2014 in Review ; Words from the Prez

What an eventful and swift year 2014 turned out to be! The year started off with a steady growth in membership and lots of opportunity for Dames for Dreams to be well represented in the community this year. Here is a breakdown of our year and what we accomplished from the eyes of your president.

                

April 26th and July 19th-20th our KISSES FOR OSO fundraisers partnered with the Everett Eagles Riders and the Eagles Club #4122 riders club and it was a huge success, raising just over one thousand dollars. This money was directly donated to the Oso community efforts of recovery from the landslide. Our first event of the year was “Kisses for Oso,” because mama always has a kiss to make it better. Dames for Dreams partnered with these events that were supported by several different people in the community. ­­­­The distinguished Dani May Red of this year’s 99.9 KISW Rock Girls joined fellow Dames Carla, Sharon, Peanut, Hannah, Nancy, Linda, Bebe, Dollface, and Sweet’n Lo at the Everett Eagles club. The finale was held at the Anacortes Eagles club and was also supported by the locally renowned Cossacks with their classic motorcycle tricks. After that, we were invited to join the 1st annual NW Motorcycle Rodeo in July where Carla, Diane, Kandi Kadillac and DanniDots lassoed in as many riders as they could to continue the fundraising support for the recovery of the tragic landslide in Oso Washington. If you ask me, 2014 was off to a great start for D4D.

At the ODD MALL on May 31st and June 1st we had our first Dames for Dreams booth at the world’s most bizarre, unique art and culture festival in the Comcast Arena. Our spring booth was hosted by Peanut, Yessica, Kelsey and my music project Indecent Liberty. We returned in November for the holiday Oddmall to add another element of display for the events vendors with our all ages D4D Fashion Show. Our efforts were recognized and we had such great success that David the director of Oddmall asked us to return in 2015 for both the spring and holiday events.

June 28th's booth at LGBT Pride was a blast! We enjoyed our time at the festival in our meet and greet booth while we people-watched and chatted with the kindest of folks from a thriving celebrating community. The entertainment stage that was next to us and I have to say that entertainment isn’t enough of a word, we were mesmerized. We could not be more thrilled to be next to such an active location. My duo Indecent Liberty was booked to play the main stage which gave D4D the wonderful opportunity to be a part of Pride. I was told that Indecent Liberty even had television news air time. Sharing our individual network is one of many things dames do for other Dames and our community around us.

The entire month of June, we collected for the “BRAS FOR BABES IN NEED” project. We had such extraordinary support from our membership; we collected hundreds of bras by the end of the campaign at our members meeting June 29th. More bras and other supplies have been sent to Mary's Place in Seattle from members pro-actively gathering and delivering their collections. Thank you Dames and DanniDots and Lacy Missy for all that you do for others.

Every week in the month of July we joined a support and mentoring program for victims of bullying; Bombshells against Bullying. We encouraged positive body image, as well as promoted unity and love instead of competition and hate. This project has had an outstanding response and the final outcome can be viewed here 

http://youtu.be/5YCx7nWAGwE

A tradition of Dames for Dreams is the annual “Power of She” photo shoot. The entire month of August and then some was donated to this project by the admirable Jay T. Conrad and her Jay& photography talents. If you missed your chance to join in this implied nude photo shoot that empowers us as women together and separately to love the skin we are in, we will do it again with a different photographer and a twist in 2015. This is by far one of our most life changing annual events. The “love the skin you’re in” feeling you leave with cannot be described with words. What I can say is that after we were done we all learned, grew as women, planted seeds within and ignited a sisterhood. “Eff their beauty standards.”

Our meetings were held at the Eagles Club #4122 and at the residences of a few different members. All of our meetings had growth in numbers of attendance and interest in leadership. All of our meetings had great feedback, support, brainstorming, power planning and over all a great beginning to the foundation of a lasting organization. Together we are building a foundation that we want to see last beyond our years. In the coming year of 2015 one of our D4D goals is to utilize the tools of technology. We plan to hold more conference phone calls rather than in person all members meetings. Our website is another tool we want to use to the best of its and our ability.

We now have spread into chapters so that each area has the freedom to choose what works best for them to communicate and connect with their community with independent projects, fundraisers and partnerships. Please be patient with us as we are building this organization from the ground up together with a long term goal of a strong foundation for a lasting purpose. We want to be the ones to fill the needs and be one of the pillars of our community.

On August 23rd we supported and hosted the Eagles #4122 clubs event “HOT AUGUST NIGHTS”, an all-ages 40's/ 50's diner themed fundraiser specifically for that club. Bebe, Kathryn and I served burgers and dogs with chili as an option, chips and salad and a soda pop of their choosing. There were cars that made it out and there were so many smiles and full bellies. Once again our fundraising efforts and our partnership with the North Seattle Eagles Club was considered a success.

August 30th was our DAMES FOR DREAMS 2nd ANNUAL 'DREAM GIRL' PAGEANT. After a few hiccups the event was held this year during Labor Day weekend at the Yuppie Pawn and Tavern in Kirkland. This was an outstanding event with so much love it filled the whole place. Our judges Razor Rose, Mrs. Rosewood and Candy Coconuts were kind and elegant dames and their feedback affirmed our mission to motivate, inspire and educate one another and the community around us. The 2014 ‘Dream Girl’ characters were: Vanessa as Dolly Pardon, Kandy Korn as Cyndi Lauper, Mallory was herself, Katie Mae was Jessica Rabbit, Elicia was her alter ego Pip Osborne, Sally Stang was Miranda Lambert and our winner Minna was the Blonde Phantom. Our Vice President worked the crowd, our Deputy Chief ran the behind the scenes and our President (myself) emceed the pageant as the late Shirley Temple.

Our honorary D4D associates (hubbies, boyfriends, brothers, fathers and sons) were a huge help during this year’s events and deserve mentioning as well, Thank you brother Bryan and the Cowboy Sean for your loyalty, protection, love and support. The idea of “Dudes for Dreams” has been kicked around.

September 28th we had our first all ages “PINUP ON A PENNY” workshop hosted by Sweet’n Lo, Dollface, and DanniDots with our special guest Black Cat Barbie. We had a magical connection with our 20 members’ strong workshop. In the greenroom of the Historical Everett Theater we learned the tricks of the pinup trade; winged liner, eye shadow, sculpted eye brows, contouring, blushes and red lips along with hair tips and tricks along with wardrobe do’s and don’ts. The most important thing we learned in this workshop was that love within and confidence are the most important things any Dame can wear. The cosmic connections many of us made at this workshop were undeniable. As we began, we spoke about ourselves and what D4D means to us and why. The honesty was pure and real, there were Dames of all ages yet during this part of the workshop we were ageless. It was discovered that each of us had more in common than we expected when we arrived. The depth we reached at this workshop was uniquely unscripted and raw and I considered it to be one of the highlights of the growth of our movement. I had multiple emotions run through my mind as I witnessed this magical moment of D4D history.

December 6th was our end of year community effort supporting KING 5 HOME TEAM NORTHWEST HARVEST FOOD DRIVE. This is the largest collection day of the year for Northwest Harvest. Dames and Damsels alike came in full force with bags and boxes of canned food collected over the past few months by many of us. There were several drop-off locations around the Puget Sound and D4D had members hand deliver to half a dozen of them. Kandi Kadillac, Peanut Bunny Von Peeps and her little damsel, Melanie and her damsels, Sally Stang and her damsel and her fellow Hell on Heels model Madam Butterfly and I, all delivered to the Everett Mall. King 5 news cameras captured our delivery along with HoH Photography. The reward of giving was a natural high that we all got on that crisp cold Saturday morning.

We will be releasing the beginning 2015 event calendar by mid-January. We have increased in our multi-media capabilities to ensure growth in our communications to members and followers alike. We have high hopes for our next step in the Dames for Dreams movement as we expand into chapters.

