Monday, June 30, 2008

My Son Will NEVER drive.

*my son Jalen in my car

I am watching him cruise....right now.

Now granted, I am not one of those controlling parents who gives them time outs and a real good talking to. I just whipped their asses. The thing is, I never have to, hardly ever had to, and I have some well behaved kids.

They are not perfect, they fart, half kill each other and can make a hangover worse. They get lazy , get allowances taken away and have to be screamed at to pick up after themselves.

But I never controlled them with religion, politics, or the ratings of a movie. I monitor the computer very closely and although I do talk to them about politics, religion and what not, they are encouraged and entitled to their own opinions. In the midst of the democratic primary, while I was a stern Barack supporter, my boys decorated their playstation with Hillary stickers. hmph.

The other day I noticed that in the year before high school, I have yet to hear them cuss. Even my siblings who are their age, told me they don't cuss when inquired. So I told them, the other day because I am such a great mom. "You know, you're gonna both be in high school, so I think it's ok for you to cuss, now."

They looked at me like I was up to something, and I am sure Jalen tasted the soap from when he was 5.

They both looked at me and laughed "I don't want to." Ty said "Because you sound stupid doing it, and I never did get used to the idea of cussing."

"Well, I was just saying, go for it. I don't mind as long as you don't do it in front of other adults. Give it a try...say bitch once."

"Mom you're so stupid. Imma tell everyone you are trying to force us to cuss. You know, being a kid is a priviledge we only get once. I am not going to ruin it by tryin to be an adult and sound all stupid like you." said the 14 year old Jalen.

So maybe I was testing them. Seeing if they would, but I wasn't going to get mad. I just wanted to see, if I did an ok job so far. I think I did.

So then we get home and I tell them that they have to learn to drive, because I hate driving and then they can drive their uber cool mom around.

Then tonight I worked really late for inventory and I sit on the couch eating pizza while watching Ty play San Andreas GTA.

He hit the side of a rail on a bridge while driving a motorcycle. He flew over 100 yards and landed on his face on the curb below. So he jumps up and out of mid air a jet pack appears. He flies up to his bike and gets on, therefore causing 3 wrecks and what seemed to be 7 certain deaths on arrival. All the time I hear the police and am ready to point him out if they appear. I can't believe my son turned into this monster. Just when I think things can't get worse, he flies down this cliffs and gets hit by a truck. Now I know there was no way he can survive that! Then he open fires on some dude he didn't know, and not even to steal his car. The dude is laying outside his car a bloody mess and Ty runs over his poor broken leg and then backs over it laughing at my shock. He looks at me and say oh yeah watch this, at that point I get up and walk over to the computer to tell you this.

That boy will never drive my car.

always on e

so i have a job and don't have to hustle beadwork no more

so i have a car that gets me from point a to b to g

so i should be happy



but noooo

fuck this war!!!!

i can't even drive my car to work beause i can't afford the gas half the time!!!

*waiting for a ride*

Sunday, June 29, 2008


Random Writing Challenge number 17

I am soo late on this but I had to do a little research. Carol did it different this time, by making us all say one word and then grouping the words for us to make a story out of.

I took on the group number two because no one else did. Plus I think I threw it off by adding the word waterbird and everyone is like HUH?

Here are the words from group 2






Here is my challenge entry.


Rain always has that effect on me. Here I was a lowly, mousy secretary in the city, trying to be depressed about a little rain.

I need to get away from work so I took the afternoon off. I decided to go see a local exhibit at the museum. I moved away from the reservation right after hish school and had been living n a walk up apartment for the past year. I hadn't made any friends yet and sometimes I wished for the reservation life. Sometimes.

I threw the wrapper to the chocolate bar in the trash when I got off the bus downtown. I ran in the rain towards the museum. It took me all of two minutes to get to the front door, but in that two minutes I wondered what would become of my life. I felt like I had no purpose and was in limbo. Why was I here? I was always the perfectionist who thought she had her life planned and now,...well, now what?
I opened the heavy door and was given a program on the new exhibition of Native American history and culture.

I looked at the regular collection first, wandering in and amongst the beautiful fabrics and textiles and paintings that someone had made their mark in life with. Why can't I make a mark like that?

After an hour of being amazed by the sheer beauty some people can create, I wandered to the Native American exhibit that was going on for the summer.

