Happy Flowers

So it’s been 10 days since I quit being a slave to ‘The Man’, aka the soon-to-be twin of the 5-star hotel I worked for. I haven’t woken up once thinking there is somewhere I am supposed to be, and I haven’t yet looked for a job. While browsing, Honey located a few admin jobs that pay as much or more than I was making, but I decided to take a full week’s vacation before worrying about it. Guess I lost count, what with all the fun and relaxation I’m having. I’ve spent my days blissfully sleeping until the sun in my window wakes me, playing dominoes after dinner with family (and trouncing them!) catching up on all my favorite TV shows, and finally decorating my room so it looks like I live here – that was no small feat, I’ve dismantled and assembled twice now. Unfortunately the laundry beast is still winning, but is at least trapped in the closet out of sight. Aside from all the bliss, I’ve been trying to manage Honey’s paperwork obligations for his photography. It’s more than I expected and more difficult to get things done too. There are warm sunny days outside and … you know how it goes.

I watched Mr. Magoirum’s Wonder Emporium the other day, a movie I would recommend for anyone needing to reach his or her own missing inner child. I was particularly taken with ‘the congreave cube’ – I have no idea how you spell it, but it’ a block of wood and also a magical object if you believe in it. It flips, walks, and also flies. I read way too much sci-fi when I was a kid not to believe in things I can’t see (it goes far past Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny, just so you know). In a nutshell, it has been the good times promised by Honey, when he convinced me it was more important to be me than pay bills.
All the photos for this post will likely be happy flowers or abstract pretty things. It’s the zone I’m in now. I still battle periodically with mini tidal waves of stress; my first round of royally F’ing up my credit didn’t involve phone calls or nasty-grams – I was, to their knowledge, without phone number or address. This round is a little different. They find me, and if they can’t, they find Honey, which I think is just rude. Anyway, happy flowers.

Moving towards Happiness

“It’s better to ask forgiveness than to live a lifetime on your knees.” Emiliano Zapata

I quit my job last Thursday. Very few people knew and of those that did, from them I got one of two reactions: 1 - Why would you do that?!? Or 2-What happened? I also got one question of "Aren't you scared?"

I'll try to answer those in order and then you can roll it all together in your mind to come up with the whole picture. The' why' is the most straight forward: mandatory seven day weeks, 10-hr days plus, not to mention working Thanksgiving, the following Friday, and possibly Christmas. In addition there's been a freeze put on wages and promotions-no one is getting squat until the economy looks up, whenever that may be, not even cost of living increases. I felt I had a promotion coming; I'd been doing the workload of the next ranking designer for some time. Had there not been a freeze, I think I could've asked and gotten it. Oh yeah, and I was a salaried employee (read 70 hrs for the same money as 40) and they wouldn't convert me to hourly like they did for some of the others. I was stuck. And yeah, apparently they can demand all that without compensation of any kind.

As to 'what happened?' Nothing really, not one big thing anywyay. It was more of a slow deterioration of everything else in my life. I was a zombie when I got home, my relationship with Honey was suffering as was our sex life, and all I could think about, talk about, and dream about was work. Honey and I made a pact when I started this gig: if it starts coming between us, quit. That goes for any gig, dream job and career-makers included. When I say 'family comes first' I mean it. As part of that, Thanksgiving was a big issue. Since I left home for college in the fall of '99, my folks have ruined the holidays with irritating consistency. Last year for the first time, we took possession of a holiday (Turkey Day), made our own traditions, chose our own recipes, and cooked everything ourselves. I managed to get over a huge hurdle, without therapy, and had no intentions of giving it up, especially not for 'we have to open this hotel no matter what'.

And the last part...about being scared - yes and no. Originally, I was almost phobicly scared. OMG, what about the bills, credit cards...this is insane in our current economy, what if I can't get another job? Maybe I should just suck it up...and then the fog lifted with a simple question, posed of course by my black-and-white thinking Honey: what's the worst that could happen? Well, I said, in 6 months or so they'll come to pick up the car and boat, the credit cards will collect interest until they're turned over to a collection agency, where they'll sit until they find me or I acknowledge them, my credit score will fall, I'll collect unemployment until I find another job...and his answer - so what. So we ride the bus - the bus system is very good now - or ride a bike. It'll shrink our carbon footprint and be just like college (the first time) before we owned a car and walked everywhere. So we pay cash for everything; people forget the value of simple cash. It will be fine. Credit scores can always recover; debts will wait until you can pay them. It will be just fine. Ultimately, happiness won out. I felt myself becoming someone I'm not, someone who never smiled and grumbled constantly, who felt trapped and was beginning to hate. It wasn't worth it. It isn't worth it, in any circumstance. Two days before I quit, I decided I would. The next two days I floated through work, smiling and joking. People noticed. The pressure lifted, skies looked bluer, and the sun was warm on my face. It had been those things anyway, but I noticed again. More than I needed to be a hot-shot designer with a 5-star hotel on my resume, I needed to remember who I am and what's true to my heart. The hippie lives!

