Rhonda

Being back in PoDunk brings up memories...some good and some I would rather forget.

Seeing the hole in the ground where I used to live. A spacious 2 bedroom apartment but it had no windows or not even a fire escape plan. It was totally illegal but I could afford it and the landlord was ok.
My aunt used to live there but moved out and back to the reservation. She was only my neighbor for a short while.
Then I got new neighbors.
It was a couple. An Indian man and a white woman and their son who was the same age as my son Stephon. Their son's name was Shine. I never knew the man's name because he left her after she had been living there for a week.

Her name was Rhonda, she got a job working as maintenance for a prominent family business in town. Her son went to school up until his dad came and took him away.
Rhonda was depressed after that and started drinking again. She went to work drunk one day and was fired.

One day we had a horrible storm, I swear it was a tornado. I watched it from the doorway. The heavy brick building I was in made me feel safe so I watched as the light poles bent and I couldn't see anything across the street.

After the storm we had a blackout, which I don't know if ANYONE lived in a place with no windows, but having candles don't even help.

My kids and I sat in the stairwell. Soon Rhonda came out. We sat and talked and then she said she was going to the liquor store. She came back with a bottle of vodka and orange juice, no lights but the liquor store was open and busy she laughed about that.
We sat and visited and drank some screwdrivers. Soon she wasn't mixing it anymore. She was just drinking straight vodka from a glass.
She told me her whole life story in those 4 hours of darkness.
How HE made her move down here, uprooted her whole life only to leave her for a younger woman. How HE took their son away and placed him in foster care. How He broke her heart and now she was all alone.
She was going to get her life back together though, she swore she would.
When the lights came on, I went home feeling hopeless for her. I felt like her future was weak and waning.
I didn't want to feel like that though.
I remember days would go by and I wouldn't see her or any light from her apartment.
I would often check on her to see if she was ok.
Then I moved out and would see her occasionally at the store and such.
Then I moved to the reservation and never seen her again.
I overheard my EX-MIL's husband talking one day about "That was the apartment they found that lady in."
I felt myself take a deep breath. I knew.
So I asked.
She commited suicide in that apartment. No one checked on her until the landlord went to collect for rent.
She took a bunch of painkillers and washed them down with vodka.
I have nothing to say. I seen it coming. I seen her life flash before my eyes over candles and screwdrivers.
I knew it was going to happen and there was nothing I could do or did.
I think I met Rhonda so I could see how lucky I was in this lifetime for all that I had and have.

sorry

for my last blog...i just hate some people and their kids. Anyway I am in PoDunk for the time being...helping my mom out and my ex MIL.
i will be back home on Sunday and the media people will be here on Monday...
See you all later

HEY! Anonymous....speak the fucc up!

They said they would never come back to this blog, but apparently they LOVE my writing soo much they came to read this blog!

And left this message.
"Ugh. You are all such whiny little snots."

Get that, a post from May 29th...if you want chickenshit I can leave you a link to my 360 blog since you obviously can't get enough of me. There are over 600 blogs there for you to judge like you God, herself.

The only reason I needed a break from your stupid ass was because of "my own inferior complex." But I know it's not that inferior because of the fact that you have to comment anonymously from your "Tribal" job or whatever you do to make you think you are important. I'm not scared of you.

So I put my life out there, so I bitch and moan. I do it with my real name and my "real" pics.

Who the fuck are you?

Does it bother you that much that I write for the paper and if so, why read it? Why go to my blog and read more?

Do you feel better about yourself for leaving whiny, little snotty messages?

Do you need that much drama in your life?

If so...go fuck yourself...or your cousin!

Sorry to everyone else...and don't preach to me...until you know how it feels.

I'll be back in full creative blog mode tomorrow.

Yes, that means I will be a bitch.