I wandered amongst other people in awe of the history around us.

Then I saw it.

A ghost dance shirt.

It was beautiful with the paintings of waterbirds and stars on it, made with pigments from the earth.

I remembered one time seeing a waterbird with my grandma. She told me the story of how a waterbird repesented renewal of life. How the waterbird meant so much to our Lakota people. She told me of Wounded Knee and how so many people believed that the government was scard of Lakotas dancing to bring the ghosts back to help them carry on with their way of life. No, it wasn't that, she said. It was retalliation for Little Big Horn.

But don't let that truth take away from you the fact that the waterbird will always have meaning for us. It is always a renewal of life to us. Maybe that way of life ended but the waterbird brings us hope that the ways of the Lakota will live on.

Then she sang a song to me....and made me pray with her as we offered tobacco to the earth.

I must have looked at that shirt for an hour with tears in my eyes.

I knew what I had to do. When I left the museum, I went to the nearest magazine stand and bought a pack of cigarettes. I walked to the park and enjoyed the fresh smell of rain. I prayed and offered the tobacco to the earth singing the same song my grandma taught me all those years ago.

When I got home, I searched though my things that I had in a shoebox under the bed, then I found it. It was a quilled waterbird lapel pin that my grandma made and gave me. In it, I saw my future, I saw my destiny. I made arangements while holding that pin. I called my grandma last of all.

Grandma I am moving home to go to the tribal college. I think I want to teach the youth our ways. Our Lakota ways.

Come home takoja, she said.

(the above story is fiction, and it was inspired by a quilled waterbird pin that we have at work.)


Saturday, June 28, 2008

For My Column

Open apology to my family

I had heard that at an annual family ceremony this year, the wateca rush was no more. I heard that people were paranoid that I was going to be there with my Nikes on and ziplocs in tow. That I would sneak around the corner to write little notes about what happened for my column. I heard that when it was time to wateca, everyone looked at each other and the mad rush was no longer. Because of me.

I talked to one family member last week, it was very casual phone conversation and then he said "Why? You gonna write about it?" We laughed, but I could sense the tension because he was mentioned in a previous column entry.

Even at work, a family member who I hadn't seen in years came to sell me some beadwork. We hassled over prices until I gave him what I thought was a fair deal. When I saw his name I realized it was my mom's first cousin. We had a laugh over the previous little word scuffle over prices. He teased me about not helping him out but talking him down on his price. I teased him back that he was family and supposed to give me a fair price. Then his eyes narrowed and he said "Don't you dare put this in the paper." I promised him I wouldn't then I just now realized I did. Sorry Uncle with no name.

So I started thinking. I like to tease but I have a hard time taking a tease. How would I feel if I was teased in the paper that hundreds of skins read without permission?

I looked back in the website, (See Connie and Amanda there was a free plug) to see how often I talked of my family. It was quite a bit that I entertained people with stories of my families mad wateca skills, my brother's shooting me in the head with blanks, the mean indian women in my family, my hunka brothers nickname Dirty Steve,and so on and so on.

So then I thought of how rude I was to write about them without asking permission. I mean people tell me they appreciate my writing all the time, oh except for the one person who told someone to tell me that my writing was bland. Whatever. But I never ask anyone to write about them and now I expect someone to come up and want to roll with me over something I wrote.

So I am writing this week to apologize to my family. I am so sorry for entertaining people the way you entertain me. For sharing with the world the humor you share and instilled in me.

I have decided to quit writing this column.

About family members.

That live off the reservation.

Josh, just teasing. You are all fair game and I thank you all for being good sports. So if your last name is Lone Elk, Lone Hill, Wilson, McLaughlin, Amiotte, and so on, remember, I am watching you and I love you all.

To Amanda and Connie, can you send me more bumper stickers? There is a few family members cars I didn't get.

Friday, June 27, 2008

Meaningless words

How can a word have no meaning when they are all in the dictionary?

You can look up the meaning for every word.

What would a word be without a meaning?

A word without a meaning is spoken without meaning.

Spoken with no heart, no guts, no truth, no love, no feeling.

Words without meaning can tear you or your life apart.

Unless you have heart, guts, truth, love, and feeling.

I know.

Believe me, I know.

Wednesday, June 25, 2008

The Celebration of the Battle of Greasy Grass

There is no work today. Today is a tribal holiday and even though I work for the school, I have the day off.