So if you see me hoofing it down the street, laughing and grinning like an idiot, don't feel sorry for me. Remember I'm free of stress and possibly of car and insurance payments. Feel sorry for you...that fear has stopped you from so many things. Consider two questions: what's the worst that could happen? And what could I achieve if I was not afraid? Think about it.

In the spirit of moving towards happiness like I had as a child, I went through an old family photo CD...don't hate, I know I'm adorable - even when my Mom attacked me with curlers!

Pesky Boxes

There’s a line from a techno song stuck in my head … “stuck inside a box, you gotta get out…” – a verse that reflects so many of our truths and paradoxes. Everything we’re ‘supposed’ to do is technically a box – the job, house, car, credit – all interlinked and part of the bigger system. I feel like Jim Carey in the movie “23”, only instead of numbers I see boxes everywhere. My job is a box: it’s suffocating my creativity, draining my energy to the point of stupidity, and paying very little in exchange for what I’m giving up. Yet to get out this box, I have to contend with another one. The economy is crap, everyone is getting laid off, and I need a new job – not exactly an ideal mix. If I stay I go crazy, become someone I’d never want to be, and resent and hate everybody – all in conflict with my happy hippie nature. If I go, assuming there’s somewhere to go, there’s the challenge of juggling the bills during transition (I can juggle in real life but not very well) and dealing with the box of credit debt. It’s only a number just like money is only green paper; it’s also your identity (and mine) and a judgment whether it’s fair or not. So it’s all a big f*#king box. We care or don’t care, fight it or go along, give in, give up, or cope. I haven’t decided which path to take yet. I’m against coping for the simple fact that it means being unhappy and living with it. “To thine own self be true.” For a guy whose been dead for nearly 400 years (392 at present), Shakespeare had it right.

For me, as of now, all these boxes have rolled into one challenge – to find a new happy place (of work) until Honey’s photography takes off, at which point I can retire to a privileged life of shining light and rubbing oil on beautiful models. I can already feel the envy.

Unwanted Guests

Note: I apologize for the lack of cool pics - Honey is up to his eyes in other (apparently more important) photo stuff and I haven't learned how to resize my own stuff yet (hello, not a photographer), so bear with me on that...

Since we haven't been on the road in awhile, I'll expound on a subject that's currently eating me: house guests. The problem with unwanted guests...is they're unwanted, and usually blatantly unaware of that fact or more blatantly exploiting it. They stay when you'd rather they leave; they're awake when you need to sleep. The sanctity of your bathroom or kitchen (or both) is invaded and very little regard, if any, is given for your boundaries on sharing. The dilemma of the situation: how to get them to leave expeditiously without being out-and-out rude or encouraging them to come back (you know you do it in the name of being a gracious host, but secretly you never want them to darken your doorway again!). If you don't mind being out-and-out rude, this post isn't for you so just carry on and be nasty until they leave. If not, please continue reading.
So, we've devised a few not-so-subtle methods of house guest warfare that we are currently applying (oh yes, we have the epitome of the horrible squatter) or will be applying shortly to make said guest's stay as uncomfortable as possible. First, if like us, you have the main living room TV that is never available for your viewing pleasure after a long day of work because your guest is letting her monster-brat children watch cartoons - hide the remote. When you are ready and your guest is out of sight, feel free to fire up the tele and take over your favorite couch. Second, if like me, you awaken each morning looking forward to and expecting to have a bowl of your favorite cereal only to discover it has been completely devoured by your locust-like guests - also hide it, if possible out of reach without the use of a step ladder after you've smuggled it into the house from the grocery store. Third, and this requires a door knob equipped with a lock on it, you can stash/safeguard any personal effects such as purse and keys, cell phone (personal story on this in a moment) expensive facial products, make-up, medications, loufas, etc in your bedroom each night. I personally have issue with sharing my loufa - for me its like sharing a toothbrush: disgusting and unsanitary unless you've been married to that person for three years or more.
The cell phone story: we've had the unfortunate experience of this guest sneaking into a sleeping person's room to "borrow" their cellphone (we have no house phone) to call all their buddies during the night, effectively burning through someone else's valuable minutes. Our particular guest, when asked about her possible possession of the phone, claimed the owner had "lost" it. Don't fall victim to this - lock your door at night, and if possible, during the day. You can also do laundry while your guest showers to steal all the hot water, cook with food items they despise, watch movies or shows you know they hate (if you're sharing the TV at all), and generally be oblivious to any of their special needs. Be pleasant while being unpleasant. Once you get started you'll be surprised by the joy it brings. I support the hippie credo- you all know that, but peace, love, and happiness do not apply in this situation. Try watching the movie "Monster-in-law" to draw inspiration. Depending on how desperate things get and how long the forecasted stay, you can always resort to paying them to leave – I know, that’s insane but sanity is relative: paying someone to leave or living with them in your house which makes you crazy. Your choice.