Again.
~Dana

Summer Memories

One of the best things about moving home are the memories it brings back. There are certain things I see, hear, or even smell everyday that reminds me of growing up on the rez. (not burning trash!)
Like the big chokecherry tree in my backyard. I remember eating them till my mouth went numb and I couldn't taste anything else. I remember grinding them for a hunka grandma to make patties, wasna, and wojapi.
Timpsilas. Last month took my kids digging for them out on my dad's land. My grandma went digging with us, which was a good thing because I was trying to dig up some other plant that was not timpsilas. I forgot what they looked like. We walked all over but didn't find too much. Actually we found 8 of them and we all shared them. My kids could not believe how good they tasted. I think my dad felt bad that we only found 8. On his next trip into town, he brought me a braid of timpsilas, 3 fishing poles, and two puppies, who escaped kettle dance sentencing. (I won't even mention that in that same week, he gave my brother a Harley Davidson.) Not that I would RIDE a Harley, I loved the fishing poles, timpsilas, and puppies.
I remember the days when I was a child and we fished at Denby or East Dam, swam at East Dam, walked the hills for timpsilas, buffalo berries, and chokecherries.
I remember eating wasna to my little hearts content. Why do those days seem so far away. Maybe they are.
Now I know it is my job to keep some of the memories alive and going for my children.
Maybe someday they will write about how their mom thought she knew what timpsilas were and dug up a sticker plant instead. Ah...the summer memories we have and create on the rez.

Oh....now....I am genuine.

Sorry I haven't been around lately...I been on 360 because shit here pissed me off a couple of weeks ago. I try to be like a duck and let it roll off my back, but when I know it is someone I know IRL it pisses me off...esp. when I don't know who it is.
I'm just in a real pissy mood right now. Usually when I blog I have a subject and crap...Whatever!
I love my blogspot-it's blogging...in the purest form. But when I received the comment that fired me to all hell a couple of weeks ago...that said this.

"hiya dana well i just wanted to ask you why don't you use a real pic? instead of these fake pics of you? dont be scared!!!! "

I was left with a sour taste in my mouth that reminded me of some bullshit blog drama I had on 360 early in the year.

So I did this blog...in which I was PMS-ing, but that is no excuse I still would have been mad.

What pissed me off, is I am not here to prove I am Miss America, nor am I Miss Native America...nor am I fuckin Miss Rez Chick...or whatever you think I have to prove.

I am me. I write for me. So what if I don't plaster pics of me all over the place. I don't like how I look. Can't you see the real me in my writing or is that fake too? Why just worry because I have a couple of photoshop pics on my blog. That you obviously don't read or you would have seen the pics in the other one. And then to have the nerve to say I am scared for people to see me? When you can't write your name in the comment section?

Then this LOCAL commenter comes back to my blog...just to see if I posted "real pics" up and says this.

Anonymous said...
omg dana dane i was just askin for a pic!!! don't get all worked up and for being fake now your genuine HA HA

July 18, 2007 11:23 AM


So if no harm was meant by the first comment, then why say NOW I am genuine....fuck yeah I am fired up again. I have always been genuine, I don't lie. I am me...I know who the fuck I am and I make no apologies. If you don't like my blog or my writing or the way I look X out or avoid me in the store when you see me, I am sure you do anyway. why do you want a pic when you live in the same town? Why act like now I am genuine when you still comment anonymously? Why even come to my blog when you don't give a shit who I am on the inside.

I am me. If you even read an iota of my writing you would know who I am! So I am overweight...I won't apologize to anyone but my self for that! Over half the country is anyway, though that is no excuse! Now I ask you comment your name! Be genuine and tell me who you are!

(Sorry to anyone else, I am taking a break from blogspot and going back to 360 for a bit. I don't need this crap. Be back shortly or soon...whichever comes first))

Illustrious Footsteps

In 1988, when I was almost 16, Tom Brokaw and crew came to our reservation. I was looking for it somewhere on the net, but I can't really find any of it. They did a week long series on The Nightly News called "Tragedy at Pine Ridge."

At the time my mother was involved in the begininng of NOFAS. Which is the National Organization for Fetal Alcohol Syndrome. That is a passion of hers, especially as, at that time she was the director of an Alcohol and Substance Abuse Program called Project Recovery. She took part in a book written by the late Michael Dorris called The Broken Cord about his struggles of raising his adopted children who had FAS.

Well, when Tom Brokaw and company came to town, they contacted my mother and she took them around the reservation to meet different people who were willing to talk to NBC. See, the real tragedy here was the way of life and the poverty. Well, this pissed many people off.

People were mad at my mom and people were saying she was "selling out" though she didn't get paid for any of it. People were saying there were good things going on here too. Though none of them tried to prove it.