Today is the day the Lakota and Northern Cheyenne paired up to defeat the 7th Calvary in 1876.

It is better known as Custer's Last Stand or the Battle of Little Big Horn.

Today is the day my people took the flag away from the government and basically kicked ass.

Today is a celebration, no matter what anyone says.

I am having a cook out.

Remember that when you are watching the evening news.

That somehere in America, Lakota girl is celebrating with her family the power of her people long ago.

Tuesday, June 24, 2008

Creative Challenge

Toni J hooked me up with this site. I was always jealous of this challenge but now I am taking it on. Her friend Danette does it. This week's theme is "A Strength In"

So, you know how I roll.

This is for my lil baby cousin Paco (in the pic)

For Paco

There is a strength in my people

We seem quiet, reserved

Some mistake it for feeble

We are just waiting for what we deserve

We were supposed to be swept away

The forgotten holocaust

There was supposed to be a day

When our ways were lost

Don't underestimate

The way the dice rolled

Our forgotten fate

Shines like a picture show

You can't forget us

There's no ashes to ashes

There's no dust to dust

We are here in masses

Maybe you can forget

the attempted genocide

Mister Goverment

But we are still here for this ride

Our ways carry on

Our pride held dear

The Lakota live on

Fuck yeah, we're still here.

Don't underestimate

Our love for this land

This time fate

Is in our hands

You call us savages

Never knowing our ways

While you tried to ravage us

By trying to take it away

We prayed for better days

Those days are here now

We fight with the written word

We still have no fear no how

We need to be heard

You can't push me away

I refuse to disappear

There will come a day

You will have to listen and hear

That this country

My people still serve proudly

Broke every treaty

I will tell you loudly

We are Lakota, baby

We will not go down without a fight

I need no one to save me

Read what I write

We are still here

We will carry on

The ways, the strentgh, the pride

It's an unbreakable bond

Shining from the inside

We are Lakota

And today is a good day to die.

Hoka Hey!

We will carry on

Our ways held dear

Oglala Lakota are strong

Fuck yeah, we're still here.

You hear?


Thats for my boy Paco. Hope he has fun with that one. Love you cuz.

Friday, June 20, 2008

Ear hustlin in My Office

Stiffy calls it that...soo....

anyway here is how it goes.

all day I was bitchin about this pack of gum I bought.

See I love chewing gum and I have a bad habit of swallowing it when the flavor is gone.

Well I was bitchin to a co worker, who told me to call the 800 number for a free pack, she is Jewish, not that that has anything to do with it.

Then I bitched to Shannon, i don't know what her addy was, I forgot to check again.

So my co worker and I were tagging inventory and seperating it in my office and the much younger HS grad summer worker was working the front.

Well just picture that and then picture this convo

Me-I am really displeased with that. (I pointed with my lips to the pack of spearmint gum on my desk.)


Me- It doesn't stay soft. It gets hard right away and I don't like it after that. I don't even swallow anymore.

Her-Yeah,I saw you spit it out too.

Me- They should call it Extra Hard.

Much younger HS Grad Summer Help- What are you two talking about????

We had a good laugh over it. I was beet red and I am still spitting the damn stuff out.

I don't know what I am going to do this weekend.

I don't have anything planned. Sometimes, that is the best way, is to not plan anything.

I kind of want to take my kids to Wounded Knee, the massacre site, and let them see it. Tell them what I have been taught about it. Show them the history, instead of writing about it and having them read it. Next Wednesday is Independence Day, or Victory Day, or whatever. Basically just, Custer Got Fucked Day. I plan on baking a cake and having a cook-out. Hope it works out.

Today is the summer solstice. My mom called me last night to tell me to honor today. Take time out to honor and pray. This was an important day to our ancestors, everything was about honor back then. Those are the ways that need to be carried on.

I plan on doing it at work and taking the time to walk up to the graveyard to visit my grandma and grandpa's graves. They are buried at an angle across from Red Cloud. They are Caesar and Mattie Lone Elk. Caesar was the first Lone Elk. The first to get a name.

Today is a beautiful day. Take the time to pray and appreciate what it has to offer.

Thursday, June 19, 2008

Can You See That

Can you see my green jelly beans?

Can you taste my strawberry lipgloss?