Please be patient with us as we build our foundation. All of us are building this organization together. We have learned a lot from the past couple of years and our goals are to improve our focus and secure our place in the community. The ‘Big Picture’ goal is to connect with our active members. This is up to us Dames to make Dames for Dreams what we want it to be. D4D is a network and strong reliable community that supports one another with our strengths AND uses our network to inspire, motivate and educate the youth and community around us. I feel privileged to be connected with so many powerful women.

If you are involved with another group or effort, if you have a club or event or project, each of you are always welcome to recruit within our membership. There are so many of us with different interests that I believe we should always have the option to share it with our members and find like-minded Dames and connect with them.

I could not be more proud of what Dames for Dreams and our membership has accomplished this year. We have had our ups and downs which means D4D has taken a life of its own. Once given the privilege to lead this amazing concept in the beginning of 2014, D4D became my baby. I had no idea what I was doing but I walked by faith and listened to my calling. Every single one of you touches my heart, we were once only eight Dames and now we are in the hundreds.

My vision told me to move north, south, east and west so that is the 2015 plan. Let us spread out but at the same time create small groups so we can deeply connect to make a difference together unified by sisterhood. Let us see the needs in our communities and fill them. Let us stand for something together and give with our left hand what our right hand can’t see. Here’s to STRONG women, may we know them, may we be them, may we raise them!

Like I said, 2014 was a full and exciting year of growth and fun filled events for our membership! So let’s get the New Year off to a great start. I’ll be seeing some of you at our January events and many more of you out at the rest of our 2015 events.

Yours Truly,

Christi Michelle, President Sweet’n Lo

Social Media for 2015

It is my honor to be working alongside Christi Michelle and Kathryn in this project and with no further adeu, here we go:

Feel free to subscribe, like and follow.


Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/DamesforDreams
Blog: damesfordreams.blogspot.com
Twitter: @dames4dreams

New for 2015

2014 is almost over. A lot of things have happened in my live; I somehow fell into thise whole D4D thing on accident and I am loving every single moment of it. I have met some amazing women in person and through the virtual world; I can say that each and every one of you has been nothing but inspirational.

I have discovered new passions, rekindled old ones and even discovered a few things about myself that I never would have fathomed. Thanks to Sweet n' Low and Dollface (aka The Prez and VP aka Christi Michelle and Kathryn) I have become a little more self aware of who I am.

Now, I admit I have been rather quiet these last few months. I hate the holidays. I get depressed, emotional and overwhelmed. I tend to sit cry a lot, sleep a lot and binge eat a lot. Its just not a good time for me... I have a hard time getting out of my own head. I swear, if breathing weren't instinctive, I would have died many, many, many years ago out of sheer exhaustion. Its like I have these batteries that keep on going and once 10/31 hits I'm done. I have no energy.

That does not mean I have not been writing. I have and furiously! I just don't know what is actually worthy of being ON the D4D blog or should be moved to my own personal piece of cyberspace not affiliated with the group.

As far as the blog is concerned, I am trying to work out a schedule that is more manageable for me. I'm also including an ever-growing-list of topics into a mason jar to keep me going when I feel like I'm running out of things to say.

Upcoming Projects:

A Dame's Inspiration -- After a Pin up on a Penny event, Danielle was inspired by the different reasons each and every single woman found themselves in that room. She wanted to go ahead and bring that bit of that to our online presence.  Keep an eye out in 2015 for when this project kicks into full gear for a chance to participate. (We're still working out the kinks on this.)

Dames online! -- To keep expanding our internet presence, we will have a twitter handle, manned by yours truly.  This is going to be a cross-referencing platform to unite www.damesfordreams.org, our Facebook account and the blog. Once I get a few things ironed out, I'll debut the twitter feed for all of you to follow. I promise, and you guys know how I am about promises!

We're going into Chapters! -- Since I joined in June,  (wow, six months already), I have seen this group grow immensely. With Kathryn in Georgia and so many of us spread across the PNW, The Prez and VP decide it was time we start growing into chapters to better organize ourselves.  I will be providing more details about this after the next meeting on Jan 6, 2015.

2015 Calendar of Events -- TBA. As soon as this information is available, as always, I will post it here.

-takes a deep breath-

Alright, and to wrap up this post, I will have to swipe this lovely gem from another dame:

Fill your year with things that really matter. Instead of making a resolution about losing weight, going to the gym,  I'm gonna give up xyz come up with a more positive resolution.

"I will give myself 30 minutes to myself to soak in the tub and relax once a week" sounds so much better than "I shall give up coffee for all of 2015".

Shoot, that actually sounds like a fantastic idea! I WILL give myself 30 minutes a week to just pamper myself in a spa at home!

See you gals (and any gents reading this blog with their dames) next year. For once, I am super excited about the upcoming year. Toodles!

D4D 2015 calendar

GET YER CALENDAR HERE!!

The preview  on this page in no way guarantees these are the final shots found in the calendar.  The only way to find out the final pictures is to order it.  So. .. go order the calendar!

Under the Silver Moonlight

The summer I turned thirteen, a lot of things changed. What gifts I had became that much more pronounced in more ways than one.  Since childhood, I knew more about the world around me than most will ever know. I took the simple things for granted. Except for one terrorizing year, my existence with the things beyond had been mildly annoying at worst, amusing at best. In my innocence, I had been lucky. But the gifts that coursed through my life were potent, and soon I started thinking of them more of a curse than blessings.

My elder sister suffered from night terrors. She would toss and turn in her sleep, cry out for help and when it was really bad, woke up gasping for air or screaming for help.  I always was ready to jump out of my bed to console her; to hold her against my bosom and soothe her back to sleep. I couldn’t begin to imagine the things she suffered in dreamland and all I wanted to do was protect her.

I remember it was a hot, muggy night, rather odd for Southern California. I thought it odd that my sister made sure the door was locked tight that night and I was beyond mortified when she slipped out of her nightgown, then stood there, nude as the day she came into this earth. I stared at her, eyes wide. She seemed to glow slightly under the moonlight and not only did I find her stripping naked to go to bed shocking, to see her grooming habits flustered me.  She looked down at herself and laughed. “What?”

“You…shave, why?!”

She paused for a moment and shrugged. “Its cleaner,” she climbed into bed and stretched. “The sex is amazing and well, it has been too fucking hot to have a bush anyway. I mean seriously, don’t you feel hot and sweaty going full fuzz?”

My sister was eight years older than me and spoke with a sage wisdom I was yet to know.  I could only nod slightly.

“But that’s okay; you’re still a kid anyway.”

Again I nodded, making sure to stare at the fast spinning blades of our ceiling fan.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, stop being a prude. It’s just hair!” She laughed and threw a pillow at me. “Besides, it’s too fucking hot to sleep with clothes on anyway. “Try it! The door’s locked and dad won’t be able to walk in on us.”

I shook my head.

“What, cat got your tongue? Try it! It’s nothing dirty and totally natural.”

With a sigh I climbed out of bed, tossed off my shirt, stepped out of my pajamas and hopped back into bed.

“You seriously sleep with a bra on? Take it off, that’s got to be damn uncomfortable!”

I stared at her in disbelief, got back out of bed, stripped naked and jumped back into bed. I covered myself to my neck and she simply laughed.

“Trust me, sis… you’ll never sleep with clothes, ever, ever again. It is so liberating.” She stretched out again, rolled onto her stomach and wrapped the sheet around herself as if it were a half-discarded toga.

I laid there, uncomfortably for what felt like an eternity. I found myself staring out at the moon and quickly lost myself in my thoughts. I’d always been nocturnal by nature and being forced to stick to a diurnal schedule often screwed with me, making me an insomniac. I simply couldn’t sleep at night time unless I was exhausted.

It wasn’t long before I could hear my sister’s moaning. I tried to tune it out as lately she’d cry out in her sleep and quiet down. Sure enough, it got quiet but she started tossing and turning. I focused my attentions on her, wishing, hoping, that my desire to soothe her would somehow be felt and she’d calm down. Perhaps it was coincidence but it wasn’t too much longer after my silly ‘jedi trick’ and she stopped. I could see her shoulders relax, her breathing become more languid.

