I feel like I just had emotional Lasik and I can see better...

Ya know what's a real bitch?


Hindsight.


You know what's an even bigger bitch?


Denial.



It's come to my attention after a sweet little bout of emo-rehab...  that I am a complete idiot.  I cut myself off from... (sigh) living... for way too long.  Unfortunately, this ain't the first idiot rodeo that I've starred in.  ((shakes head))  ...but at least now I know I'm never going back out there, drooling, in my chaps and bike helmet ever again.   Why would I?  "Insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results."  ...I refuse to be one of those insane people... living to struggle, struggling to live.


I can't explain why I laid in bed so many nights thinking, "This is not where I'm supposed to be.  This is not for me.  This isn't giving me what I need," but stayed there.  The only reasoning I can come to is... I have a big heart.  I'm rarely selfish.  Sounds like I'm paying myself a compliment... but I swear I'm not.


Selfish can be really good.  Nay, selfish can be AMAZING.  Selfish is especially becoming of a thirsty, twenty-seven year old woman with no chains... nothing holding me back... no responsibilities... and nobody to answer to.

Selfish would look good on me.  Selfish would look so good on me, in fact, that it would put me in a Christian Dior Couture, red-carpet-event dress and employ a glam squad of at least 20 people to make me look fabulous.  Selfish would feel so good that it would then put me on the arm of an Armani-suited Ryan Gosling  ...and I'd be tuggin' on his skinny, double windsor all night suckin' face, ya feel me?

Selfish would be that goooooood.  Haha.


So fuck!  Why am I not selfish?!


I don't know if it's nature or nurture that made me SUCK at being selfish.  Is being a doormat traceable in your DNA?  My mother was a person who gave too much.  I would get angry at her for not spoiling herself... and here I am:  Little Miss Hypocrisy.  Way to go, Danielle.  Swell.  Did I learn this from her?


I'm too afraid to hurt people.... in turn... I'm shorting myself.


I'm working on it.


No, not the hurting people part.

Being more honest to get my needs met!  I need to ask for help when I need it. I need to learn to say no.  I need to learn to stop doing things to people-please!



Danielle first.


My mother used to call me Brutus.  ...her ruthless one.  Somewhere along the way of her illness, her death, and grieving her loss...  I stopped being a god damn pirate with a loud mouth and turned into a little lamb.  I've always had a big heart... but... life humbled me far too much.



Far too much humbling has a word...


Fear.


No more of that nonsense.




The other day I asked someone who knew me all through my school years what I was like back then.  "You were the girl who spoke her mind.  Everybody heard you.  You had an opinion.  Everyone knew it.  You stuck to your guns.  Big mouth.  Big heart."



That was who I was before I ever knew ANY hardship that would frighten me into being the wuss-bag I am today.  I'd never been broken.



I'd like to be that person again.  I should be that person.  Because truly...  all the lousy shit in your life should turn you into an optimist!  It primes you to handle anything!  ...I know there is nothing... nothing I can't handle.



I'm very fortunate, ya know, despite anything bad that's ever happened to me.

I've had so much good in my life.  I'm lucky I had my mother at all.  What an amazing person.  Nobody will love me like that ever again.  I'm lucky that I've learned what it's like to lose everything.  I appreciate the things I do have and the good things happening to me even more.  I'm lucky I've had some shitty boyfriends, haha.  I know what a man is and isn't.  I know who I want and who I don't want.  I'm lucky I've had my patience tested because now I have nerves of steel.  I'm lucky I've had to carry other people, because it's made me reliable and strong.  I'm lucky I've learned crisis, loss, and grief...  life will never throw me a curveball I can't hit.



Danielle:  Brick. Shit. House.  





Hindsight.  I was only half-living my life.


Denial.  I refused to see it.



My self-prescribed Remedy?  I'm going to fucking see the world.  :)  Embrace it.  Be spontaneous.  See it all.





That way when I'm laying in bed at night... after seeing everything I needed to see... I will know that's exactly where I'm meant to be.



Danielle

Wanted...

So.... I keep hearing this song on the radio daily... and it's starting to get creepy.  It's Hunter Hayes's, "Wanted."  The thing that's so interesting to me is... this song isn't new.  But I haven't heard it until now...


Sometimes, we ask god for signs... and we become so frustrated, doubting our faith because we aren't presented with some massive, neon red sign that says our answer.  ...but they're there.  They are.  Something is any way...

Makes me think of this video lol:



In 2008 I was living in Orlando, Florida and I knew that the life I was living wasn't right for me.  I was in a relationship that I knew wasn't in my best interest, there were really horrible people trying to take advantage of me, I wasn't living MY life, and I felt I was headed for something that would destroy what was left of my pure heart...  I felt trapped.  It was like I was in this proverbial white room that was filling with water and there was no way out.  I accepted I was in that room for a while.  Even in knee deep water I said, "Meh.  It's only knee deep."  But I soon found myself with my last two inches of breathing room and this, "room," was filling fast... and I couldn't find my way out on my own.


So I said a prayer...


I was laying in my bed... alone... in the dark... and a storm was rolling through.  Every time the lighting struck, the shadow of my window blinds painted the room.  I watched the rain drag itself down my window pane and the palm leaves whipping in the wind.  I sat up.  With my head in my hands I began to sob.  "Please.  Fix this for me.  Even if I hate it.  Even if I try to fight it.  Fix it.  Just close this door for me because I can't.  Make it hard for me to go down this road.  Put me on the right path.  Make it impossible for me and let me hurt if I have to... but help me find my way."