She reminded me yesterday that some of those people she took Tom to interview are now deceased. She reminded me that people will get mad when I try to bring to light this problem...or problems.

I guess the main people I want to bring it to attention to are the people here. We can't live like this anymore. We just can't. It is not acceptable. There are good things here. There are, but there is so little hope.

After that Tom Brokaw became a family friend and we are fortunate to have him in our lives. I often corresponded with his daughter while she was away in Africa being a doctor and I was working retail and having babies. (lol) They are great people.

My mom ended up doing an internship in New York with NBC and fell in love with New York. Telling me stories of Broadway, Times Square, Central Park, subway rides, and hot dog vendors. My favorite was her stories of the Museum and the books she bought back for me from certain collections.

Today I get an email from the journalist from New York, he will be flying in from New York and a photographer from London on July 29th. they will stay until August 2nd. That is so soon. I write back to him of the work my mom did with and for NBC.

This is what he wrote back-"hi. that's quite a coincedence and some illustrious footsteps to be following in."

That's just crazy, even when I think I am doing my own thing, I still somewhat follow in my mother's footsteps.

PS_ Don't get me wrong, I love it here, which is why I am doing this.

Welcome To The Middle Of Nowhere blog

Welcome...

To my life

To my world

To my chaos

To my whirl

To my heart

To my creativity

To my view

To my nativity

To my drum

To my song

To my rights

To my wrongs

To my love

To my dreams

To my passion

Life is...as it seems.

~dlh~

This poem is a re~post that was inspired by Yardy. She went lurking way back in my blogs and she inspired me to re~post this by saying this "This is like the perfect thing for people to read when they first join your friends list.:)" Her words. So I decided to repost it and welcome you all to the middle of nowhere...again.

I wrote that poem last December when I was at a health convention for my job. I think I was supposed to be learning something, but I blogged in my notebook to keep me awake instead. So thanks Yardy for blog-reminiscing with me

.Janet and her egg yolks.

What do I blog about?
I don't know.
Sometimes I think why even blog?
But so many wonderful thing happened to me from blogging and I met so many wonderful people from all over the world.
People I wish I had in my real life.
Life is fine , other than a few minor problems I would rather not indulge.
I was reading Janet's blog the other day about egg yolks. She doesn't blog on 360 much anymore and I don't think she has time to read my blog but I miss her and Karin so much.
They went to high school together like a hundred years ago...haha ok back in the 80's, i think.
They are both SAHM's. Janet used to be a hippy and now she is married in a beautiful town in France with two beautiful daughter. Since i known KArin she moved from Tulsa to DallASS, and I think she is now moving back to Colorado. She hasn't blogged for a bit. And isn't even on my friends list anymore on 360...which is ok. I know I had too many temper tantrums on 360 for anybody to ever trust me there.
Anyway, what I wanted to talk about was Janet's blog on 360 about egg yolks. It struck such a chord in my heart, I almost cried. She talked about going to lunch with a friend and her husband. Being she lives in another country she don't have many close friends. Well this friend flew over to see her. Janet ordered a chef'ssalad or something like it where there are quartered hard boiled eggs in it. Her husband and friend both offered to eat her egg yolks and she was taken aback by the fact that these might be the only 2 people in the world that knew she didn't like egg yolks. It was sad and sweet. After I read it I made some hard boiled eggs. I was pretty sure I was over the overdose I took of them on Easter and every Easter when I eat so much I feel like I am going to puke. So I made some hard boiled eggs, grabbed the salt and pepper and ate the eggs with my daughter for Janet.
Then I realized I don't have any close friends like that here. I mean many of you guys might know silly little facts about me. Know my likes and dislikes. i put it out there on the internet. In real life I don't. I have freinds. I have relatives. I do things for people but I don't indulge in my feelings.
I don't have close friends I can share everything and anything with. the closest would be my Aunt Carla or my ex's cousin Aimy...
then I wonder if they know that I don't like egg yolks?
Janet doesn't know that, but I ate them for her anyway.

What a great email....a blessing, thanks you know who you are

OMG, here is what I got in my gmail today. which is linked to my blogspot, if anyone should want to email me. Which is linked from The Lakota Country times website. Anyway...here we go.