Can you feel those champagne bubbles?

Can you see that striking sunrise?

Can you own those comfortable, worn out shoes?

Can you smell the softness of that lotion?

Can you smell that lasagna baking, or those brats simmering?

Can you remember that micro-brewed wheat beer?

Can you appreciate the melting marshmallows on the top of hot chocolate?

Can you remember how to dig for timpsilas?

Can you get past my green chucks?

Can you read my writing?

Can you hear me?

Can you see who I am on the inside?

Can you?

Or is the outside, all that matters?

Wednesday, June 18, 2008


I can't throw any F-bombs for the next 48 hours and I win 20 dollars with my bestest friend. So in place of the F-bimb I will say firetruck or whatever. I know it's corny.

I never poofed a blog before until I did on Multiply. All my old blogs are out there somewhere hanging in the world wide web. I lost a buncha crap by poofing it, but I don't care. Like I said before I can smell fake, and the stench was too strong on that particular site. Now this is some crazy shit. I have an old site on Multiply, my first one that I started with an ID name something like Danafiretrukkindane. The only reason I did it was because none of the other danadanes worked and I degraded to my horrible sailor ways and then the name felt a little too much on the gangsta side for me, so I left that account and created a new one.

That old account would crosspost with this blogspot, so all the time I thought I was being incognito on blogger, it was posting on danafiretrukkindane. I don't make sense do I?

It don't matter, I have like a friends list of 5 over there, so it's cool.

Work is cool, kids are fine, all are lonely for the Princess. She could care less in Oklahoma.

There are so many tourists, I feel like I might catch firetruckin smallpox!

Tuesday, June 17, 2008

Closed down shop on Multiply.

Maaan, it wasn't what anything used to be. I probably won't even grab the blogs that I didn't cross post here.
I just get sick of shit online sometimes. You can smell fake over the world wide web and the stench was overwhelming.
I think I need to do alotta soul searching irl too.
I need to get back to who I am.
My baby girl went to Oklahoma for the summer. It is so lonely without her.
I got to get used to the fact that my kids are getting older and stuff.
So for the time being my only blogs are here, Yahoo (again) and myspace....still a blogwhore.
Later people, thanks for reading, to the quiet readers, I know you read still.

Friday, June 13, 2008

Such is, a sacred life

My job is to buy art from the people.

People who make that their way of life and living, because they have no choice. It is one thing our people here have that they hang onto desperately and sacredly. There are few jobs here and being an artist is a way of life, lucky as most here are to be able to make a living out of art, it is not thought of that way.

I have stated before, every piece represents a gallon of gas, milk, bread, a portion of a lightbill, it is not a comfortable living, but barely a living.

They Lakotas however, has so much fierce pride inside, they do a spenldid job of living. Every piece is well represented of the area, the culture and an adaptable way of life. Nowhere else do you find such beauty in a piece of art as small as a pair of earrings.

I know one such girl that quills with such pride, every piece speaks to you as if it is already yours because the weaving is so intricate and tight and when you know who made it, you think, wow, she cares so much for her work, she takes painstaking time to make great detail, even though it probably just gas money or money to get by for the day. She was passed on that trait from an aunt, who learned from her mother. That grandmother is no longer here, but taught a whole generation to quill. In turn, a whole new generation is learning the ways of quilling and making a living from it. All from one woman.

One woman who realized that the porcupine was a sacred animal to her family, for generations to come. That the porcupine would provide way of life for her people, as in the past and give her tiyospaye a sense of utmost pride.

I watched the young girl quill and bring me beautiful piece after beautiful piece. I watched her through her last two trimesters of pregnancy, grow more and more excited about having a girl, her first girl. She would stand there and rub her stomach as we talked. I saw her and her husband come in a week ago with the brand new baby.

She was beautiful, with a head full of black hair, gorgeous complexion and sleeping as if the world wasn't spinning. I bought her earrings, and told her congratualtions. I teased her about missing her quillwork.

I saw her Monday when I went to work. She was with her husband. He came into my office. He gave me a look that told a different story.

Did you hear, he asked, she's gone. He said before I could answer.


She passed away in her sleep yesterday morning. Do you guys donate at all?

Oh no, I will find out. I gave him a hug, told him sorry and they left.