Again, I looked up at the moon. And as usual, when it came between God and me, I started to talk. I was raised Catholic but I hated going to church. I hated the concept that prayer was the only way to communicate with Him and it bothered me even more so that God, had to be a man.  I often found myself talking to Him as if he were a She and a long, lost friend. Out of guilt I’d tell myself I was simply speaking to the Virgin Mary.  I could feel the fringes of exhaustion tugging at me (I had been up for almost three days) as I whispered my nightly conversation to the moon.

“If only I could see what bothered her, then maybe I could help her, don’t you think, Mother?” I yawned and nestled against my pillow. “I can only imagine the horror… its not fair, my Lady, that she suffers so much when one should be the most protected and comfortable….I want to help… I just don’t know how.”

The moon shone bright above me and the damp heat of the air was making me sweat.  I could feel rivulets of dampness forming in my armpits and a pool beginning to grow under my breasts and against my lower back.  Heat grew between my thighs with each step from where the skin brushed against skin as I walked. Somewhere in the back of my head I could remember my sister’s excuse for shaving and I laughed. I may have to try that someday if I ever found the courage.  My lungs ached when I stopped to take in a deep breath as the hot air did nothing to help my lack of breath. The only comfort I felt was that of mud between my toes.

“This is ridiculous,” I muttered, peeling the white nightgown off my hot skin.

I found myself walking along an embankment of a river I had seen many times before, though from where, I couldn’t fathom.  My steps were brisk, but without true path. Over the last few years my dreams often started like this; I found myself somewhere and strange, fantastical things happened. Sometimes I could fly, at others I could manipulate my surroundings…sometimes I was an active participant and at others, a mere observer. Always, though, everything felt real. I could touch things. Smell things. Taste things, even. It was so real, that I had to develop tricks to know when I was awake and when I was asleep.

As I pondered these things, I was filled with a sense of urgency that took my breath away. I let out a small cry as I tripped over the material of my gown as I broke into a run. I stumbled on my feet as I gathered the material in my hands.  Hurry.
“I’m trying!” I yelled, answering a voice that only I heard. I noticed that the earth was still. There was no sound. No animal anywhere, not even a breeze. This frightened me and I continued on my path as fast as I could. The lack of pain from my bouncing breasts told me this was another dream, but my mind, no, my very soul, told me this was real. Very, very real.
At a distance I could see the white of another nightgown running toward the riverbank. I couldn’t see discerning features despite the bright moonlight. Behind her, there were people, men, chasing the young woman. They had something in their hands. Clubs, maybe, a shotgun, perhaps—I couldn’t tell. I could, however, feel the terror and tension in the air.
I redoubled my efforts.
I could now hear the wind in my ears.  As I neared the cluster of people I saw one of the men stop, lift the tubular thing in hand up to his shoulder. I could feel my heart at my throat and I opened my mouth to yell but no sound came. In the movies there is always a flash, a puff of smoke and a deafening blast. Here, I saw the muzzle move, the man move back a little from the shock and the white figure pitch forward onto her knees, then the floor face first.
I stood there, horrified.

I could see her claw herself toward the embankment lift herself to one knee and then fall over.  

The men stood there for a moment, and then the tallest quickened his pace to where she fell.  My trance was broken and I began to move quickly, but quietly. Instead of moving toward them, I headed toward the river. I could feel the thick mud envelope my foot as I began my descent. The other slipped. I landed on my knee and broke my fall with a hand. I had to get over there…and do what exactly?

This was a dream. I could control my dream. I tried to envision myself turn into a man or a monster, stop this massacre. I couldn’t.  It seems like I was a passive participant on a film directed by someone else.

I fought against the mud that slowed me down. This, perhaps, saved my dream self as I rounded the bend as the man with indiscernible features shoved the injured woman into the river. I heard him mumble something about not wasting more shells on the filthy whore and that the water would take care of her.  I held my breath as I watched him leave.

The river rapids pulled and tugged at the woman. Her long, dark hair wrapped about her face as she was sucked further into the watery embrace.  She was pulled under once, and then she came back up. Her hair had been washed off and I could see the terror in her face.  The water around her had a slight pink tinge and again she was pulled under.

“My goodness, Mary, she’s alive!” I gasped and began to fight against the mud. I crawled, pushed and pulled toward her.

I stood at the shore for what felt like an eternity, trying to see where she would bob up. Drowning, like gunshots, it seemed, was drastically less flashy than what Hollywood tried to tell me.  “Mother, help me! Lady, guide me!”  I prayed as I waded into the water.

“It is not her time yet.”

My head snapped toward the voice. On the opposite embankment was a child, perhaps no more than seven, clad in a white to her shins.

“It is not her time yet,” she repeated, one arm pointing to where the woman washed up against a rock. She clung to it but quickly slipped under. “You know what to do.”

I nodded and quickly – as safely as I could, climbed onto a rock then jumped onto another. I found myself on the rock she had slipped under. My heart skipped a beat as looked into the dark waters hoping to see anything at all. At first, I could see nothing but then I saw it; a flash of white. I got to my knees and dove for it. I clutched at it and pulled. I pulled her forearm above the water and I could feel myself slipping. The icy waters were numbing my hands but I would not, could not, let go. I pulled again, bracing myself with my knees. I kicked and pushed, slicing my foot against another rock. That’s fine… that’s fine, just let me get her head out of the water. Virgin mother, give me strength!

I gave one final push and pulled her above the water. Her head bobbed back, her blue lips hung open.  Her eyes rolled at the back of her head.

“Wake up!” I slapped her, hard. I could hear her groaning. “Come on, fight for me. Wake up!” I could hear her whimper, moan.

I woke up with a start, the sheets clinging to me like a second skin. I looked around disoriented, the haunting sounds of a drowning woman still thundering in my ears.  My heart skipped a beat as my eyes fell on the mirror that hung on our closet door. There stood the girl from my dream, her arm pointing to something at a distance. I could see the words forming on her lips it’s not her time yet.

My eyes followed the direction in which she was pointing. Immediately I tore the sheet off me and jumped out of bed. I fell on my knee, hard and slammed my face against the opposing bed.  I pulled myself onto the mattress and reached toward my sister. She was moaning in her sleep again, but unlike before the sound was a deep, ragged groan. She couldn’t breathe.

“Wake up, damn it.” I pulled her toward me; her head fell back onto my shoulder. Tears stung in my eyes as I couldn’t help but think back on that horrid dream I had. My sister’s mouth hung open, her lips started to tinge blue.  I shook her, but she wouldn’t respond. “Wake up, wake up!”

I slapped her.

I could see the shock and the recognition seep into her face as she gasped for breath. Seconds later she burst into tears. We held onto each other as we sobbed our tears and sweat mingling.

“I was drowning,” she said at long last. “I was drowning and couldn’t breathe.”

A Christmas Miracle

In the spirit of Halloween, I decided to write a short little horror story for your entertainment. I had an idea inspired by the previous discussion on body-modification and plastic surgery on our boards but when I started writing, an old memory was dredged up. Instead, I will be sharing the following. Enjoy. 

-Carol 

-----------------------------

I had always been an imaginative child, precocious in nature and with a strong intuition. I remember pitching the biggest fit I could one Christmas Even when I was about five or six demanding that my sister, her boyfriend and my mother not go out for a drive that night. They were just going to the store; they said, out to get more drinks for the party. It will only be a few minutes and they’d make sure to bring me some candy. I was hysterical. I could not be dissuaded that they not go and my behavior was so off putting that for the first and ONLY time in my life, Father laid a hand on me. He spanked me twice and told me to go to my room and not leave until I was done throwing a tantrum.