Hi,



Sorry for emailing you out of the blue, but I am the US Correspondent of

the British newspaper The ********. I am doing a story for my newspaper's

magazine on the disparate experience of Native Americans in modern America.

I was hoping to illustrate one side of the piece by spending a day or two

on Pine Ridge.



I came across your blog and would love to meet up with you. I would also

appreciate any advice or contacts you could give me about what to see or

who to speak to on Pine Ridge. I am fully aware that a journalist turning

up somewhere unnannounced is never a good idea, especially when the issues

involved are things like healthcare, poverty and unemployment.



I look forward to hearing from you,



bests



*** ******

US Correspondent

The ********

Tel * *** *** ****



PS - I really like the blog by the way.

Of course I left out his name and the paper's name and telephone #. But OMFG...if anyone reads my blgospot I had just asked how the hell do we bring issues from my reservation into the light. What a wonderful opportunity and an awesome day this turned out to be!

You Are Here

Some times I feel as if I am going through life on cruise control.

Or something....

Just get up and go through the motions of being the human I am supposed to represent.

Am I alone on this?

Do you ever cook a meal only to realize when you are done that you just cooked a meal? You just went through the motions of nourishing those you care for or maybe just yourself and didn't even realize that that you just cooked...a meal.

Have you ever hung clothes out on the clothesline? do any of you even use clotheslines? Anyway sometimes when I hang them out on the line I space off into the distance and I think about nothing. That's right nothing. Then when I realize that I am spacing out to nowhere all the clothes are hung up.

Have you ever went driving. On a long road. And then you start thinking. Just thinking about random things and useless thoughts, you think about what you will aimlessly cook for dinner, or all that laundry you have to hang out....or about how when you was a kid you used to walk in these prairies and wonder why no one walks in them anymore....or start thinking of friends that came and went in life and wonder where they are...are they happy?...are you?....then all of a sudden you realize that you are at your destination. You was thinking of so many other things that you didn't realize....that you arrived. You went through the motions of driving or breathing...being human...and all of a sudden....you are here.

I recently came across an article on the internet written by Stephanie M. Schwartz a freelance write. The article was posted on the nativevillage.org website. It was called The Arrogance of Innocence.
This article describes in detail the conditions of the Pine Ridge Reservation. Some of the things I knew, I mean all you have to do is look around you and you know. Some of the facts and figures I did not know and was shocked to see them.
The author the article pleads that "it is not a plea for charity."
But to anyone reading it, I think that is exactly what you get....charity. The numbers in the report are eye-opening to many people who live in high mortgaged houses with central air, people who mow their lawns on Saturday, and have huge family dinners on Sunday.
These are statistics many of us here on the resevration live with day in and day out. If we read through the statistics, we all probably know at least one person in every aspect of the report. We all know someone with diabetes, or someone who lives in substandard housing, or someone who dropped out of school, etc. The list goes on and on.
I know people come here during the summer to "help." That is all good and everything that they can always remember the year they came to "help the Indians." But it makes me wonder how much it really helps to have handouts and stuff done for you. Does it really help when the help is almost expected?
What if we stood up and said "We can't live like this anymore. We can't have diabetes and alcoholism destroying us. We won't live in substandard housing. We won't take this unemployment rate."
How do we demand a better life and get it?
My dad once told me "They confined us to a reservation and treat us bad. No other country treats their own people so bad. They do this to us to keep us poor and make us beg. To forget we were once so proud, but that pride in us never goes away. No matter how bad things might be, Lakota's always have their pride."
Which takes me back to the question I keep asking myself "How do we demand a better life for the people." {Without sounding like a politician.}
All I did was write about it. My uncle once told me, "Writing about something and doing it are two different things."
I know this. So I want to know, "How do we better ourselves and get rid of these damn statistics.?" If you read from the lakotacountrytimes.com website, I would appreciate some feedback.

(this week, if it's not rejected)

Why I came back

I know the last blog might have thrown you off. It's not a complaint about living here. And if you came here you may not see "ghetto." For real you would see 3rd world country conditions.
I seen it when i came back. Now it don't phase me. All the trash and such.
Which is harsh that I don't care as much as I used to. I mean I do, but now it's the way of life...or A way of life.
People live here without electricity, water, plumbing. Not everyone but I bet everyone here knows or is related to someone that does.
That's how it is on the reservation. The life expectancy here is the lowest in the nation.
I'm sick of it being like this. Sick of it.
I know one person can't change it. I know I can't. But I came back because this is my home and I'm sick of it never changing. This is my home and I need a place for my kids to go home to. We have roots here. I'm sick of it but I love being home.


