simplest terms: an artist.

So here’s to letting go and letting life happen a bit more each day.  Material is immaterial.

I’m thankful I learned these lessons.  But I will also admit, that it does make me glow a bit knowing that that piece was supposed to be in this documentary project.  It is one moment captured in film in shadows and lights that’s…  well see for yourself, but you have to pay attention…

Parables: The power in simplicity

There was not a moon hung in the sky that night as the friends made their way to the evening’s festivities.  Blurred wavelengths of color mark the streets as they weave in and out of traffic.  Like a painter gracefully presses their brush along a canvas, this is their dance.  It is their silent impact.  It is their passion and fervor embracing their fast past turning world.

I

was

here.

If only for a moment.

If only for these moments.

Plates and silverware clink amidst the roars and hushes of chatter at a local spot by the beach.  The pair break through the sound and enter.  They are eager for this time of relaxation and the company of friends.

It is like every cliche night in Los Angeles.  Even when business is over for the day, it is still business as usual.  If anything, it is the kind of night where the most business happens just as much as it is about relaxing.

We sat there and ate cake and drank a few rounds.  We smiled.  We laughed.  Everyone was enjoying the company.  Everyone was enjoying the chatter.

A drink sits lonesome by at the end of the table.

“Whose is this?”

“He’s coming to join us.”

A man in black with an apron slung around his waist approaches the table.

“It will be about 15 minutes before I am done with my shift.  I have to do some paperwork.  I’ll be right over.”

“Come have your drink.”  the group insists.

“Not yet.  I’m on the clock and I have my integrity.”

The drink glows in the moonlight and sings its own silent overture to the starless sky above them.

He finished his shift and pulled a chair over.  The party was not complete for the evening.  However, this is the point when it started to get more real.  Every single other person on there was highly involved within a specific scene, even if their places in line were not the same.  The server was the odd person out in the group.

I asked him simple questions.

Icebreakers.

I wanted to make sure he felt fully included.

“Where did you work before this job?  Is this the job that you would like to have or are you an actor?”

It was very cliché.  I was very… rude actually.

“I lived in Vermont.” he said.

“But what did you do there exactly?” I asked him again.

He stated to tell his story.  He was trying so hard to belong to the group.

“I was working in computers.”

“But what in computers?”

The table echoed with questions pertaining to various fields.

“I was working a help desk.”

More questions as to specifics.

In a way, I felt bad.  Not because of his answers.  Not because But because we were so to the T about his responses yet the majority of us are entrepreneurs.  Our work and dreams are similar to this man’s, even if they aren’t always the same.

He turned the discussion to the rest of the table.  One by one, like an AA meeting, we all spoke about our jobs and stated our names.

Entrepreneur.  PR. Consulting. Etcetera.

The flashlight came my way and I failed.  As I have so many hats on currently, what I didn’t say was what I knew the most.  I had spoken a lot about both but also relatively little, even if I had been verbose.  Succinctly there were only two answers that should have been said.

“I  am a writer.  Sometimes it’s for money.  Sometimes it’s not.  But it’s always with heart.”

Transpose the word artist for writer and have the same answer.

Sometimes things shouldn’t have to be so wordy or complex.  There is so much complexity in the purity.  But only if you look inwardly for it and only if you listen.  I have learned that being dynamic is like constantly being on stage.  You have to be bold.  You have to be brazen.  You have to be fully aware of what you are.

You have to…

You have to…

You have to….

“I  am an artist.  Sometimes it’s for money.  Sometimes it’s not.  But it’s always with my heart- fully open and susceptible to being broken and put back together again and again in every single thing that I do.”

Because that is who I am and that’s what I am proud of.  Every.  Single.  Day.