“But I don’t want Sis and Mommy to die!” I yelled between sobs. The adults just stared at themselves in shock before my outburst was just chalked up to my imagination. After all, what other toddler stood up past midnight watching horror flicks like I did?  Mom told me I wasn’t being cute, shoved me in my bedroom, closed the door and with a sigh of resignation stated she wasn’t going to get me candy.

I hollered that I didn’t care.

Minutes turned to hours. A few folk thought that maybe my family had chosen to buy more than drinks, perhaps took a detour or simply had a flat. This was the early nineties, cell phones were not a quite a thing yet.  Guests left, others passed out and my father was not exactly sober enough to go looking for anybody anyway. I, on the other hand, didn’t sleep. I simply couldn’t.

Therefore, I was the only one awake at three am when the phone rang.

“Hello?”

“This is so-and-so with St Mary’s Conception Hospital, is there any adult I can speak to sweetheart?”

I looked around at the passed out people. I shook my head.

“Honey, are you there?”

“Yah. “ I traced a finger on the wood stains of the little telephone bench my mom had polished meticulously hours earlier.

“Can I speak to someone, an adult perhaps?”

Again, I looked around, my large eyes flicking from one dark shadow to the other, to the pile of unopened gifts, to the sleeping dog and eventually to the flickering Christmas lights on our tree. “Mommy’s busy. Call back later.”  I couldn’t help but regurgitate the well-rehearsed line mom had me say whenever she didn’t want to speak to the Avon lady. I bit my lip and began to hang up the phone.

“Don’t hang up, sweetie. Listen to me—“

Click.

I slid down from the little bench and ran back to my room to cling to my favorite stuffed toy when the phone rang again. I stared at her, a white and black beagle dressed in a red dress and matching bow. If Daddy got woke up, he’d get mad. I didn’t want him getting mad again. I didn’t want to get spanked. I covered my ears and fought back the urge to cry. I had this horrible pain in my tummy that I couldn’t quite describe. My heart was racing and it was hard to breathe.

Ring. Ring. Ring.

I rolled over in my bed and clung to my silent friend.

Ring. Ring. Ring.

I felt a tap at my shoulder and the soft hushed tones against my ear: answer it, it’s important. You won’t get in trouble, ok?

I didn’t dare look over my shoulder but I knew better than to ignore the words.  Slowly, I climbed out of the bed and held onto my toy for dear life. I made my way down the corridor, past my sister’s bedroom and stopped in front of my parent’s bedroom door. Behind me was the bathroom door, just a few more feet away and the hallway ended into the living room and to the ringing phone. It wasn’t ringing anymore and I could hear the shower running. I frowned. How long had the water been running? I turned to knock on the door when I dropped Snoopy (I knew Snoopy was a boy but this beagle had a dress and she looked like Snoopy so that was her name).  I looked down to pick her up, but she wasn’t there. I looked around and I could see the hem of her dress and one of her legs peeking from around the corner of the hallway.

I couldn’t breathe.

The hallway seemed miles long and the sound of the water a rush against my ears.  Somewhere in the distance, the phone was ringing. Behind the closed door of the bathroom I could hear my father cursing.

You must answer the phone.

 I jumped at the voice again.

This time I ran down the hallway and almost tripped on my feet as I stumbled a few steps around the corner. Quickly I picked up Snoopy with a death grip before snatching the phone off its cradle.

“Hello.”

“Sweetheart, don’t hang up. It’s very important that you don’t. Is there someone else I can talk to? A friend, auntie, your daddy perhaps?” The voice at the other end of the line sounded desperate. It made my hands sweat.

“yes.”

“Can you get them for me?”

“Daddy’s in the shower.”

“Tell him it’s VERY, very important, okay honey? He needs to get on the phone.  Tell him so-and-so is calling from St. Mary’s.”

“Ok,” I said, staring at the dark hallway. I didn’t want to go back there.  If Daddy didn’t yell at me… I shook my head, holding on to Snoopy even tighter.

Hurry, hurry! Call your Daddy! Get his attention or I will!

I did not need any more incentive. I dropped the phone with a clang on the telephone bench and ran to the bathroom door. I pounded with everything I had until I heard the shower stop.

“Daddy! There’s a lady from St. Mary’s that wants to talk to you!” I could hear grumbling and cursing; something about being too old for a hangover and kids being too loud for them.  “What’s a hang over?”  I looked down at my friend’s unblinking gaze.

That’s not important, damn it, GET HIM TO ANSWER THE PHONE!!!

Again I pounded on the door. “Daddy, Please! She says it’s important! You must answer the phone.”

At long last the door to the bathroom burst open and I was greeted by the towering form of my father, soaking wet and holding a towel around his waist. Steam curled around his figure and toward the ceiling. He looked angrier than the night before. “Tell your mother to answer the phone, can’t you see I’m busy here?!”

The world began to blur as hot tears burned my eyes. I glanced down at my feet as I pulled Snoopy tighter under my chin. “But, Daddy, Mommy hasn’t come home yet.”

He stared at me silence and I could only cower. “What did you say?”

“There’s a lady from St. Mary’s on the phone.”

“No, what did you just say?” He loomed over me, his face red, a vein popping on his forehead.

I took a step back and stopped short as I felt a chill run down my spine. “Mommy’s not home.”

Tell him!

“And phone. There’s a lady on the phone from St. Mary’s.”

His face contorted in rage, agony and despair all at once. The color vanished from his face as he quickly turned to his right and hurried toward the living room. He slipped and slid a few feet and I could hear him crash onto the wooden telephone bench.

It wasn’t long before the neighbor came over to keep me company as my father sped off in the lemon-yellow pickup up truck to St. Mary’s.  There had been an accident. My sister’s boyfriend had been drunker than anybody had realized and t-boned his car onto a cement pole around the corner from the store they had gone to.

“Is mommy and them going to be okay?” I asked, my gaze staring at Snoopy’s unwavering black eyes as coolness enveloped my hand.  I looked up and out the window and bit my lip.

I did all I could.

“Sweetheart, let us pray for a Christmas Miracle.” I heard Mrs. Wong, the next door neighbor say as she walked through the door and locked it behind her.  She walked to where Baby Jesus lay in his manger by the Christmas tree.

I stepped away from the window and finally looked at her in the eyes: a young girl similar to me in appearance and perhaps a year older dressed in a white nightgown.  I whispered a word of thanks to my ghostly frenemy before running to where Mrs. Wong was kneeling.

 My mother had been sitting in the middle rear seat so she could talk to both my sister and her boyfriend during the ride. Seconds before the car spun out of control, my mother had looked down and noticed one of my McDonald’s happy meal toys on the rear passenger floor. Confused to see it there, she bent down to pick it up, an action that had saved her life. She had wound up with a broken elbow, a sprained knee and had to get a few stitches on her head.  My sister’s boyfriend had survived with a dislocated shoulder and my sister had to be pried out from underneath the dashboard from where she had slipped into during the collision. She had suffered the greatest injuries and was in a coma for over 13 hours. 

Yesterday came suddenly.

This is something that has been running through my mind the last few weeks. I've been having one of my more quiet episodes, where I just want to stay hidden in a dark room, away from people. My body is fighting me; if it my hands yelling at me from over use; my head pounding from whatever stress is eating at me; my ankles throbbing from movement; my knees aching just for the fuck of it, or my uterus because it hasn't bothered me in a year or two.... something, its always something.

My heart has also been aching, and NOT because I have a heart condition. Between you, my readers, and me, it wouldn't surprise me one bit if it, too, has decided to be an asshole. -- Wait, no, that's just my hair. He's an asshole.

But I digress, I'm not here to bitch and whine about the infinite little things that have been keeping me down lately. I am here to share another lesson I'm coping with.

Life is short. Superbly, miserably short.

When I was younger and floundering about my faith, I stumbled upon a book about palm reading. In it, obviously, it went into a lot of detail as to what individual lines in our hands meant. We are born with some lines, very important ones, on our less dominant hand and it is believed that these are remnants of our past life. These are physical representations of our karmic baggage-- people and lessons we need to cope with in this life time.