I had to inform them the next morning that we didn't donate. The school I work for, who operates on donations, didn't donate for such instances. They bought her a turtle amulet for her belly button and they needed moccasins.

Don't worry about it, I told them.

I stayed up all night Tuesday, furiously making and beading purple moccasins for a little girl I will never know. For a couple I just got to know.


Because life is sacred, that is how the Lakota believe. We must carry on with these ways.

Rest in Peace Naudia Sunshine.

Wednesday, June 11, 2008

once upon a time

once upon a time

there was a little man who thought everything was about him, even that one song by carly simon.

all he did was talk about himself.

so much so, he even put himself to sleep.

he talked about himself so much

he ended up alone

imagine that

Son Of A Gun - Janet Jackson

(god quit sending them my way, i will bat them out of the park!)

Tuesday, June 10, 2008


So yesterday my son, who has been kinda staying between my house and his dad's wanted to come home. I had all but my oldest in the car. He decides he wants to go to Whiteclay because tghe local grocery store is packed and I say ok because I can get full service gas there. I am such a girly, I hate pumping gas.

Whiteclay is two miles away. About right into the 2nd mile the car sputters and dies. I try and try like 12 times before I concede and say fuckit, I am out of gas. Sounds like the democratic primary, huh?

Anyway, I put the hazards on and wait. Its raining hard and thundering. I was wishing for my oldest son, because he at least, could have singlehandedly push us out of this. Any other time there would be cops driving by like crazy on this road because alcohol is available in Whiteclay. But for the forty minutes we sat there waiting for the rain to stop, no cop and no one stopped. Fuck!

So I take my 9 year old and say let's walk to whiteclay. OK he says, trying to man up. We are closer to Clay than any house without a mean dog. We start walking. It's a little further than I thought, but at least its not raining as hard. Finally someone looks at me while I walk. He does a U-uey and turns back. He pulls up and says Are you Dana?

Yeah, I ran out of gas. I tell him,, it's Dirty Steve's dad, Big Dirty Steve. Go back to your car and wait, I will be right back when I drop my groceries off.

It's kind of a hike back, but I don't bitch. I am thanking George Steinbrenner for sending him my way. We are waiting and he pulls up with a gas can. He already has gas and puts enough in my tank to get me to the full service station. I thank him and tell him his son should be more like him. He laughs and says I know.

It always amazes me at the kindness of strangers. I mean he isn't really a stranger, but he could have been like any other person in a hurry to catch the news and passed us by. It's even more amazing to see the cars that pass you by. I always stop for women and children, especially. I guess it has to do with the way you are raised.

Bet you thought this was gonna be about the fuckin ridiculous gas prices.

Monday, June 9, 2008

monday fuckin monday

had a shitty weekend

cut my knee open

fucked up a friendship on purpose

cursed myself with my car

and had to work yesterday just to fire someone

Sunday, June 8, 2008

My Indian Car Story

Indian Car - Keith Secola

The readers of my blog don't understand what an "indian car" is, but I can almost guarantee that every reader of the column knows what an "indian car" is. We have all seen them, people barely chugging away, windows busted out because someone was caught cheating. Which is fine in the summer, but in the winter time, then you hang your pretty blanket to serve as a curtain. Just yesterday I saw a man climbing out of his window like he was on Dukes of Hazard at the grocery store. Then he had a sock tying his door to the car so it didn't fly open, I was thinking, why don't he just untie the sock to get out?

Anyway, I have had my fair share of "Indian cars." Like the one whose tranny gave out because my ex Carter didn't know we needed to put tranny fluid in, I admit, I didn't know either. We flew that car home in Rapid through the alleys and with me hollering GO! Then we would shoot across the street backwards. We also bought a car, took it home and it wouldn't work after we got home. The man we bought it from, pulls into our place and looks under the hood, we didn't even have a belt but we still bought it. I have had my share of Inidian cars, none that I would evr ride in a parade with a mask on, like I saw one guy do, at least it was never that bad until we lived in Minnesota.

I had just had my son Jalen and Carter had just gotten a paycheck. We was walking from my place to my mom's when in someone's driveway there it was. The ugliest car I ever laid eyes on. It was green, which is normally my favorite color, but this was the shade of that chick's vomit on The Exorcist. It had weird shaped headlights and taillights. Like none I ever saw before. It also had a sign that ssaid FOR SALE $250. I knew his check was just a little over that and I was like "oh no....there goes my number 5 value meal."

