Soleil et Lune
I met Heather Huffman on a road trip to Houston, TX to see Queens of the Stone Age in concert. I love reading people and feeling out their energies. I was instantly drawn to Heather. She is someone that you want to hear from, someone that you care to hear speak. Sweet in spirit but has the soul of a train. It’s incredible how much you can learn about a human when you have the honor of working with them. I enjoy working with people who make me feel something inside, something new, something cool.
There are boundless amounts of photographers in the DFW area, SO MANY HIPSTA PHOTOGRAPHAS. I chose Heather. Heather is simply good at what she does; there is no fluff or façade. She’s stunning in appearance and stature. She is my blonde bombshell, taller than a tree. A pretty eyed woman that I call friend. She wore blue jeans and flats to the shoot. Her time was spent hustling in the dirt and weeds to find the most intrinsic angles and candid moments. She captures spirits, not just faces. She captures souls, not just silhouettes. I lucked out and was able to pick her brain for some insight…
What were your childhood hobbies?
I have adored writing stories and poems since I was a little girl.
I had an affinity for anything really tiny, like exceptionally small toys.
I collected pigs (mostly stuffed animals and piggy banks).
I also loved to draw.
Like many animal lovers, I swore I was going to be a vet and save all of the endangered animals. I can recall making signs that read "save the animals" when I was in elementary school.
What interested you in photography?
My sister gave me my first camera when I was in middle school. It was a film camera. I remember having impromptu photo shoots with my cousin, Mallory, in my living room wearing my big sister's dresses. I never actually considered it as a career possibility because my eldest sister is a professional photographer and I didn't want to step on her shoes, you know? But every time I took a personality/career inventory assessment (like Myers-Briggs and Strong), photography was always at the top of my results/suggestions.
When did you start snapping photos?
It was only a little over a year ago. My sister (the photographer one), at my surprise, asked me if I wanted her to train me to help shoot weddings with her. Of course I did!! So, she brought me along to weddings and trained me. When I started getting the hang of things, she began paying me an hourly wage and giving me more leeway. It wasn't long before I was able to buy my own DSLR and lens so that I could explore my own style of photography.
How do you feel when you photograph someone?
Photography is one of the most magical things in the world. To be able to stop time and capture a beautiful moment for someone never gets old. When I am on a shoot, my body just gets this crazy energy. It's hard to explain but it works kind of like caffeine for me. I also love capturing landscapes and skylines. Me, my camera, a beautiful sunrise and a vacant landscape...the most serene and spiritual experience. Photography is the beauty of life captured. It has little to do with what you see but everything to do with HOW you see it.
When did you begin your photography career/business?
Pretty recently. My first independent photo shoot was for a beautiful model named Bree last summer.
Where do you see your business going? What do you envision for the climax?
One of my dreams would be for Josh and I to begin our own business together. I would be the photographer and he the videographer. We would shoot weddings, engagements, senior pictures, graduations…the whole enchilada. It is also a dream of mine to do some fashion photography. The perfect climax would be getting my work published somewhere.
What is your desired feel or style for your work?
I love warm and earthy tones so I generally only shoot with natural lighting, specifically during golden hour, which is "photog" talk for the hour after sunrise and the hour before sunset. It creates the most breathtaking, ethereal warmth and glow for images. I have become quite obsessed with lighting. It's so important.
Do you mainly photograph families? Weddings? Graduations? What's your favorite?
I do it all. I love capturing weddings, engagements, family portraits, senior portraits, nature...all of it. What I find most rewarding is artistic/conceptual photography.
What is your camera/lens of choice?
I shoot with my Canon 5D Mark ii. I usually carry a 50mm 1.4 and a 85mm 1.4.
Do you have a favorite quote?
"Everything was beautiful and nothing hurt."- Slaughterhouse Five by Kurt Vonnegut.
Your favorite author?
Your favorite band?
Man, tough one. Either Radiohead or Sigur Ros.
See more of Heather's work on photo page.