This theory got me thinking at a young age. It opened up my eyes to the simple intricacies of life and their meaning. I'm not talking about those mile stones of life where one meets the love of their lives, gets the job of their dreams, has a child, blah blah blah. I'm talking about the more mundane things, those little things that nobody ever thinks about or realize how they shape our lives. Yeah.. Those. Just how we take indoor plumbing for granted, we take people for granted. We don't realize what they mean to us until it is too late.

See, people come into our lives for a reason. It is up to us to be open to the lessons we're supposed to learn. Some of them are painful (Yes, yes, I am talking about you, Friend, who took my heart and shattered it. Don't worry, I am not bitter anymore. I learned a lot from that and now I just miss the friendship we once had.), some are bitter sweet like the memories of Michelle -- a young girl with Downs who was constantly bullied in elementary school and became my first American friend. We couldn't really talk, but she'd hold my hand. She'd hug me when I cried and often stood up for me when I got bullied. Just like she came into my life, she was gone, having moved away without a goodbye. She's my Strength, that little voice in the back of my head that helps me to stand up for what I believe in.

Lately, though, I have been smacked upside the head with this reminder not once, but twice.

I have a friend in hospice care. I can't visit and our chats on facebook are random and rare. Any time I see his name on chat box my heart skips a beat. Is today the day that I get notification that he's gone? I hate this feeling, this anxiety that eats away at me.  For a while, I was angry, upset, frustrated that I *was told*... and that there was nothing I could do but start saying my goodbyes early.


With my body falling apart, and my heart saddened by losing a friend whose infectious laughter and saucy commentary made work bearable, I was content hiding. I tried to numb myself to the prospect of losing him. I was happy going about my routine when I wasn't trying sleep away whatever was bothering me that given day.

Then the other shoe dropped. My heart skipped. I have been staring at my messenger for a few hours, reading the conversation over and over again. Its so... surreal. Why the hell do people tell me these things?! WHY?

Because they care about me. Because I mean something to them. I am as special to them as they are to me. Because, in the past, I've taken people for granted.

I am now sitting here, trying really hard not to cry while I relive the last hour or so. Again, I've been smacked by Life and her lessons. "People come and go," she says "some go on with their lives and others don't. Cherish them while they're still here."

Okay. Fine. I'll stop ignoring it. I'll stop fighting what I can't fight. I'll just accept it. I'll just let it be.

I'm still trying to figure out if knowing that its coming and finally saying goodbye was/is better than being told later that the fight is over. I feel guilty for mourning and not even knowing... I'm dreading the words and all I can do right now is cry in anticipation. I think I'm going to go cuddle up to Manthing. I need life around me. -Carol 'Ilayra' Ellars.

So, Carol of Yesterday, I have found the answer: It is better to know ahead of time. This way, you can make the choices necessary to avoid the regret of missing out on all the things that will eventually eat at you. If you thought sticking your head in the sand was the way to go, you'll be more sorry the moment you can't ignore it anymore.

Carol of Tomorrow, take a note from your favorite band, The Beatles, and take this sad song. Make it better.

To my dearest friend, regardless of what tomorrow brings and what will or will not be concluded next year, we will sing. We will dance. We will see everything that we can and we will document *everything*.  Because life is too damned short.

To the rest of my friends, you know, the ones I have not culled out of my life, I promise to reach out to you more often. I will make the effort to talk to you, see you, spend time with you. I will double my efforts to not hide in my pain anymore. I will do what I can to be open and not build walls around me again because... I don't want to find myself alone again, having spent the best years of my life in solitude because I was too afraid to get hurt.

Yours,

Carol of Today.

Its not 'Goodbye'

Its see you later... 'cause goodbyes are for ever.

The lovely VP of Dames for Dreams is going away from our lovely neck of the woods to Elsewhere this Saturday. Christi Michelle is throwing her a fare-thee-well and safe travels gathering on Friday. 

The Getaway Tavern

Friday 8pm 

24309 56th Ave W, Mount Lake Terrace WA 98043

Come on over for some bonding time! 

Sticks and Stones

Most folk like to enjoy the idea that abuse is not abuse (and yes, I am including 'bullying' as that is an abusive behavior) until someone gets physically hurt. Its a convenient thought, really.After all, it is easier to prove that someone's been hurt when there's a cut, a bruise, a gash, a broken bone, etc. Mood swings or social clues of abuse can be overlooked or explained away as hormones, quirks or strangeness. This, is an absolutely deadly idea.

Every year, we lose innocents to suicide. We have many more who suffer in silence.

This is exactly the reason why I write what I write and say what I say. If I can just shine a little bit of light into that infinite of darkness so that someone may better understand the impact of our actions to another human being, my job is accomplished.

The last few days have been a whirlwind of emotions. I am saddened by the turn of events that have taken place with my mother. Let me explain: she is not an ogre. She is simply antiquated in train of thought and misguided in how to approach her children in encouragement. I do not love her any less for our differences in opinion. She will forever be the person I cry out to when I'm sick and the one I yearn to hold me when my heart is broken, even if she's the one who nicked it in the first place.

On the other hand, I am beyond surprised--overwhelmed even -- by the words of support that have been given to me through friends, in person and in writing. I have messages coming to me from a friend of a friend of a friend.

People have shared with me their own stories of pain, success and ongoing battles since the picture was posted and consequently removed. We all have one thing in common; words. We've all been told painful words that have stuck with us for years.

Words have immense power, hence the saying 'the pen is mightier than the sword.' In some cultures, folk have multiple names in order to hide from death and keep their autonomy. It is believed that if someone speaks their name, they will loose their sense of free-will. Pagans have their spells. Christians, Jews and Muslims their prayers. Buddhists their chants. Politicians have their propositions and nations their laws. And in some places, books are banned because the words within them bring unwelcomed change.

Words, people, not guns.

The things we say without thought of consequence are usually the most disastrous. They have a lasting effect that continue to influence us long after the wound on the flesh has healed.

A friend of mine confessed how a single comment about his appearance at a young age festered long into adult hood to the point he took it to the extreme. I know that most of my readers are predominantly female, so I want you to think about this. This is a man, fully grown, admitting that to this day he still has issues with his appearance. Women have shared with me how they struggle with self-acceptance day to day. The one thing we all have in common? The words told to us by friends, enemies, strangers even loved ones. The most potent, of course, are those closest to us.

I've mentioned before, I've always been made to feel like a fat child. As a toddler I had a big little belly and as a teen, large breasts. I had a few nicknames growing up. One of them was Miss Piggy because I was chunky and sassy. The other was Shamu because I loved to swim. While I loved whales, I always wondered why I wasn't called 'Ariel'.  It wasn't long before I put two and two together. Mermaids weren't fat. Whales were. 

I spent the rest of my youth wearing baggy t-shirts over my bathing suits while in the public pool and as I got older, I've developed a hatred of situations where I may be forced of wearing one.

Words have power, my friends. A lot more power than people give them credit for. Negative words have a horrible tendency to outweigh the good ones too. Sometimes it is those painful words that drown out the sea of positive, joyful ones.

I try my best to stay positive but I'll be the first to admit that this is easier said than done. I have to actively force myself to look at the positive of things sometimes. That scar on my abdomen that is proudly displayed on that Power of She photo? It was a burst appendectomy where I died on the OR...but I was brought back. My sister, who until then thought of me more of a nuisance, began to be my friend. I spent two weeks laying in bed, surrounded by my siblings and being forced to laugh. I looked ridiculous, holding on to my side as I chuckled and acted like a woman in labor. (I paid my sister back when *she* wound up in the OR table for the same reason a week after I got better.)

Sometimes I just want to wallow in self pity. It is easier for me to sleep all day and live in a land of fantasy than it is to get dressed and out of the house. But I'm tired of doing just that, the wallowing. Some days I actually lay in bed for a good five to ten minutes arguing with myself as to why I need to get out of bed.