2002 Current Statistics Concerning the Pine Ridge Oglala Lakota (Sioux) Reservation

by Stephanie M. Schwartz

UPDATE! For 2006 update, please read Stephanie's latest article: The Arrogance of Ignorance
* Median income is $2,600 per year with 85% to 95% unemployment
* Infant mortality rate 300% higher than the U.S. national average
* Diabetes and Tuberculosis rates 800% higher t than the U.S. national average
* Elderly die each winter from hypothermia (freezing)
* At least 60% of the homes are severely substandard, without water, electricity, adequate insulation, and sewage systems
* School drop-out rate is 70%
* Recent reports state the average life expectancy is 45 years old while other reports state that it is 48 years old for men and 52 years old for women.

* With either set of figures, that's the shortest life expectancy for any community in the Western Hemisphere outside Haiti, according to The Wall Street Journal.
* And the list goes on and on….

ghetto ass

pic of my kids, by me
ghetto ass
ghetto ass broke mofo

thats me and just about everyone around me.

I'm broke.

ghetto

People when you say broke but you have 20 dollars in your pocket, you ain't broke, you still got 20 dollars.

Or when you say your broke but you have money in the bank, that ain't broke. You still got money in the bank. You can get it out.

When you say your poor but you have gas in your car and your fridge stocked with food and beer, naw...your alright.

When you say you're lonely but you have a grip of kids, you'll never be lonely unless your a mean person.

When you say your hard up but you had a one night stand in the last week, you doing better than most married folks.

When you say your house is a mess but there is only one dish in the sink and plastic over your furniture, shut up. You never SEEN a mess yet.

Let me tell you about living in the ghetto...away from the suburbs with their central air, morgtages up the wazoo, stripmalls and seasonal roadwork.

I live in the ghetto. People haul in furniture other people threw out. People scheme every day for beer or cigarettes. 3 year olds run around in diapers, I don't know whose kids they are and for real I don't care because when one ran in front of my car and I stopped and saved his life, he turned his snotty face at me and threw a rock at me.

People come over to borrow the phone and a roll of toilet paper. And you give it to them because you owe them one.

The lady next door watches your every move and every neighbors move. She is a known cop caller who will call the cops on you even if you crawl in your own window because you locked yourself out.

The kids across the street play basketball in the street in front of my house and actually put lightbulbs in my front porch light so they can play longer.

Kids stand in the street on food stamp day with soda pops and big bags of chips all happy. The whole neighborhood is happy that day. cook-outs and birthday parties galore.

People stop by to visit at dinnertime and leave when the dishes need to be washed.

If people see you take beer in your house they stop by to visit. Unless its the lady next door, then she calls the cops.

Young kids think they are gangsters, the only for real gangsters in this neighborhood are the dogs. The run in packs. Gangs.

And they bark all freakin night.

People come out at night and sit on their porches, watching the young ones cruise by and remembering when they were that young.

That is how life is in my neighborhood here in the Northridge Housing Project on the Pine Ridge Reservation in the poorest county in the nation, the beautiful United States of America.

Yup, it's ghetto, and yup I'm home.

Carols Random Writing Challenge

The following is a challenge i still take part in on 360. Carol gives you 7 phrases to build a story around. Most people choose all 7, I always just choose one. Oh and you have to have a pic to go with it. The following is fiction based around true events. The people are fiction, although the man's name is a last name from around here that I admire. Read on

*pic taken of my reservation by my friend Father Bucko

"Breathtaking! Just Breathtaking!" said the agent who was showing the family of 5 their new land.

"Under the Dawes Act this land is now yours and your family. Well of course we will hold it in trust for you for 25 years before you are allowed to sell it. At that time you may sell it. Materials will be provided for you to build a house so the days of the tipi will be gone. You will now be civilized." The agent turned to the family of five and shook the hand of the father, Kills Enemy.