Sunday, January 25, 2015
Arbor Hills Nature Preserve
Men At Work
Soleil et Lune Photography
tony lamas || a girl and her boots
Boots are priority.
I feel like I’m always crushing on a pair of boots.
Boots are home, comfort and security for me.
My boots have an average life span of five years.
After a good five years, they die in my closet; I watch them die.
I can’t imagine throwing them out.
Who does that?
I spend good money on them; let me watch them die.
I was staring at my closet one morning and wondering, “How much of this shit do I actually wear?” Still haven’t worn that copperish colored motorcycle jacket (so much prettier than what you’re currently imagining). It’s been over two years and I still haven’t left my house in it. Money hangs in my closet while I bitch about hating all of my clothes, tisk tisk. A garment has to really be something special for me to keep it around for any length of time. When I love something, I REALLY LOVE IT. I will wear it 2-3 times a week.
Vintage Band Graphics.
I love what I love.
Let us all love what we love!
However, I can be very flighty with my clothes. Love it in the store but ready to re-sell it two days later. Some things stick, some things don’t. I loaded up 25% of my clothes into black trash bags, kind of felt bad, like I was hurting their feelings. With confidence, I scurried across the parking lot to Plato’s Closet. I sell to Plato’s Closet at least four times a year…
Like a snob, I submit my trash bags thinking, “Surely, they are going to pay me $5,738 for all of my awesome shit.”
“Jodi, your buy is ready for you to review.”
“We are willing to offer you $54.50 for your items, would you like to accept?”
Couldn’t make it $55?
Always heartbreaking to know you’ll never get what you paid for 25% of your closet. What a tragic beating for women who like to shop…
As the lady is counting out my cash, I turned to my left, there they were.
SON OF A BITCHIN’ BOOTS. Tony Lamas. Vaquero style. Snip toe. Wingtip metal accents. Authentic stitching. High-rise. Muted gray.
Like a desperate moron, I shouted, “MAM! Are these for sale?!” I flipped the dangling neon price tag to find out that they were FORTY-FIVE DOLLARS!!! Y’all, these boots were worth a minimum of three hundred in their prime. I returned forty-five dollars cash to the lady at the counter and walked out with my dream boots.
I was high.
High as a kite.
Thanking the boot gods.
Grinning for the universe.
Bury me in these.
I’ll never forget the night I discovered I was pregnant, July 4, 2006. Lindy drove me to Wal-Mart as we bounced affirmation between the driver and passenger seats…
“Yea, there’s no way that you got pregnant your first time having sex, that would be insane.”
“I know, right?”
“I just want to take it to ease my mind, ya know?”
“Yea, for sure, you’re not pregnant.”
I still remember her blue mustang in the parking lot. My redheaded goddess.
It said to wait three minutes and then your future would be revealed to you because you peed on a stick. I stood there, lanky and terrified, head turned away from five inches of plastic with a convenient digital screen that might as well have been a gun pointed to my head.
Three. Fucking. Minutes.
I glanced at the word “pregnant”. I’m not sure how my knees didn’t buckle at such a bold response, it was like a bitchy girl telling you that your clothes sucked, ya know? It wasn’t nice. It wasn’t subtle. It was a bullet.
I hollered out to Lindy from inside the stall, “Hey, these things can be wrong, right?” In that moment, I heard myself ask the question and the universe showed no mercy. It resonated that I was sixteen, pregnant and weighing on the option of hiding in a Wal-Mart bathroom stall for nine months.
I began my hunt for Zach, there was always a hunt. I remember him holding me and feeling this manifestation of comfort and mutual weight to be shared. Surely, this would mean a long awaited turning point in our high school affair. SURELY. I was carrying his life inside of my gut.
You cannot smoke meth and be a father, you have to pick one.
It only took a couple more lies and steady disregard for my heart and emotions before I realized that I was probably headed down this long road alone. My childhood crush was lethargic in his addiction.