For some people, whose battle is a losing one, this may include therapy (mine is writing) and medication.

As a child, I realized it was easier for me to stand up for others than it was to stand up for myself. This is also another type of therapy for me. I enjoy seeing people smile and knowing their life is getting better. I like to compliment a stranger on their cool outfit, or comment about that amazing book they're reading or whatever. Not once have I been looked like I was crazy. Usually people blush, smile and say thank you.

I do this not because I expect them to say anything in return, but because hearing a kind word from a total stranger may make a difference.

How do I know this? Someone came up to me one day and told me I had a pretty smile and that I was beautiful. I had been having the crappiest of days too.

I faltered. I said thank you. And as she walked away, I started to cry.

Because of this, I am very, very fond of positive, guerrilla warfare in hopes that it makes someone's day. I leave inspirational quotes in bathrooms or places where they can be easily --and sometimes, not so easily-- found. Every month or so, I like to hand write dozens of inspirational quotes in colorful cards and leave them for people to find. Its called Operation Beautiful (www.operationbeautiful.com). And while I am yet to find a note from someone else, I know this may brighten up someone elses day.

There is enough ugliness in this world. There are enough negative words shed without a single thought.

Words have power, people. We  have control over them. Choose your words wisely.

Power of She -- Power of Me.

I have a very conservative mother. 

She's always gotten on my case about the clothes I wear, the make up I don (or lack thereof), the things I say, listen to and do. She always has said that this is because she worries about me, how people will look and treat me. I've always said that it isn't so much about me, but at how I reflect on her. And today, she has pretty much told me so. 

There is a saying that I loathe more in the world than words can express that unfortunately, my mother holds dear to her heart. 'El Que Diran?' In English it means 'what will people say?' 

I hate this. I honestly do. Because living a life where you have to worry about what the Joneses down the street have to say about you, or Betty Sue thinks about what you're doing is absolutely depressing. 

As I mentioned in another blog earlier, I have battled a lifetime of depression and self-esteem issues. I have finally come to a point in my life where I am learning to love myself, flaws and all. I can look at my rolls and acknowledge that this is the body my husband loves. I look at my scars and I see that I have survived. I wanted to embrace this newfound love and when Cat invited me to the Power of She shoot, I hesitated for a second. 

Because the concept was not about anybody else. It was about me. For me. 

And the pictures came out beautiful. 

With pride, I shared my shot on Facebook. Jay mentioned that she loved how serene I looked (truth is my butt was cramping, LOL) and how at ease I was. I admitted that part of it was that 1) I am tired of feeling depressed and 2) there were amazing women at the shoot that eased my comfort. There is not a single part of me that is being aired that can be flagged for abuse of anything on FB. We all look absolutely stunning in a very tasteful, artistic way. 

My husband saw it, commented we all looked amazing and surprisingly comfortable. He loved that the shot was creative and not raunchy. 

I was soaring. I never felt so empowered. 

Then it happened. 

I got a long diatribe via text from my mother about how ashamed she is of me for being so lewd and disrespectful. First it was my sister who failed and hurt her for falling in love with a woman and now I add insult to injury with such horrible nakedness. While I may not care about what people thought of me, she had family on the social network and she was ashamed that they would see me in how 'God brought me into this world'. She's afraid of what people will have to say about the way she raised her children.  She wondered what sort of man would allow his wife to pose in such a manner and she could only wonder what sort of life we led where I can parade around in such a way. 

I will lie if I said it didn't hurt me. 

I would be dishonest if I said I was not offended -- and any of you who follow this blog know what I feel about this. 

So let me share with you the same things I told her because I am not ashamed of myself nor the picture that got her in a tizzy. I am absolutely proud with all of us who partook in this project.

Really, mother?I'm not showing anything. I'm covered. If I have hurt you, I apologize. It was not my intent to offend you, nor did I dream it would as this shot is not pornographic. If anything, it saddens me that you find art offensive. To answer your question about how my husband felt, he was proud of my willingness to embrace myself, flaws included. And if you insist of thinking the worst about me because of an artistic nude, I do not know what to say. It hurts me to know that the public opinion is more important to you than the fact that I am tired of hating myself and that I am full of pride because I am finally starting to love myself for who I am. 

But what else can I say? Nothing. 

You have already made up your mind that we are the worst of people. Not only have you offended your middle daughter for being true to herself, or your youngest for finally finding power in her demons but you have offended [Manthing]-- a man who has given me love and respect, as well shown me the strength I have within myself to keep on living. 

It is depressing, Mother, absolutely depressing, that you would compare art to pornography. 

I will always love you, and goodnight my vieja. 

At her behest I deleted the status where I shared the picture on my wall. I have also untagged myself from the original. I will not, however, ask any of the women in my group to delete it. 

I will, however, share what I said here:  

I'm nervous and excited at the same time. This amazing group of ladies have done amazing things for me in the short time I've been with them. I have started to write more frequently as their official blogger which is tough, but it keeps me going. They are the breeze that my smoldering dreams needed, for now I am actively doing what I need to do. My feet are pointed I'm the right direction and slowly, I'm making my way through.

Dames for Dreams, thank you... 

Oh, and Jay T. Conrad I wish I had smiled more but damn, I was trying not to fall over. My butt was cramping in this picture!https://www.facebook.com/bemyampersand

Mad Monster Seattle, Meagan 10/04

Mad Monster
MEAGAN IS READY FOR ANYTHING AT MAD MONSTER: SHADOW OVER SEATTLE! ARE YOU?!

MEAGAN joins THE MISS MAD MONSTER PAGEANT! Don't miss it! Saturday night, Oct. 4th we will crown the first Miss WITCHington.

We asked all contestants to answer the following, here are Meagan's answers:

Q. Favorite movie?
A. The Princess Bride

Q. Guilty pleasure?
A. My guilty pleasures aren't for the faint of heart

Q. Describe yourself in six words or less...
A. A curvaceous bombshell ready for anything

Think YOU have the FRight stuff? If so, email your best monster gal pic to: party@madmonster.com and be sure to answer the following:

1. Favorite movie
2. Guilty pleasure
3. Describe yourself in 6 words or less

WILL YOU BE THE FIRST TO WEAR THE CROWN?

Think YOU have the FRight stuff? If so, email your best monster gal pic to: party@madmonster.com and be sure to answer the following:

1. Favorite movie
2. Guilty pleasure
3. Describe yourself in 6 words or less

WILL YOU BE THE FIRST TO WEAR THE CROWN?

For all the latest updates, please take a moment to "Like" our main Mad Monster page...

https://www.facebook.com/pages/Mad-Monster/156479414375098

There are a LIMITED NUMBER of rooms at the Mad Monster discount rate, so if you want to stay at the hotel where the monsters dwell (for the weekend at least), act FAST...

http://madmonsterseattle.com/

Coming up, some delightful grub!

Mary, Mary... I didn't get to talk to her much at 'The Power of She' shoot but I can honestly say I walked away with a serious lady crush on that woman. She's gorgeous, poised AND from what I hear, one hell of a cook. 

I keep telling Manthing that when I grow up, I want to be like Miss Mary St. Sin.

I can't make it this Sunday as I work at Other Place That Pays Bills on Sundays so I'm going to be missing out on this little slice of heaven. But that's my problem and hopefully not yours so... do me a favor, go on my behalf and enjoy that goodness for me, okay? I'll make my own personal trip sometime in the future. I hope soon...very soon. 

Mad Monster Pageant, 10/04 - Jennifer

"I am extremely excited to see who will win this. Let's send our love and support to miss Jennifer Robins as she is the first of our girls I have noticed in the running for miss witchington. Knock em dead." ~Teh Prez. 

JENNIFER IS READY TO MODEL THE SASH AND CROWN AT MAD MONSTER: SHADOW OVER SEATTLE!

JENNIFER joins THE MISS MAD MONSTER PAGEANT! Don't miss it! Saturday night, Oct. 4th we will crown the first Miss WITCHington.