Kills Enemy watched as the agent rode away and his wife and daughters set up the tipi. He looked at the land that was to be his own. He was now expected to farm. The thought made him sick. How could he, a great warrior be expected to farm? Only a little over ten years earlier he was in the Battle at Greasy Grass where they had taken out General Custer (Long Hair) and took the flag of the 7th calvary home.

He jumped on his horse and rode looking for something for his wife to cook. When he looked back Red Shawl was watching him go. He rode on all of the land the government gave him. It was dry, even the wild weeds were dead. He couldn't see anything moving, perhaps it was too hot. Maybe if he rode near the water. It took him forever to find some water but when he did he also was able to shoot a rabbit. It was a small rabbit, but he was the man. He had to provide for his family.

When he arrived back at his tipi, the white agent was there again. He had brought blankets.

"I forgot to tell you Kills Enemy, you are no longer allowed to hunt. You can go into Pine Ridge once a month to pick up your rations."

"Those rations are full of worms. We cannot eat those." Kills Enemy told him.

"You shouldn't complain, they are free." The agent rode away. "We will be bringing your supplies to build your own house tomorrow."

Red Shawl went to work butchering the rabbit. Their daughters had gone out and dug up tinpsila's (prairie turnips) to go in the soup. The word the agent used to describe this land, breathtaking. she wondered about it. What did he mean by it? Did he really mean breathtaking? Was this land going to take their breath? Because it felt like it. She felt as if she couldn't breathe here. Her husband couldn't hunt. They couldn't live in their beloved tipi. How much worse was it going to get?

After dinner their girls ran around and her husband sang her a song by the fire. Red Shawl was lonely for the other women of the camp. For her mother and sisters and her husband's mother. Why did life have to change so much?

Only years earlier they were allowed to live in the Black Hills. Allowed to hunt under the 1868 Treaty. Then the Great Chief of Washington came and took it all away again. After the Greasy Grass Battle, then Crazy Horse was murdered. Nothing went good for the people after that.

Red Shawl remembered hearing of the last time Crazy Horse spoke.

"My friend, I do not blame you for this. Had I listened to you this trouble would not have happened to me. I was not hostile to the white men. Sometimes my young men would attack the Indians who were their enemies and took their ponies. They did it in return. We had buffalo for food, and their hides for clothing and for our teepees. We preferred huntiing to a life of idleness on the reservation, where we were driven against our will. At times we did not get enough to eat and we were not allowed to leave the reservation to hunt. We preferred our own way of living. We were no expense to the government. All we wanted was peace and to be left alone. Soldiers were sent out in the winter, they destroyed our villages. The "Long Hair" [Custer] came in the same way. They say we massacred him, but he would have done the same thing to us had we not defended ourselves and fought to the last. Our first impulse was to escape with our squaws and papooses, but we were so hemmed in that we had to fight. After that I went up on the Tongue River with a few of my people and lived in peace. But the government would not let me alone. Finally, I came back to the Red Cloud Agency. Yet, I was not allowed to remain quiet. I was tired of fighting. I went to the Spotted Tail Agency and asked that chief and his agent to let me live there in peace. I came here with the agent [Lee] to talk with the Big White Chief but was not given a chance. They tried to confine me. I tried to escape, and a soldier ran his bayonet into me. I have spoken."

Now that he is gone, she wondered if life would ever be like it used to. Would the people give up the fight? Would the Oglala Lakota stop fighting? They were forcing the people to live like they were poor, how long would this go on?

She started to grab the blankets the agent gave them.

"Hiya" (NO) her husband said and he threw them in the fire. "They may have sickness on them. My cousin died from government blankets."

Thye went to bed that night under buffalo robes and dreamed of the days they were able to roam and follow the buffalo. Someday those days would be back. Someday.

For Carol's Random Writing Challenge

Excuse me while I get corny for a minute here

To my husband who won't read this until he comes back from the pow-wow trail. I love you dearly and miss you with all my heart. I can't wait to see you again.
Here are some songs I play while you are away.
http://www.seattlepiper.com/Richie Valens - We Belong Together.mp3


miss you so much, hugs and kisses
D

If none of these are me, who are they then?

In response to this-
Anonymous said...
hiya dana well i just wanted to ask you why don't you use a real pic? instead of these fake pics of you? dont be scared!!!!