I held my job at TAMU calling the most angry people in the country asking them questions about the government, traffic laws, mercury in fish and other random shit. I worked hard for my $300 paycheck in my manly sweatpants and ridiculous headset. I worked up until days before I delivered Lane; I still remember my inability to roll my chair close to my desk because of my inflated belly. My pancia.
I was an olive on a toothpick.
Lane Walker White
February 27, 2007
Seven pounds. Eleven ounces.
One stick. Two berries.
Three months ago, I was incriminated of having my priorities out of line, Lane being low on the list. I was told that there are certain things I can’t do because Lane’s dad is absent from his life and because I’m “still a mom”. I was accused of choosing traveling over Lane and told that this is a problem because he needs me all of the time. My “absences” were ranked alongside a dad who chose drugs and crime over his son, which resulted in incarceration.
That is a pill that this bitter, hot-headed and miserable woman refuses to swallow. I won’t agree to disagree or “squash” the issue. Let me tell you why…
I have worked to provide what I am able to for Lane since I was sixteen years old. I moved my son away from his birthplace because God told me to attend CFNI in Dallas, TX and to relentlessly trust Him. I did not work my first semester of bible school because we were figuring out life alone and needed every bit of each other’s company. Both Lane and I grew deeply connected to DFW through relationships, unforgettable experiences and flourishing opportunities. I chose to stay. Turns out I wasn’t making a huge mistake by moving my two year old away from Bryan, TX.
I went to Africa for three weeks in the summer of 2011. This trip was a necessary step toward my graduation from Christ For The Nations Institute. Thousands of dollars were given for me to attend the school; it was an absolute honor to travel overseas with my team.
In 2013, I had the most beautiful opportunity to engage in a three month long internship in the Philippines. I refused to go without Lane and knew that the internship would be equally substantial and meaningful for him. We raised over ten thousand dollars, enrolled Lane in a school overseas and jumped over countless amounts of hurdles including a nauseating court battle only days before we were scheduled to fly out. Lane floated effortlessly in Filipino culture while doing life with the locals. He graduated kindergarten and told the crowd that he wanted to be an artist so he could share beauty with the world.
This past year, I traveled to Ireland for one week. I was connected to this trip through my mentor while I was in the Philippines. I’ll never forget when I was washing dishes in my dorm and God started swirling the thought of Irish gypsies around in my head. I was instantly directed to the coolest missionaries in Ireland; God connected all the dots. During my flight over, I sat next to a hippie woman who rocked my world. She aspired to be a manager at Whole Foods; she loved the company. I knew she was one of those gritty bitches, a carrier of inspiration and punch. She looked me in my eyes and said, “Jodi, you have to read Wild.” I trusted this woman. I bought the book when I returned to the states. I have never connected with an author like I do with Cheryl Strayed. This book made sense to me. I related to Cheryl in ways I would’ve never imagined. Because of this book, I am hiking across four states this summer along the American Discovery Trail. I believe that God connected it all, I KNOW HE CONNECTED IT ALL. People are free to think the shittiest thoughts about my hike. People are free to think I’m an idiot. People are free to think that I am mentally unstable. People are also free to think that I am a selfish mother with her priorities out of line.
Can’t forget Mexico. (Can’t remember). I spent a week in Mexico for my twenty-fifth birthday to drink beer and lay on a beach with Janet. It was an adult trip. I am so adult.
All of my trips have been based on Lane’s schedule and comfort. Lane is obsessed with Weido (JJ) and that is the woman I trust to care for him if I travel in the summer. Lane loves it. I’m at peace with working religiously during the year and letting my son visit Grandma’s house while I take a break.
I never lost myself in my motherhood.
I don’t believe that your own passions and dreams become obsolete when you become a mother; they aren’t supposed to fit in a box either. I don’t believe you put yourself on the backburner until you no longer find fulfillment in anything but your kids. I DO believe that your children should be top priority, meaning they dictate how and when you do what you love, not if at all.