We asked all contestants to answer the following, here are Jennifer's answers:

Q. Favorite movie?
A. The Hunger

Q. Guilty pleasure?
A. Conspiracy theorist

Q. Describe yourself in six words or less...
A. Sagacious, bewitching, intuitive, firey, political, kind

Think YOU have the FRight stuff? If so, email your best monster gal pic to: party@madmonster.com and be sure to answer the following:

1. Favorite movie
2. Guilty pleasure
3. Describe yourself in 6 words or less

WILL YOU BE THE FIRST TO WEAR THE CROWN?

For all the latest updates, please take a moment to "Like" our main Mad Monster page...

https://www.facebook.com/pages/Mad-Monster/156479414375098

There are a LIMITED NUMBER of rooms at the Mad Monster discount rate, so if you want to stay at the hotel where the monsters dwell (for the weekend at least), act FAST...

http://madmonsterseattle.com/

Seasons Changing, Allergies and Then Some

I apologize for the silence, ladies. I tend to get a little tired, sniffly and somewhat irritable when seasons change because my allergies go haywire. I decided to take a little time off and next thing I know my 'allergies' are turning into a raging cold or something.

So here I am, sniffly, sneezy, eyes watery, sinuses so irritated I can't stop coughing due to the post nasal drip and this is AFTER allergy medications. Add to that this uncontrollable shivering and now I'm starting to realize maybe my allergies are not just allergies anymore.

All I want to do is sleep and I can't... because I can't breathe. UGH.

With that aside, I have to warn you; I am exhausted. When I am exhausted, I get rambly, discombobulated and all over the place. I shall try to keep myself on task, but you have been warned my dearest.

Because, y'know, writing's like going to the gym for me. Its good, really good but if I stop doing it I wont' do it for a long time and I don't want to let myself down with this project. Its bad enough I paid for a gym membership for a year and went once. Whoops! :X

What do you want to see? 

I can tell you all that I have tons and tons of ideas but I want to hear feedback from you all. Opinion pieces aside and updates on what we're doing, what else do you want from me? Tutorials? Reviews? Interviews? Please comment and let me know. 

[Ps: I fully intend to feature Mary's Kitchen at some point. I just need a) to get over what I'm on right now and b) find someone to go with me because food is meant to be shared, damnit!]

It takes a village...

A few days ago, I was intrigued by a facebook status that popped up on my feed. I cannot remember the exact verbiage now, nor do I want to dig it up to get the quote for the sake of anonymity. It bothered me for a days, honestly, and then one of the articles posted on our forum got me thinking even further.

Yes, there is a difference between rudeness and bullying. But for the bullied, sometimes even the one-off, rude remark from anyone can sting just a bad as the constant onslaught they live with.

Insecurity stems from the lack of confidence, that is true. The lack of confidence in a person should be everybody's problem and it being everybody's problem shouldn't be our personal responsibility.

When I turned fifteen, I had already endured years of bullying -- from a clique of girls calling me a whore because I had a mile long cleavage to a certain bunch of boys constantly groping me to see if my knockers were real. Let me tell you all something; having breasts as large as mine, there is NO way I can hide them. Period. I can wear a regular t-shirt and I'll have cleavage. I've learned to stand up on my own two feet and call out the hypocrisy. But back then? I didn't have the voice to do so.

I had also put up with a lifetime of chubby jokes, backhanded compliments and over-all judgement. The girls called me  a snob. The boys I grew up with didn't know how to talk to me anymore as their hormones had suddenly took over -- in one hand I had a body they wanted and at the other, I was the sister they'd grown up with. The men... yes, the same assholes who drove down the street cat calling me and telling me how delightful it would be to plow into me always finished the commentary by calling me an Ice Queen.

Needless to say that by the time mom insisted on throwing me a big ol' Quinceanara (that's a sweet 15 coming out debutant party) I didn't want any more attention, positive or otherwise. I didn't have many people to invite and my court of ladies and gents were made up of kids I didn't even know. The party, I understood quickly enough, was not for me. It was for the adults in my life. (I shit you not, I made my mom sign a contract that I'd do the Quinceanera if she'd let me have the wedding I wanted IF it ever came to pass. I may share that story at some other point.)

This was also the same year my grandmother came to visit-- and subsequently, spent about three years with us. At first I was ecstatic. I LOVED grandma. She always had fun stories to share, and a spirit full of sass I admired. But by the end of the first two weeks though, I was sick of her bullshit.

She always had an opinion. She didn't like the clothes I wore, how I styled my hair, the decided lack of make up I donned, my shoes were never good enough and let us not talk about my smart mouth.

Sometimes I purposely left my hair a tangled mess and duct taped shoes just to watch her squirm then holler "What will people say when they see you walking out like a homeless person!?"

See, I'd grown up in the states. I was not the homely, quiet, diligent little Catholic girl I was to have become if I had stayed in Guatemala. If there was a subject I did not agree with, religious or political, I said something about it. Well, as long as it didn't involve me.

Because I stood up for everybody. I had a voice for the underdog. I fought for the weak... but never for me.

If it hasn't become obvious, I have a rather opinionated family. It was disrespectful for me to say "Please don't call me that, it hurts."

I was fifteen, five foot five, thick-boned 165lb beauty. I had curves. My measurements, because I had to have a custom-made dress, that's how I know,  were that of 48 38 48.  I sported a 38k bra and hated to wear dresses, skirts or anything form flattering. I looked heavier than I was simply because I hid from the world.

And every time the family got together the jokes would start. I was called Shamu because I loved to swim. I was called Miss Piggy because was a loudmouth like her. I was told that I'd be GORGEOUS if I lost some weight because I had such a pretty face. If I didn't lose weight now, I'd be bigger than a whale by the time I was 30. I better find a 6 foot tall viking to marry me or else I'd crush my husband in my sleep. I better only keep dogs bigger than a foot stools they wouldn't get lost in my ass crack if I sat on it. I usually left before the alcohol started flowing freely because some of those jokes got so damned hurtful, I couldn't take it anymore. I know all this came from a place where my relatives meant well. They meant to encourage me to be healthier, step out of the shadows, be more positive.

I kept telling myself this over and over again until I couldn't anymore.

Grandma only heard the tail end of that fight. It was a regular Sunday churrasco (that's a Latino BBQ of sorts) when I couldn't take it anymore. The Friday before my best friend and I had gotten locked in a tennis cage and bombarded with water balloons where she was called every Asian slur in the book and I had been called *every* fat and slut joke this friggin' kid could think of. Needless to say my patience was at an all time slow.

So when my mom began with her "You should really loose a few pounds," commentary and my brother followed up with how I should take advantage of my assets and open up a webcam business to have some older men pay me to sit and be pretty and rake in the cash, I was done. I yelled and screamed for them to leave me alone, that it was not funny and to shut the hell up.

This surprised them all and they went on with the 'But we're just joking' and 'we're worried about your health!' crap. I firmly stated I didn't care and that they needed to stop. I don't remember who but someone said they were just trying to encourage me to do something and acknowledged they knew it was hurting me but continued anyway because, let us face it, if I was REALLY sick of it I'd actually start to lose weight.

I also fail to recall what vocabulary left my mouth but I'm sure I made a few sailors proud.

I immediately stormed off to my room and on the way there, almost knocked my grandmother off her walker.

I don't know what grandma told them, but I do recall snapping back into reality when she came into the bedroom.

She found me curled up on the floor behind my bed facing our window. I wasn't crying, I wasn't red in the face anymore. My lack of emotion frightened her. I am sure if she'd seen the lattice work I'd finished carving on my fore arm she would have killed someone.

Instead, she sat at her bed and called me to her until I responded. I pulled at my sleeve and held it shut in my hand as I got up.

At first she didn't say anything, just took my hands in hers and patted them. I was expecting a lecture. I was expecting for her to tell me to go out and apologize.

Instead she simply said "I'm sorry."

I could only stare at her in confusion.