July 3, 2007 7:52 AM


Dana Dane said...
aren't you the scared one if you use anonymous....about that pic it is of me but it was photoshopped by a friend from chicago i know i am not really blue...and FYI I did take that shot close up because I am a bigger girl and I know this. Excuse me, but I want to know who you think that is if it's not me? And who are you...come on, don't be scared?

July 3, 2007 9:39 AM


77MBogLJg/Rop_50bH8rI/AAAAAAAAAMk/T9TedSGMNoQ/s200/99b0.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5083015760742707890" />







This is for the chickenshit who asked me to quit posting fake pics. These are all me and if you think the pics above are someone else i want to know who it is, if it's not me. Sure I put my best pics in my profile, who wouldn't. and as for the photoshop pic I am really not blue you dumbass! All of these are me. I have silver hair, freckles, wear glasses, I am overweight and sport a double chin. SUE ME, you anonymous SOB! I know you must be local, because only local people hate on other local people like that! Do you even read my writing? I don't apologize for who I am. I don't care how I look, I am still me! If you even read any of my writing you would know that! Also if you read this blog you would see real pics of me throughout! I hope your fuckin happy now you shallow bastard!

WARNING: contains profanity, on purpose

It's so fuckin hot and dry on this little patch of weed infested land that I call the middle of nowhere. And fireworks are totally LEGAL!

Put the those two together and yes, this is what you get. FIRE!

My oldest son just got through putting a fire out in the backyard. Thank god I smelled it when I did. Damn fireworks.

On my column in the paper's website, I got my first criticism. Which is fine, because everyone has an opinion, like me. So I like to hear it all. And it was sent in the nicest way from Goodtime Charlie. He think I use too much curse words. Words that the initials are BS and such. He also thinks that I shouldn't write about people getting high and shit like that because I may be influencing young kids to do so. So even though I wasn't offended I had to write a letter to my readers, and here is what I submitted for this week.

Dear readers,

When I started writing for people, I started a blog on Yahoo 360. I made my blog public last January of 2006 and was surprised at the number of people that spoke up to support me and enjoy my writing. Of course there was always the naysayers who would step up and critique me or the one guy who wrote about my writing.

I knew there would be criticism and I know there always will be.

I finally got a bit of criticism on the Lakota Country Times website, but it was in the nicest way. He was a bit offended at my use of the word which initials are BS and the fact that I wrote about a guy I once worked with that would get high before he went to work. Well even though no offense was taken, I would like to explain more about myself and who I am. And why i write the way I do.

I am a strong winyan like he stated in the letter. Using curse words is something I do, probably too much. It is a bad habit for me, as my husband and children told me too many times. Sometimes that gets out in my writing. Anyone who reads my blogs would know that. I try to curb it, especially in public places. Like at the grocery store when the line is a mile long, and someone is writing a check. Or at the gas station when the person is done getting gas but decides to talk on their cell phone for the next 5 long minutes about Friday night. Or in the IHS waiting room when I take my kids up for a physical and it takes 4 hours because everyone is there with their kids for a runny nose. If the use of the BS word or any other words I use offend anyone I am sorry, but that is just who I am.

And about the guy I was talking about in the story "On bein' a skin", he was a dear friend. I don't condone his drug use because I wrote about it and I would actually like to express that I am against it. Especially after knowing that he moved onto harsher drugs that ultimately led to an early death. I miss him dearly as do many of his friends and family.

So here is my rant for this week. When I write about something, I write because it's me and it's mainly things i experienced in my life. I don't write with the intention that I hope I can make someone, whether it be child or adult say the BS word or run out and get high.

I write about things that I care about, that strike me funny, or things I think people should take notice of.

I write for me, first and foremost. That is how I always been. It is nice knowing that people read and appreciate it. I write as a way to release pent up emotions and feelings. If any offense is taken for my use of language, suck it up and deal with it. Just teasing, I am sorry to anyone that I may have offended. It was never meant but I will not change because I used the BS word.

After all, according to the Bill of Rights I am guaranteed Freedom of Speech and Freedom of Press, right? Or is that all a bunch of b*llsh*t?

sincerely, Dana

For the record I don't think I cuss all that much. If I do, excuse the fuck outta me!