My son does not have an active father figure; that was not my choice nor Lane’s for that matter. I will not pause my life because of someone else’s decision. That would be completely ignorant. As much as I want to, I will never be able to fill the “daddy” void in Lane’s life. I don’t have that capability because I am a woman. I could quit my job, homeschool Lane and never leave the state of Texas but that won’t make me his father. At the end of the day, I have to trust that my role is enough right now or else I will make myself sick with panic. Lane is incredibly smart, stable, open, honest and free. Somewhere, somehow, I did something right.
I think women need to get hungry. STAY HUNGRY. THERE IS NOTHING YOU CAN’T DO. Get selfish with your desires, suffocating them will only piss you off. Don’t let people fool you. You are smart and more than capable of making decisions for you and your family. Whatever makes you a better person will inevitably make you a better mother for your children. We have made our way out of the kitchen. Let’s get the fuck out of the corner too.
The past eight years have been beautiful and painful.
I have done the absolute best I can with what I have in front of me.
Lane believes I’m some sort of rockstar mermaid QUEEN.
That’s all I need.
Brazos Co. Blues
“Where’d you come from baby?”
My roots hold a hazy scene in my mind.
A vivid blur, if that makes any sense.
A recent weekend in my hometown of Bryan, Tx caused a nostalgic yearning for remembrance.
Back roads and old country music make it impossible to forget the heartbreak, flickering scenes of youth and seasonal comfort that tell my story.
There are a few memories that always come to mind when I think about my biological father…the first couple would be Little Caesars pizza and Barbie dolls. Damn, that was my jam when I was a tiny soul. I was a lanky, hazel-eyed dreamer with a raspy voice that still haunts me on home videos. Tony would never let me put the stickers on my new Barbie cars. He made sure the windows and the doors were stickered properly, I always appreciated that.
“Yea, she tied her hair up in ribbons and bows, signed her letters with x’s and o’s…”
I was confused when I saw him loading up his dresser drawers in a van; that was weird for me to watch. Something told me that life was growing to a healthier point for my family and that Tony leaving was necessary.
It was necessary.
My dad liked to throw fits. I’ll never forget the looks we got at the Mexican restaurant in downtown Bryan, it was most likely a Sunday. Something didn’t go his way so he slammed his hands against the table and sent the salsa flying in the air. Ain’t that some shit? I knew then why my mom resisted any affection with my dad. She was not perfect in their relationship but I know she worked hard and was devoted to her girls. That was gold to me.
I remember how cold the kitchen floor was on my bare feet (I wasn’t a fan of shoes) when he kneeled down in front of me and told me that I could come live with him any time I wanted. A small part of me jumped at the idea but I knew that I could never leave Jacque. She was the coolest and I needed her with me. She needed me too.
I made Velveeta macaroni and cheese and anxiously peeked through the blinds waiting for him to arrive from Missouri. I saw the lights and heard the roar of his eighteen wheeler. I greeted him with a smile and a plate of cold macaroni and cheese. We sat and talked at the exact round, wooden table my mom has in her kitchen today. It was a minimal high for me, still a high though. The visits wore off and the distance grew.
Too distant to touch.
Too distant to feel.
Too distant to connect.
Too distant to repair.
There was such a comfort when I was with Joe Weido. I knew nobody could touch us. We understood each other and that made us such a strong team. We liked darkness, it gave us peace in our minds when the world was too heavy. I’m speaking of literal darkness, such as a dimly lit room. As strange as it was and is today, I love cloudy days and dark rooms. He just “got it” when it came to our mutual emotional slums. No matter the lows, our shared company brought us joy and laughter. We ate big macs when we watched Urban Cowboy; I remember the ring of condensation on his glass top coffee table from my McDonalds cup. He liked Milky Way candy bars and would always save half for me when I got home from school. Organic foods weren’t a part of my youth.
“There’s nothin’ left you can do to try and bring me ‘round. ‘Cause everything you do just brings me down…”
We always seemed to connect no matter the environment. He was my constant.