Office Musings

October 17-
It’s 8:20am. I’m sitting at my office desk, which I haven’t seen in several weeks, reading the biography of Marvin Gaye and feeling decidedly like I’m not suited for a desk job. It’s ironic really, because 6 years ago while painting apartments for a living and scraping by on less than $300 a week, I wished for something more stable just like this desk job. As adaptive as I am however, anyone can tell I’m not a good fit for an office environment filled with pettiness and not-so-subtle comparisons of who has the best new Beamer. All this and I have only been here an hour and a half. I haven’t even had my PB&J for breakfast yet and I’m annoyed by the vibe in this office – and worse still, people are just starting to arrive.

In other news, we attended the first of five guitar performances at the Las Vegas Acadamy last night. I’m sorry to say it was neither what I expected nor particularly moving. In my mind, ‘guitar performance’ meant a solo or several solos of rocking out, not an orchestra of guitar players all picking the same notes. Sitting in the front row, I remembered how bad ass the marching band had been during my high school years, when Mr. Mack was in charge and they played Pink Floyd’s “The Wall” for a home game, sounding so much more polished and having way more fun. From a photographic standpoint, it wasn’t the low lighting we were originally told either. When we arrived, the organizer informed us there was a paid photog for the school present and we would have to work around him for position. (Said photog was later reported to be drooling over everyone else’s equipment). My first question was “then why did you invite, no insist, on having four other photographers pay to attend this event?” Anyway, each photog is only allowed to attend one performance as a participating photographer, so I guess it all works out.

Yesterday also turned out to be a day off for me. The powers that be decided to clear the job site mid-morning so I was instructed to return to the office. In retrospect, I should have just gone home. No one here knew I was coming or what to do with me once I arrived - I’m in the field because there’s nothing for me to do here. Anyway, it was cleared through the highest of channels for me to have the day off since I’ve been working so much overtime and to come back tomorrow (that being today) for a regular 8-hr shift. So here I sit without the promised list of tasks to perform, reading a book on a severely paranoid and insecure individual, waiting for someone to notice that I’m not doing a bloody thing and give me hell about it. So far so good, but it makes for a very long day. I’ve taken to amusing myself with random dreams of our backpacking adventure (set to take off sometime next year) or the book I’m planning on writing, filled with mischief and magic.

Downtown - Uptown

October 6-
It’s Monday and one of the hardest Mondays I’ve had in quite awhile. It involved problems at work with ‘mold’, only we’re not allowed to call it mold because apparently we’re not qualified to do so; hiking a lot of stairs: down 38 flights, up 45, and then down 63 (ouch!), and no one taking responsibility for anything or getting anything done. Since Monday sucked so bad, I’m going to talk about last Friday instead, which was significantly better just by virtue of being Friday.

We also went to First Friday that night and boy has it changed. Not only do they charge a $2 dollar entry fee, but they’ve got lots of booths selling hand-made wares, two real music stages with multiple bands, and an art gallery I don’t remember being there. There’s also the usual galleries inside the Arts Factory, which seems to change artists every five minutes, and even included a budding architect this round. It was a good time this month due to the cooler temps, and the entry fee seemed to keep out or at least suppress the misfits misbehaving.