So the guy that sold it to Carter said it was a good runner and they were both worked up over this car and the engine. I just kept looking at it with disgust. No. That was all I kept thinking. No. It had rust spots the size of Texas and there was no way I was gonna ride in that thing. Next thing I know they are shaking hands and he gives the keys to Carter. I am still saying NO in my head as I get in the passenger seat.

The car had carpet samples in the front instead of floor mats and when you moved them you could see the road underneath moving. The windshield wipers didn't work so we had to each sacrifice a shoestring when we discovered they didn't work in the rain. The car was awful, we was the only Indians in Red Wing, Minnesota with a crappy car. One day we were stopped in it, in the wintertime, with no heat, of course. The cops had us pulled over for over an hour with a newborn. The car was not insured, of course because insurance was more than the car it self. So on that sad winterday they took away the ugliest car in the world. I said a littl prayer of thanks as Carter watched his hot rod go away with sadness. We both knew the towing fee, storage fee and impound fee was 3 times what he paid for it.

At the moment my car is not an Indian car. I am still waiting for the title so it can't leave the rez. Oh, and it smokes because I need to get the gaskets covers fixed. But other than that it's fine. I have to listen to Eddie Rabbit's Greatest Hits which is a GREAT cassette if you haven't heard it, because my antenna fell off. But if you stop and want to listen to KILI, you can put a curtain rod on the antenna part and it's all good, as long as you don't move. But it still looks good, so there.

There is my "Indian car" story.

Saturday, June 7, 2008

All Good Things Must End

There is s a light so bright and near

Beautiful and glowing

It conjures fear

I can feel it sometimes

Warming to me

On the other side of the line

Do I dare step over

Where loved ones await

Or do I run for cover

Do I crave green pastures

And still waters

Do I doubt ever after

Tell me which way to go

Do I need my cup

To runneth and overflow

Do I choose fate

Or just choose

What I can’t create

by Dana Lonehill 2008

Note-It takes alot for someone to put their poetry out there, so don't act like I am wrong for the meaning, or look for the meaning, or for th love of life, don't ask me what's wrong. Picture of my sister Jenna's shadow by my sister Jaida

you know

Wednesday, June 4, 2008

Perspective from the Poosy-A female's point of view

The NBA Finals

First off, I have been pouting at the NBA since probably about 98 or so.
yeah I do talk shit like i know a thing or two about a thing or two. Maybe I don't know shit, after all I am a woman and I like shoes and handbags also.

But here is what I think as a former fan of the NBA and the days of Jord, Magic, Bird, even Penny.

I really could give a fat flying fuck who wins....most years.


I fuckin hate Kobe's ass!

Why the fuck should that ball hog get another fuckin ring?

That is the only reason why.

PLUS...KG a/k/a the BIG TICKET, who is fuckin phenomenal deserves a fuckin ring, a title and just in case a get out of jail free card! After all he was in the land of 10,000 lakes and 10,000 broken dreams and promises! Fuckin Minnesota can't treat a player or coach right if their fuckin cheese curds depended on it!

So even though I don't give a's the D.

KG deserves a fucking ring more than an eighteen year old virgin sorority chick with a brazillian wax, daddy's credit card, and subscription to BRIDE magazine.


Tuesday, June 3, 2008

Wind Song and Catshit

What are the odds of this happening?

She looked in the mirror in the bathroom at herself. She still looked the same, except for the fact that her eyes were a little swollen from throwing up for the last five minutes. she was nervous about having to go to coronation tonight. She don't know how she was even nominated for homecoming queen. she wasn't a cheerleader and really didn't give a fuck if anyone thought of her as popular. Lately she had been keeping to herself, not even staging anymore sit ins for the student body for issues she thought needed attention, like she did her junior year of high school. She knew one thing, she didn't want to end up here on the reservation, stuck with a bunch of babies and a cheating man, like so many other girls older than her did. It was a dead end, life here on the rez.

Just thinking about it made her throw up again.

After her session with the toilet bowl she went back to her bedroom where her cousin was proudly holding up the only dress that she owned.

Look here it is! I found it!

There was a catshit stain on it. She ran to the bathroom and threw up again.

I can't do this. I won't stand up there with a catshit dress while the other girls are wearing formals. She told her cousin.