His hair was silver and slick by the end of the day no matter if I washed it that day or not. I always liked it when he didn’t wear his teeth. It never felt natural when he was talking to me if he was wearing his teeth. He wore a blue collared shirt and a classic cut pair of Wrangler jeans every day. Kool cigarettes were his brand of choice and he always had a pack tucked in the pocket of his shirt. His eyes and hands were unforgettable, both so distinct in character. His eyes were deep and brutally honest with the world. His hands were like callused leather. He was a carpenter, a poker player, a cattleman and an Italian spirit. I remember the night his wallet got washed with his jeans and I ironed all of the bills out until they were dry and crisp. As a little girl, I was convinced he was some type of gangster.
My PawPaw died on October 11, 2004 at the age of 72. Too damn young.
Years of working outside without a shirt caused irreversible sun damage and eventually Melanoma. Within the last days of his life I stopped by his house on my way to my Homecoming dance to show off my dress, I was free of my tomboy years. When he saw me his expression brightened and he smiled the coolest smile. His eyes were no longer sedated, they were familiar. Fixed with mine as they always were in past years.
Joe Weido taught me how to hammer a nail and how to be tough and mean. He gave me my grit. I will always cherish that.
He will always be my Johnny Cash.
I will always be his “Suga”.
My recent trip to Bryan was more than a getaway. When I saw that Opersteny road had been paved, (when did that happen?) my mind was swept away to a past scene. I was young and wild. I was a confused daughter. I was in love with a toxic boy. I was a Tom Petty song. I was a pair of cutoff Levi’s. I was a half-ass Bryan High School student. I was angry. I was a loud and proud rock and roll child. I was looking for Jesus Christ. I was scared of my imagination. I was exactly who I needed to be.
My mind always runs for the wild.
I am so grateful for that weekend that stirred my memory and reminded me of the coolest man I’ve ever known. Carrabba road will never feel like home again but I like the girl who is rooted there, she lived the exact life she was destined to.
I am constantly on the hunt for new veins of inspiration, in search of a new feeling that breeds ideas and higher roads. Recently, I have taken on a book that has slowly changed my life with every page. “Wild” by Cheryl Strayed is rich and real, nothing has compared for me. I crave this book like I crave food.
Cheryl embarks on a blind adventure after she loses her mother to cancer and finds herself lost in her mind. She is determined to hike the Pacific Crest Trail in hopes of an inner awakening, in hopes of something new.
“I would want things to be different than they were. The wanting was a wilderness and I had to find my own way out of the woods.”
I have never felt more close to someone who I’d never met. She gets it, she understands life in a way that I do. Different tragedies, similar wounds. She is my sister.
Thursday came and I took my lunch break at work hoping to gain some ground in the book. Reading does not come easy with my schedule. Something hit me like a ton of bricks as I followed her journey through the pages, my heart did weird things in that moment. I asked myself, “Why not you?” Processing anxious thoughts of wanting to take off across the country on foot, I sat there like a child studying my fingernails. That was it, this was my next adventure, I could not shake it. I’m a very stubborn female who almost always does exactly what I make my mind up to do. This stubborn armor has taken me deep into life, so much life. My mind was immediately frantic with doubt and obsessive rotations. I wanted to say it out loud. I wanted to scream it and then scream “FUCK YOU” to my retail prison. Instead, I called one of my best friends, her and I run the retail prison together.
“Mare, I’m going to hike across America.”
Surprise and support radiated from the other end of the phone. That’s when it all started. That phone call marks the day when my balls got a little bigger.
After anxiously researching trails across the country and instructional YouTube videos on how to properly use bear mace, I was ravenous for the start line. The Lord spoke to me about a cause, “What will you walk against throughout your journey?” I instantly knew that this hike was about freedom, freedom in my mind. Doubting my cause, I was reminded that the negativity and doubt were confirmation that I would definitely be walking for freedom in my mind. BINGO. I was a crazy ass, I battle my mind more than anything. Sometimes the pill isn’t enough, sometimes you need to pack and GO.
The American Discovery Trail stretches from Delaware to California, all of about 6,800 miles in distance. In this season of my life, I am not able to complete the entire trail but I have high hopes that one day I will. I will start with a portion of the trail that begins in Denver, CO and ends in San Francisco, CA. My journey will equal a total of 1,772 miles, I will begin in the summer of 2015.