October 9-
Tonight was the monthly meeting of the LVPS (Las Vegas Photographic Society) downtown at Hennessey’s. I went straight from work to the dentist to home (long enough to change my shoes) and then with the right side of my face numb, to the meeting. Eating a pastrami burger has never been so hard, although it was a mute point – I was very sick at 3am and it left me. After the meeting, we walked downtown for a little while observing (for me) and photographing (for him) the local wildlife. I always giggle at the Chippendale booth – don’t get me wrong; they’re nice to look at. There’s a lot of gym hours and devotion to hair products there, but when asked what they do for a living all they can say is “I’m beefcake”.

There was nearly a fight – I believe over dance styles – a band that could actually sing (see the guitarist at left), a saxophone player named Carl “Safe Sax” Ferris who made my chest ache when he played, and several interesting people including this guy in the hairy blue coat. To sum it up in a single phrase: Downtown is where the interesting people are.

Just a side note (done in the middle of this long post): this weekend is bursting with activities for anyone looking for interesting stuff to shoot and a challenge. The Pure Aloha Festival at the Cannery (West) is tonight, Saturday, and Sunday. Anyone working on low lighting will get plenty of opportunities to practice. Also the Renaissance Festival (officially known as The Age of Chivalry) is at Sunset Park all three days. Lots of action shots, interesting/strange people in period garb. We highly recommend Sir Rodney’s Legs if you like turkey and eating with your hands (who doesn’t?).

October 10-
I’m sitting in the big window of a two-story suite at a soon-to-be 5-star hotel on the Strip, listening to James Blunt sing “You’re Beautiful”, and thinking of…nearly nothing. What I’m working on, aside from wording this post, is a mind-numbing exercise of relative futility. I’m completely alone in this suite, and since no one else needs my skills at the moment, I’m absorbing the momentary peace and hoping no one official looking shows up. It’s Friday – probably won’t be by the time I get this posted but it might – and the last day of a very rough week. They’re all sort of blending together, these weeks. Usually I’ve anticipated Renfair for more than a month; I think I realized it’s this weekend sometime yesterday.

I’ve been feeling this a lot lately…we’ve been in town since Labor Day; I don’t know how many weekends at home that is, but it’s far too many. Fishing, combined with a complete disconnect from everything, has been my saving grace. Only we haven't been able to go. I need it like other people (fill in whichever people you like or dislike) need Starbucks. Because without it, I’ve very similar to a space monkey who’s been in the capsule too long without bananas: not a pretty sight or friendly encounter unless you have said bananas. So tonight I’ll be placating with the only remedies I have available: a foot soak, hot shower, this blog post, and sleep, not necessarily in that order, all after I drop Honey at the Pure Aloha Festival for tonight’s concert. I went last year, read a book from a lawn chair, and marveled at the volume of music and clouds of pot smoke. Tonight I’m not missing much. You might be if you're into that sort of thing.

The Passion of Flamenco

September 29-
It's after 9PM and I should be going to bed, but we just got home from another amazing free event at the Flamingo Library and I need to share...so much so that I'm writing to you from my mother-in-law's POS computer that's usually reserved for games of solitaire and stashed in the spare room. Tonight's event was the history of Flamenco and the host was an amazing woman by the name of Margo Torea, a dance instructor at UNLV and a life long performer and devotee to the art of Spanish dance. Her energy moved me; her passion inspired me. She played the castenettes and I felt an overwhelming urge to travel and explore and to chase every dream I've ever had, no matter how crazy or farfetched. I felt in that moment if I didn't pursue living and art that my life would be wasted.
For those of you having trouble with the hippie sentiment, bare with me. Something's come over me lately, slowly at first and then with gathering speed, and my whole outlook on life has dramatically changed. I want to do and see and live, really live, and the rest of the mess be damned. I no longer want a career, or even a job for that matter, that will interfere with my pursuit of my personal happiness, which doesn't include any of the things that make most people happy. I want memories, loads of them, of every exotic place, every amazing food, and due to my passionate support of my husband's dream, every picture I can possibly get. This woman we saw tonight reminds me of all those things. The way she speaks, with passion and joy, that sucks you in, sucked me in, and had me feeling things that a simple discussion on dance didn't seem capable of. So now, when I shouldn't be, I'm wide awake, daydreaming of the possibilities rather than the limitations or logistics.