Yes, you will! don't you know how lucky you are! Her cousin told her and pushed her out of the bathroom. Go lie down for awhile. I will clean this dress off.

After a short nap she came out holding the dress up proudly. See I did it!

What the fuck is that smell? She asked her cousin.

I got the catshit smell out. She said looking disappointed. Oh I sprayed it with grandma's Wind Song.

I would throw up again, but I have nothing left to throw up. She told her cousin as they put the dress on. It was a simple white shift and not at all close to the formals the other girls would be wearing. The smell was horrendous, as if the Wind Song made it worse.

They heard a car door slam and laughter. They looked at each other with worried looks, knowing full well, what was on it's way inside.


Go out the window! Hurry! Her cousin jumped out the window, while she was climbing out her mom was coming in the door. She tried to grab her by the hair but missed by an inch.


She ran to her cousin's house with no shoes on, crying.

I can't do this tonight, she told her cousin.

Bullshit. You will do this. I have some shoes somewhere. She could only find a pair of pink flats.

I will make them match, her cousin said, finding a pair of pink earrings and a pink ribbon for her hair. Her aunt gave her a ride to the school when they was all ready.

She stood backstage as they announced the runner ups. I will not live on this reservation forever, she prayed. Her name was called last. She was just announced the homecoming queen of 1971. She walked out to the crowd clapping, the parents of the runner up girls and the girls with disappointed looks on their faces. No one was there to take her picture. Her cousin was beaming.

Do I even feel proud, she thought to herself as they put the tiara on her head. She could still smell the catshit and Wind Song and realized it was the first time she felt the baby growing inside her kick.

Monday, June 2, 2008

A Blanket and a Boy

She opened her eyes to see the sky. Clouds were rolling in and the breeze was cool.

She couldn't believe that she fell asleep. She looked up at him, he was still on the phone with his mom. She wiped the slober off the side of her face.

How long was I asleep? She asked after he hung up the phone. For almost an hour, I was talking to my mom that whole time. He laughed at her.

Wow. I'm hungry. She looked in their paper bag but all they had was cigarettes and malt liquor.

Liquid diet, he said and laughed at her.

She grabbed a bottle of the malt and opened it. After taking a long drink she handed it to him. She thought of how they were best friends and cousins. They grew up in the same neighborhood and she always knew he was gay. He always knew too, and never tried to hide it. They had made plans to go to college, move off the reservation to a big city and act all artsy, sophisticated and cultural.

She moved away and had babies and got divorced from her abusive husband. He moved away and got HIV. Now they both lived back on the reservation.

They both worked. They were still best friends. She was in a current custody battle with her kids' dad and let them go with him for the weekend. He worked and tried to not talk about his disease.

I just need to get away today, she told her best friend. Let's go he said, grabbing a blanket, some malt liquor and cigarettes. All we need is this and my cell phone. They had been sitting on the other side of the dam where alcohol was legal.

She drank her malt liquor, smoked her cigarette and wondered why she never did anything with her life. Why did she move back here? Why did she drink?

Come sing with me. He said as he swayed back and forth to American Pie by Don McLean.

She looked at her sandals and swayed with him.

"This will be the day that I die...."

At that moment, despite everything in their lives, despite the conditions on the reservation, nothing mattered. She had her boy and her blanket and she sang.

Sunday, June 1, 2008


Yesterday at the art show I ran into two old friends. Afterwards, I hung out with a faithful one.

Cathy-used to have her own business. She gave me a temp job before Christmas when I was 18. I stayed forever. Or at least until she sold the buisiness 3 years later. The job never paid shit but it was the best job in the world. I learned alot about my culture from working for her and I also learned how to treat people. She showed up at the art show and the day was if no time passed at all. Here I was 4 kids later and not as naive, but I went back to the time when everything amazed me.

Michael-was my first gay friend that was out and proud. I met him when he also worked for Cathy. He was also there and it was a reunion of sorts. I was taken back again to that magical age of 18 when life was all about discovering.

Him-You hear me talk about bfwb all the time. He is my best friend...always. Last night was a magical time with a long talk that time will only tell if we stepped forward or backward. I don't know. If I could have one man in my life it would be him, but we will see if the friendship can survive last night's talk. How do you know whether to cut someone off or add more depth???