Logistics crowded my mind. Questions from friends and family came quickly.
“What about Lane?”
“Aren’t you scared, Jodi?”
“Are you for real, for real?!”
I have plans for Lane to fly out to my locations at different times during the trip, should make for an adventurous summer for both of us. My hope has always been that Lane would be strengthened and inspired by my travels. I want him to grow up with a strong mind that tells him he can accomplish anything he desires. I believe that for him and I want him to believe that for himself. I have always done motherhood differently, it’s never been predictable or familiar. My son is intellectual and free, he has a way of seeing things. He imagines opportunity and thrives off of his dreams. I can say with confidence that my travels have made me a better woman, they have propelled me into my best. When I am my best, that is when I am my best for Lane.
In 259 days from now, I will fly to Denver, CO and push my body to limits it has never known by hiking to San Francisco, CA. I am scared out of my mind. I am doubtful. I am weary. I am periodically defeated. Above all, I am stubborn. I am wild. I am ferocious for new air. I have so much preparation in the upcoming months, in every aspect of life. If you are a praying person, pray for me. If this entry has lit a fire under your ass, join me on my journey. Whether it's 15 miles or 1,500 miles, you are welcome to join and stand against whatever beast may come your way. We'll do it Forrest Gump style.
Life has been given to us, let us all keep living.
bad boys from boston
I knew that Slash was a cool looking creature and that he was, at some point, a member of Guns N' Roses. Maybe I would’ve been more enthusiastic about his opening performance if the fan in front of me wasn’t so tall? I decided to rock no matter the amount of beer I sloshed or time I had to stand on my tip toes. The music was good. Just when I thought I had zero expertise on the set list, I heard the intro to “Sweet Child of Mine”. Hello old memories and vibes. I was satisfied and swaying in my kimono and lace up boots just when “Paradise City” flooded the arena. The opening show was more than I could’ve asked for, it gave the fans something new and something old.
Shey and I lucked out and were able to snag two open seats with an incredible view of the stage, proves you should always make friends in new places. We had the privilege of meeting two rock and rollers from another time, Joe and Gloria. They were a couple in their sixties who came to groove. Gloria was full of wonderful things, we connected on Seger, Clapton and Petty. She was seasoned and I was envious. She had seen both The Beatles and The Stones in concert, a past that would keep giving.
The lights cut and “Love in an Elevator” started the show. Steven was a sight with his red, flared pants and leather tassels. It's hard to convey what happens in my bones when I see a picture of Joe Perry, you can only imagine when I’m in the same room as him. He strutted and stroked his guitar wearing a purple silk button down and a black concho belt. I hadn't seen a front man make love to an amp since Hendrix. Joe knew what he was doing. He’s my Elvis.
“Y’all want the old shit or the new shit?!”
The entire arena shouted, “OLD SHIT!!”
They ended with “Walk This Way” when everyone pulled out their lighters and iphones, come on boys! Signature songs had not been played just yet when Steven sat at his piano and started “Dream On”. I almost fainted when Joe stood on top of the piano and owned his guitar, such a stud. It was more than beautiful when “Sweet Emotion” ended the night. THAT IS MY FOREVER SOUND. I felt like I was floating. The night of August 22, 2014 was full of discovery and flight, I will never forget the first time I saw my second favorite band of all time.
I will surround myself with lovers of rock and roll for the rest of my life. Some got it, some don’t. This sound is forever in my blood, a gift from my Momma. I belong to a group of people who unapologetically bang their heads to a sound that shakes their soul and feeds their heart. These people are my family and the music is my medicine.
Sing with me. Sing for the year. Sing for the laughter and sing for the tear.
a broken female
Do you suffer from SSMP?
(selective social media posting)
I am so guilty of this, y'all. As humans, we want our best face to be on display! The thinnest silhouette! The coolest adventure! The most hip hang out spot! We secretly eat a whole bag of sun chips in our undies while we post endless perfection for EVERYBODY to see. I admit, I have experienced some cool shit that I am proud of, but there is a Jodi that some of y'all may not know...
