Thoughts on Divadom and shoots that go bad from a Train

Wed Nov 17, 2004 (Noon on train)Is it wrong to have certain people I like being around entirely because to them I am a Goddess? A Diva? That they dote on my every wish and every word and lust after just the hope of holding my hand?The part of me that is solid, is true, is full of hope for future and love and life wants to blanch every time I schedule time with these individuals. An hour of life wasted? And yet… and yet I do it anyway. And the light in their eyes fuels an ego that I don’t feel I deserve… reminds me that I am seen as something more than me by parts of the world, reminds me of my own goddesshood. I am divine, even if just in the squeeze of a hand and a travel for mile upon mile for the chance to glance upon my form?I shouldn’t support this behavior. I should remind people that I’m just a woman, just a man, though skilled at some things I am not divine- and yet I encourage it. I must remember to find middle ground. I use the word “diva” as one of my many passwords… a reminder to not be lost in the fable. And yet- to suck the glamour off of them? So rich, so potent… the drug is hypnotizing.**I will not be working with DizDat.com again. Anthony Peters just, pissed me off to off to much. I’ve shot with him 4 or 5 times… and though a goon full of bravado who is only into shooting bondage smut for the money- he hasn’t been a bad guy to me. He pays well. He tries to be accommodating. But over the last 2 shoots its gone downhill. Perhaps I’m too “sensitive” about certain issues- but I have the right to be. He broke the last straw.The shoot before this one, he asked where I was staying. I spoke of a very sweet hot gay man in Brooklyn… RogueBoi. He was confused on why I hang out with gay men. I decided, after having shot with him 3 times, that it would be okay to mention that I had at once time considered becoming a man, thus, a gay man… and my first lover and many other play partners I’ve had have been gay men. Whoo boy- wrong choice. I was drilled for the next 2 hours of the shoot about my gender stuff, gay men, stereotypes galore- how could I ever consider that, you’re such a beautiful woman. Beauty doesn’t amount to anything if you don’t feel comfortable in your own skin. But, Mr. Peters is a goomba… he doesn’t get it. My hope was that it had blown over.I was wrong.So, he saw me with my head shaved for the first time… he knew I’d shaved my head, had seen pictures… but his first words were “How could you, you had such beautiful hair.” Again I retorted- Beauty doesn’t amount to anything if you don’t feel comfortable in your own skin. I am, at the end of the day, more comfortable with short hair. It suits my lifestyle and my personality.“This is about your male stuff isn’t it.” He said with a hiss, a bitter tone.Fuck you. That was my thought. But I smiled and spoke about my history with Marcus and his desire to have me grow my hair out, my discussions with fashion producers, my longing to claim my own self rather than be an image just for others. He insisted, joked, about the gender stuff…As the shoot went on it was just downhill. Mr. Peters has a habit of making jokes in poor taste- and I can usually let them roll off like water off my feathers- but he’d already plucked me. Each comment was like a jab to the soul.“What do you know about troubles, you’re just a model”“Oooh, it’s so hard to be a woman”“Fuck, I have Mexicans climbing all over my house and too much to do- but you have the easy life, just traveling and shit, what do you know.”“It’s Bridgett Harrington, model at large.”“You’re huge!” Repeat continuously… I was in very high heels at his request, but it wasn’t just a height joke.By the end of the shoot I found myself dolled up at the top of the stairwell, tied up, when my tampon bled through. I asked how long we had left. He said just a moment. A moment became 15 minutes, and I lay in my own blood in a dirty stairwell as he complained about how hard the work was and I bit back tears. I’d sent JD away because I don’t like having folks be used, and Mr. Peters was, for no extra money, continuously asking JD to take pics, be in pics, etc… the deal was space rental. That was all. And JD was generous. He put up with the last minuteness of it all. He was a gem.I lay in my own blood at the top of filthy stairs asking when I could get out. I’d lost hand circulation. I was miserable. And he just kept poking, joking, jabbing and jesting. I withdrew into my own head to keep from exploding.“What the hell is wrong with you. You’re so miserable, you always start out so happy at the beginning of the shoots, and by the end you’re all inward and crap” (excuse while I paraphrase, I didn’t recall his exact quotes by this point.)I snapped. Here I was covered in my own blood, my feet sore, still trying to get my fingers back… and I snapped. I told him he’d pissed me off, and to be honest, this was going to be our last shoot. I had hoped to get a chance to think about it before telling him, that I don’t like snapping at people… but yeah, I was upset, and sorry to put a damper on your day.He exploded and yelled at me. Fuck you, I go out of my way to do a shoot with you because you’re in town and here you are all “I’m Bridgett Harrington” at me and I have girls who beg for work and you’re such a fucking queen. Fuck you. I book you all last minute and everything, fit you into my schedule, and this is the thanks I get?I book Mr. Peters last minute BECAUSE 3 shoots back he ASKED me too. He kept saying “call me when you get into town, just tell me a week ahead of time then call me when you’re in NYC. I listened to him. Shame on me.I try SO hard not to piss people off. I bend over backwards. I try to offer additional ideas. I bite back words that might upset constantly. Maybe I should just be a fucking queen, then people would have to…What the hell. I can’t. I just gather up my bloody skirt and hose. I cry in the bathroom. I come out and talk with JD, calm myself down, he calms me down… we talk about life and photography. I dream of stopping modeling for goons and just working for folks I want to work for, eventually just do my own site and sell stuff and work as a photographer. I dream, I pack up my bags, I head to the TES meeting and smile for the guy meeting me there to possibly shoot me.