Da Goddess

Since I’m several weeks behind on our When meme, allow me to offer this little fairy tale of sorts to you. And I’ll admit, I was very much one of those girls who wanted a Prince Charming and a happily ever after. I’ve met a couple princes, but the happily ever…I’m still after.

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Here’s the deal, boys and girls: I know we all love fairy tales and we all want to believe that they’re for real, but guess what? The only way to mix fantasy with reality is to play by the rules.

Damsel in Distress: The damsel must truly need rescuing. None of that manufactured drama to get a boy’s attention. That’s just game-playing. The damsel must also be willing to be rescued. Once rescued, she must thank her hero and be prepared for the wrath of princesses, divas, virgin hookers, and other damsels when she gets him. This means she must develop a bit of grace and poise. Also, learning all the prince’s favorite foods, games, and ways to unwind will serve her well.

For the Charming Prince, well he hasn’t escaped with merely rescuing the damsel. No, now he has to follow up with the proper feeding, care, and maintenance of his damsel. This is especially important if he wants to keep her which he should since he likely had to battle a dragon, a giant, a wizard, an evil witch, and a bunch of angry, odd, little men to get to her in the first place. He may have even had to fight off her ugly step-sisters and then had to deal with her mom, step-mom, dad, or perhaps a pimp (if she is, indeed, one of those virgin hookers like Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman).

So, once the Charming Prince has saved the Damsel and put her up in a wing of his castle, he makes her comfortable and they begin to decide whether or not the prince got the object of his desire and still desires her. She has to figure this out, too. After all, the queen is likely going to frown upon her anyway since she was weak enough to get herself into some rotten predicament in the first place. Mama Queen only wants the best for her boy. The king is leering at the damsel, causing even further friction between the queen and the damsel. The damsel is also not going to press the prince to tattoo her name or physiognomy on his arm, back, leg, chest, or buttocks. She will not demand from him a larger allowance, cable TV in every room, filet mignon every night, nor will she make him sit through a fashion show each evening where she asks if the bustle on the gown makes her ass look fat. She simply finds out what the man likes and keeps right on doing those things, occasionally spicing things up with an extra bath each month and a bit of berry juice to stain her cheeks and make it appear she is, indeed, ready for his advances.

The prince wants the damsel.

And of course, once the prince makes the decision to keep the damsel, he’s going to struggle with the age-old question of what to do with his last damsel/s. Here’s how this works: If this particular damsel is the sort that fills all the prince’s needs (and saves him right back), he should get rid of the other damsels. He can keep a couple as friends as long as the damsel agrees (she does, after all, need girlfriends for retail therapy and royal bath days). The prince must stop rescuing other damsels during this time, even when former rescuees need his services again. This is due to the very high risk of losing his life in some vicious battle to save a former rescuee. He could be killed by a dragon. Another prince. A troll. An evil witch. A powerful wizard. A poisoned meal before he heads out the door. An ambush by a band of charming prince conduct enforcers (which never, ever goes nicely) sent by the unhappy damsel. Or he could save the wench and return home to discover his newest and best damsel ever has decided his antics were those of a fool (he was on a fool’s errand, if you will, after all) and she will pack up her bags, including the new items he purchased for her, and she will return to living with dwarves, trolls, ugly stepsisters, evil stepmothers, blood-thirsty wizards, and spooky trees intent on taking over the world.

Let’s face it, the care and maintenance of a damsel isn’t easy. But if done right, if done sincerely, if done with true affection, the rewards are great. He has all his needs met, he will likely knock her up and while she’s in her indelicate state, he can go out to the local tavern, swig some ales with his friends, slay a few dragons for sport, and maybe she’ll even encourage him to pick up his lyre again and start a new band. She’ll barely notice he was gone.

That seems like a pretty good trade off for both of them. Sure, there’ll be arguments over whose leggings were left lying on the floor and who forgot to empty the chamber pot, but those are common conversations heard throughout the kingdom.

If you were the charming prince, what would you do? If you were the damsel no longer in distress, what would your response be?

You would think this is all too complicated a story to come from the mind of a young girl, but this is the simplified version of the crazy stuff I used to think up. I think I missed my calling. I should have been writing Snowella or something.

Share your fairy tale rules with us in your own Remember When post. You can grab a copy of my photo from Flickr.

Or is it kind of funny that there’s a Meetup group for anarchists?

One of my regular reads is the blog. Brian Auer, an excellent photographer, provides me with a lot of inspiration and he’s responsible for me finding many of my photography-related reads (like Syl Arena and his LIDLIPS). Occasionally, Brian reviews a book and has a copy or two to give to readers. I always enter because 1) I like photography books and 2) I like winning stuff. I’ve never won. Until tonight.

The book is Live, Laugh, Celebrate, from National Geographic. Brian asked those who wanted a chance of winning a copy to “Submit a photo and/or link to a photo you’ve taken of an event, festival, celebration, gathering, etc. The photo must be your own. Bonus points for supplemental descriptions.” My entry was that of my mountain men taken up at the Big Horn Rendezvous over Labor Day weekend (last photo in the post).

I don’t think enough attention or respect is given to those who painstakingly work to present authentic depictions of our history. They deserve a lot of credit for their attention to detail, for the amount of time they put into creating clothing, obtaining items, and for spending days and sometimes weeks in character. Forget modern creature comforts. They rough it. And many of the groups have very strict requirements to become an official representative of the mountain men — you must spend x number of days living off the land, tracking, hunting, skinning, etc. You must know your history. So the vast majority of people you see at these gatherings are the real deal. They know from experience the hardships our ancestors faced and represent them accurately.

Turns out Brian has some history of time spent with mountain men himself. That makes this even sweeter. He knows and understands why I admire my friend Lost & Found so much.

Thanks, Brian! I can’t wait to get the book and share it with my readers.

I got asked that last night for the second time since I’ve been here. My answer was a stare down with a strong “yes”. This time, there wasn’t the laughter and surprise that accompanied the first one. But it was still effective.

I’ll tell you why, too. (I knew you were just dying to know.)

When someone is used to having most people in their life go along with whatever they say and not question them, or when they feel you’re merely there to nod along appreciatively and look adoringly at them, sometimes the best thing they can hear is “shhh!” or “no”.

It was not done out of disrespect. In fact, it was done with a great deal of respect and it was also done to help extract someone’s foot from their mouth. It also served to play up a particular personality trait that serves my friend quite well professionally. And yes, we were in the middle of a professional setting, where a job offer may potentially be coming his way. It was a very tense moment or two as we stared each other down and I smiled kindly and turned my attention back to the gentleman who could be making an offer in the near future.

Said gentleman looked at us curiously. Buster excused himself and went to talk to someone else. I could see the steam coming from his ears for minute or two. Said gentleman continued to look back and forth at us. Curious. And that’s what I wanted.

He asked, “he doesn’t like to be told no or told to be quiet does he?” I replied, “frankly, no, he doesn’t. But sometimes he needs to hear it. We all do.” Said gentleman mumbled something about, “well, if my wife said…” and I looked at him curiously. I asked if that’s really true. He admitted that it wasn’t. Then he began asking me more about B. This was exactly what I knew would happen. And I was prepared to talk up my friend in a way he couldn’t even begin to do himself without coming across as arrogant. I knew what I was doing.

This is why I shhh’d him.

It’s kind of awesome to be able to do that. The talking up part. And the shushing.

For the record, I get shushed too. We all should be from time to time.