I am a horrible swimmer, like don't drop me in the ocean.
I overeat, then hate myself.
I used to want to be a singer, a real famous one. That dream was shut down when I heard my own voice recording.
I am the most secure, insecure person you will ever meet. I will say 500 negative things about myself for every 1 positive thing.
I compare myself to everyone around me and, of course, always end up losing in my mind.
There have been times when I have fully convinced myself that I have been single for seven years because I'm fat.
I have ran from the cops.
I like to shut people out of my life.
I have led men on out of my loneliness.
I thoroughly enjoy saying the word fuck.
If my arms look fat in a picture, I won't post it.
My card got declined at Starbucks the other day. MUAHA.
I am still not unpacked from my trip to Ireland. (I got back two weeks ago)
It annoys me when a preacher preaches a whole message on tithing.
I don't want to tell you how many Jack in the Box tacos I can consume.
Sometimes I get so angry with Lane that I want to throw him across the room.
I always assume that people think the absolute worst about me and my life.
Assume. Assume. Assume.
I have battled heavy depression since I was 14 years old, still battling that bitch.
I park in handicapped spaces without remorse.
I don't really care if my fruit gets washed.
Oh, I almost got kicked out of Bible School for breaking the rules by getting wasted.
See where I'm going with this? I love transparency. I AM THE MOST IMPERFECT GIRL. I am not proud of the list above, they are all little truths that I have dealt with. They are a part of me! It's cool to be uncool. It's acceptable to be as crazy as they come. It's alright to not have it figured out. Fly your freak flag! Move forward! I'll be right there beside you.
how to: destroyed levis
Trips to the thrift store can really shift my mood.
A couple months back, I discovered these oversized Levis at a thrift store in Fort Worth, TX.
The lady at the counter said I owed her two bucks and I was instantly inspired to make something of them!
TWO BUCKS, Y'ALL.
Here's what you'll need:
Anything else you can find
(I raided Lane's pumpkin carving kit for a tiny carving tool, perfect for small details!)
A washing machine
The first step is to evaluate your threads...
Are you interested in booty shorts or mid-length shorts?
Cut off excess material, when in doubt, cut off LESS. You can always go back and cut off more.
Don't get scissor happy, girl.
Don't focus on perfection, this is your messy creation.
Now the fun begins, you decide the placement of your "aged" destruction.
Where do you want the most "wear and tear" on your shorts?
Again, start minimal.
You can always add more later!
I found it helpful to try my Levis on and make tiny marks where I wanted the holes to be created.
With my serrated kitchen knife, I made horizontal cuts of all different lengths.
With my tiny pumpkin carver, I made the cuts not so clean.
Run your tool over the clean cut lines until they begin to look organically aged.
One last step to complete the wear and tear process...
Wash and dry them!
I do not know how to sew, Ha.
I rolled the bottom of my shorts to my desired length.
Cute and cuffed, I kinda dig how messy they look.
Make the pockets rocker and cool, the butt of a pair of Levis is the BEST.
I wear mine with worn out v-necks and an occasional plaid button down.
Two bucks well spent.
For you Tony...
I've been wrestling with myself.
Should I write this?
Should I expose you?
Would it inspire or discourage?
Is it right or wrong?
I intend to be a writer who writes what she feels, not what is "acceptable" or "appropriate".
This one's for you, Tony.
Your dramatics don't move me any longer.
Your "desolation" doesn't make your little girl sad.
Your lies regarding my mother don't hold truth or weight in my heart.
Your addictions are not my problem or responsibility.
The first time you put the gun in your mouth scared me, now it's a joke.
Quit crying wolf, coward.
Little girls need acceptance, you denied me.
Little girls need shelter, you did not provide.
Little girls need love, you were clueless.
Little girls need stability, you were quick sand.
Little girls need consistency, you were in and out.