"You know the saying that it takes a village?" I nodded. She  then let go of my hands and adjusted the hem of her sweater. "Its not just about rearing children. Its about standing up for one another and helping each other out. It is about making sure we are all taken care of and protected by nurturing each other. And as long as you're happy, as long as you're taken care of and aren't hurting anybody, who cares? Some people are broken inside and project this on people. They go around spewing their venom and hurting others because they hurt themselves. And if we all go doing this, how are we ever going to get better? I lost track of that. I'm sorry."

I cried. I cried until I got the hiccups and then she broke the spell with that rich, wonderful belly laugh of hers. And then when that subsided, she told me vitamin E helped with cuts and healing then told me to get off because she had to go to the bathroom.

She became my best friend and personal cheerleader. During the years she lived with me, I found comfort in her presence and sometimes she even stood up for me when she felt my folks were being 'insensitive idiots' (her words, not mine!)

I wish I could say that was the end of that pesky argument with my family. Sadly, to this day this heavy topic, along with the ever painful 'When are you having babies?' happens. Thankfully I remind them that neither topic is up for discussion and quickly change the conversation. Eventually they get tired of trying.

She left this earth eleven years ago and I try to remember those words every day, especially when I am hurting. I don't want to lash out at others. I don't want to be rude to people. I don't know what sort of burdens they're carrying on their shoulders and I would simply be devastated if my one comment pushed someone over the edge. God knows I've teetered on that line more than once and it was always a single, kind word or gesture that brought me back from the abyss.

Yes, there is a difference in bullying and rudeness. And yes, there is a truth that insecurity is an individual's problem. That still does not change the fact, however, that if we were all just a little bit kinder to one another every single day, the problem would get a little better each day.

It really does take a village to take care of the village.

2nd Annual Dream Girl Pageant

NOTICE:

The pageant location and time has changed.

The Yuppie Pawn Tavern  - Saturday, August 30, 2014 @ 8pm
$0.00 FREE ADMISSION
12031 Totem Lake Way, WA 98034
Map

Dames for Dreams 2nd annual pageant has the privilege of being held at the renowned Freedom Fest music festival. My goal is to have the ladies have fun at this event and we wish this to be the classiest, coolest, most fun pageant ever!
This year's pageants theme will be “Dream Girl” and will be open to registered ladies (18 and over). The contestants will be judged by Karmen of Rosewood Photography, Candy Coconuts and 2013’s KKF queen Miss Razor Rose and the winner will be chosen via people's choice. Registration opens May 31st and will continue until day of.

• Contestants MUST be at least 18 years of age.
• Entry Fee for each contestant will be $20.00. The prizes available to the winners of the contest are$100.00 (1st place), $50.00 (2nd place), $25 (3rd place).

For more information on the rules, please visit the FB event page. 

Upcoming Events - September & Onward

September 28

Pinup on a Penny - Steele Maiden

October 4

D4D Members Only Fashion Show - Christi Michelle (Sweet'n Lo)

** Models and designers wanted. **
You're invited to a fashion show presented by the Oddmall Seattle. Dress up in your highest fashions and head over to the Comcast convention Center to strut your stuff, spin & twirl. This is a competition FREE fashion show designed to uplift all of our dames & damsels alike and spread awareness of D4D's mission to motivate and inspire the youth and community around us.

To sign up, please visit the event page in FB.

October 18

Girl's Night Out ~ Christi Michelle, Liz Deville & Danielle Shepperd

Let us go out and paint the town red. The After Midnight Cabaret will be performing at Hale's Ales and what a lovely town Fremont is. The agenda is still pretty open for us to come up with plan still. I just know it ends in fabulous entertainment by some of PNW's most alluring performers.

The theme of the cabaret show is Naughty Nightmares.

To sign up, please visit the FB event page.

October - TBA

Polished Pinup Workshop - Kitty Mansfield

November 8th

D4D Benefit/Banquet Masquarade Ball

End of Year recognition and rewards. Food drive for King 5's Harvest

December 6

KING 5 Home Team Harvest Food Drive Collection Day - Sponsored by the Rat Bastard CC & Dames for Dreams.

We will deliver our collections to the Tacoma & Everett Mall locations.

Living Art

On the outside, I looked calm and collected, perhaps even confident as I sprawled my behind on the photography studio’s floor. Inside, though, I was shaking like a leaf. For a while we all stood around, nervously chatting pleasantries. One of us worriedly told us about a broken nail that she wanted to hide and another gal whispered she wanted to just hide from view. I looked up at Cat, the woman who, to my knowledge, has had no problem with disrobing in front of a group of ‘strange peoples’ (her words, not mine). She was standing with her arms across her chest, her usual loud-mouth demeanor silent.

I looked around again; everyone had gotten quiet for a bit and then started that nervous chattering once more. I frowned and looked at the floor. I felt like I did during my first school dance; boys in one end of the room, girls in the other. The anticipation and anxiety could be cut with a butter knife.

"Screw this!" I thought, standing up from my place. "I’m asking a boy out to dance. I’m stepping out on stage. Take a deep breath and go." This has been pretty much my mantra since my theater days.

I stood up with my eyes closed, tore my dress off and then offered Cat my back. "Can you help me take this off?" I asked, motioning to my bra. I couldn’t tell if my hand was throbbing because of the sprain or if I was just trying to coax her out of her own thoughts and into action.

When I finally opened my eyes, I saw two women already sans clothes. One, superbly petite and with a shy little grin that lit up the room. She was sprawled on the floor right next to where I had been sitting. For a split second I was a little jealous; she was after all absolutely gorgeous, had fantastic tattooes and looked so at ease. But I didn’t let that thought linger. I couldn’t help but play with the idea that maybe I looked the same to other women. After all, I didn’t hesitate to toss my clothes aside and I’d been loudly cracking jokes before that.

Behind her was another lovely woman, curvier and with fun-colored hair of teal and brown. She had a very relaxing aura about her. This woman, it turns out, was Jay, our photographer. I don’t remember who pointed that out but once that became common knowledge, it was like a spell had been broken. More clothes were shed, nervous chattering broke into laughter.

Jay went on to explain that it was more comfortable for her to snap shots without clothes on when photographing sessions such as Power of She. "It makes the models more comfortable," she explained "Plus I like having an excuse to not wear clothes when I don’t have to."

I can’t blame her. If I could get away with it I wouldn’t be wearing clothes either.

Before we got started, Jay and Christi quickly implemented a rule: We were not to complain or self-deprecate ourselves. We could compliment one another ALL we wanted (and trust me, we were all eager to do so. Mary was gorgeous, Liz had a fantastic smile, Christi’s effervescent attitude had me giggling like a madwoman, Jennifer’s tattoos both frightened me and awed me [I fear and respect ouji boards], Lachelle was simply beautiful, Breanna laid back with gorgeous hair and Cat, well, Cat’s Cat and she’s one of my best friends for a reason. )

With Jay at the helm, the shoot went a lot smoother than I expected. I’ve been asked to model before – I was ‘discovered’ when I was 6 but when it came to get in front of the camera, I seized up. It has been a reaction that has followed me through out life. EVERY shot anyone has ever taken of me has been with me hamming it for the camera. I don’t know what it is about a camera – photographic of cinematic – but I get nervous. I rely on self-deprecating humor to cope. I become a clown and a character.

Jay calmed the whole group by leading us with her soft, yet firm demeanor. She had a very specific vision and when she looked at us, we could see the wheels turning, and her eyes sparkle with an idea. We were her human puzzle pieces, and like the human pieces we were, that vision often changed to better suit us. I do have a feeling if she weren’t so booked and if us dames didn’t have other things to do we could have spent all day weaving our bodies in a living tapestry.

By the end of the session, once we had our clothes back on, I looked at Cat and whispered "I want to model for her again."

ETA:  D4D discount, 25% off! 

Jay&

Photo, video digital and fine art.

(206) 919-2392 |

BeMyAmpersand@gmail.com

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