Little girls need truth, you're a fucking liar.
You're only out for number one.
What can YOU squeeze out of this life?
What can YOU get for YOU?
Who can YOU benefit from?
Who can YOU use next?
This isn't about forgiveness Tony.
Don't throw a single verse at me.
I'll puke if you quote another scripture.
I know what the book says, damn it.
You stripped me of all affirmation.
You have no idea what that did to me.
At twenty four, I am learning to love myself.
I wish it was an easier lesson.
Your middle girl never quite did it for you, huh?
I've always been Jacque's.
I will never let you get to Lane, Auden or Koen.
I'll protect them.
You won't haunt my future.
I might get married and have a baby or two.
My husband will stay.
Your spell stops with me.
Joe Weido said you were "like the wind".
He couldn't have been more precise.
Blow in, blow out, you selfish son of a bitch.
flesh & bone
Have you ever given a good thought to sex appeal? What makes someone sexy? Currently, in my mid-twenties, my view on sex appeal has completely changed from what it meant to be sexy in my teen years. This premature view of sexuality even carried into my early twenties...
Ok, even a couple years ago.
Nope, honestly, my mind started changing a couple months ago.
This is recent.
Up until recent months, I imagined a female's "sex appeal" to be perky breasts, mid coke bottle waist and a tight ass. I think all of those things are GREAT. But, my mind wouldn't leave me alone about digging a little deeper to discover the true source of "SEXY". Now, while typing this out, I realize just how shallow my thoughts were. Sick.
This past month, I injured my right knee. The injury has been severe enough to prevent me from a good run, steal time from my work and repeatedly piss me off. Naturally, I've been comparing myself to a momma elephant, a fat momma elephant. A fat, slow, depressed momma elephant. You feel me?
One day, the Lord asked me to reflect on what my body has done. What has it seen and accomplished? It just took that one question to open the flood gates. A phrase has been on repeat in my mind and I can't shake it...
"may my flesh keep me warm and my bones hold me together"
My eyes were opened to a whole new wave of concepts, ideas and overall purpose. My entire life had been a roller coaster of self-hate, isolation, back and forth, blindness, comparison and torture. I knew, at some point, I had to stop hating Jodi. My brain was at constant war with my body and my heart was lost in the middle.
My eyes are my connection to people and their souls. They have allowed me to weep with these people and see big pictures instead of small flashes of opposition. I need to be able to see where I'm going, so thankful for vision.
My lips have allowed me to encourage people with words all over the earth. A simple word can make someone think, change their mind, warm their heart and shift their life. I love to talk to people and sometimes myself. Hearts connect through conversation.
My two arms help me reach out and hold onto life. Soaked in ink, they tell quite a story.
My hands have been cut, bruised and callused. The wear and tear was never without purpose. They hold Lane's face and wipe his tears. They wash dishes and chop vegetables. They drum on my dashboard. They enable me to make money and provide for my family. They comfort. They are a form of communication when I am pissed off on the freeway. They help me tell stories. They have been washed in the dirtiest water in the most beautiful countries.
I carried a life for nine months and then endured a vaginal delivery. Now, tell me that ain't sexy.
They keep up with my "never satisfied" lifestyle. When I'm ready to go, they are too. They have ran a few miles. They are required for dancing and I love to dance.
My feet have stood in the soil of three continents. They have propelled me into seasons. I stand on my feet and trust that I have many more places to plant them in.
So, my new idea of "sex appeal" trumps any label that society can throw at me. As a female, I want to feel sexy as an elderly, wrinkled, tattooed grandmother who has the coolest life stories. I don't want my sexiness to weigh on my ability to twerk my tight ass.
I end with a word to the women...
May your flesh keep you warm and your bones hold you together. May you see past society's expectation of you and view your body for what it's worth. It's worthy of touch, feel, comfort, taste, movement and desire. Reflect on what your body can do and what it has done. What has it brought you through? Keeping up with society's standards of "beauty" is a bullshit game that you will repeatedly lose.
And all the sexy females say, "hell ya."