I asked the big guy to, "take the wheel."  (thanks Carrie Underwood)



...and he did.


The next day... as I was moping around, I was given the idea to have a look at my phone bill... I noticed some numbers that I didn't call.  Long story short... I ended up having a conversation with a complete stranger who was involved with my boyfriend.

He couldn't have made it clearer for me.  He heard my prayer and was sick and tired of watching me waste my time.

Two days after that... I rented a car, packed it full of whatever would fit, left the rest, and took myself and my dog home.


I'll never forget that night I asked him for a sign... and he provided.




I don't care if you're not religious... you may believe that we all turn to dirt.  ...and we do.  You may not believe in a higher power or spirituality... and maybe because something hasn't come to you yet.




The morning my mother died... she came to me.  I was laying in a hotel room and I was half asleep.  I was just opening my eyes and through my eyelashes I could see there was a girl next to my bed, she wasn't glowing or anything, she was just standing there in the dark.  She had brown hair and she was smiling so big in my face.  Naturally, that's INSANELY frightening.  Waking up to a person in your face???  Are you kidding?  That's the stuff horror films are made of!  I started thrashing in bed, terrified and in a blink she went away.  I woke up my boyfriend... didn't make mention of the girl... but he snuggled me...it was just my imagination...and I went back to sleep.  Then... I got the call.

My brother's voice... I can still hear it nearly two years later.  He was bawling.  "Danielle?"  I sat up in bed fast with panic just knowing something bad was coming, "Yeah? Yeah? Yeah?"  "Mom's gone."  "What?  What?  What?"


When my mom and I spoke about death, which was hardly ever... she always told me that when she died she'd come say goodbye.


She did...


When things weren't going right, recently, in my personal life I asked both God and my mom to have a sit down and get me on the right track.  I had some big changes in my life... ones that have hurt me so deeply... and ones that are great.  But they've all come at once.  ...in a matter of months.  It's been a lot to cope with... but... Rosemary Legg did not make me a wuss.  I get told I'm an incredibly strong person often... and whenever someone says that I get a lump in my throat and always have an internal comment of, "Am I strong or am I just running on instinct?  Am I like a wounded animal...turning aggressive.. fighting because I don't want to die?"  I don't know.


I can't tell you what this Wanted song is trying to tell me exactly... and you might think that I'm just searching for something and interpreting it as spiritual....


But I know why things haven't worked for me... I haven't felt wanted.  I've felt loved and supported... but wanted?  No...


I need society to want me... so I need a solid career.  I need to find a person someday that makes me feel wanted.  I also want to be the person who sees the world and people want to know...


Most importantly...  I want to want to be myself.  Gotta go find her.  :)



Time to grow up.


I want that.

No matter how small...

The color white.  There's nothing... nothing interesting about the color white.  White is... white.  That's it.  It's the absence of color.  But there's something funny about the color white.  It invokes this cognitive fluidity that I feel any other color wouldn't give me.  The color white leads you places when you're peering up at it from a crack in your comforter, unwilling to get out of bed.  Yesterday... I stared at the color white, for a couple hours, unable to peel myself from my bed-cave... and this is what the color white... gave me.




The world needs heroes.  




I crawled out of bed, probably resembling a decaying corpse, resurrecting from the grounds of a cemetery a la Night of the Living Dead.  I fixed myself a cup of tea and plopped down on the couch. With a head of hair like Einstein, I took a sip.  My house was empty.  Quiet.  I looked around my living room.  Typically this time of year my mother would have had the whole house decked out in Christmas decorations.  Our tree was always very early 90's chic with multi-colored christmas lights, clashing tinsel, homemade ornaments with missing pieces, chipped baubles, and I'm pretty sure we have a painted gingerbread ornament that my brother took a bite out of when he was 6.  Shocker.  She was never one to throw away an ornament... or a string of lights for that matter.  She insisted on a tree every year despite being incredibly allergic to them.  It was this time of year that my mother would rock pink, puffy eyes and a pink, stuffy nose.  ...and yet she'd sit by that tree and read a book every night.



No decorations this year.  No tree.  I just sighed and stared into space.  White.



Has the tradition and sentiment completely left my life?




It was a few months after my mother's death that I went in search of sentiment.  I looked through crumbling cardboard boxes for all my old toys and baby clothes.  I wanted something that would make me feel like she was near.  Something that would give me a memory for comfort.  I just needed something to physically hold on to to feel her love.  When my efforts were fruitless I got angry with her.  Why didn't she save me anything?  Why did she throw away these things that would have eventually been keepsakes, somethings, for me?  I never understood why she would save EVERY single one of her gas receipts but not even keep her wedding dress.  What kind of a mother...


Shortly after my quest for something, I received an email out of the blue from one of my mother's friends.  My mother's friend had fallen on hard times around Christmas time.  I can picture it now.  My mom probably did a mental inventory of what my brother and I no longer played with and offered it up to her.  My mom gave away our nintendo and various video games to make someone's hard times tolerable.

As time went on, more and more people came out of the woodwork to tell me the things my mother had donated to them to help them get by...



It was two weeks ago that a coworker mentioned to me she'd met someone that knew my mom.  I was all ears.  I love stories about her.  The coworker said to me, "She said that your mom was an amazing woman.  So kind and lively."  ...tell me something I don't know.  "She said that when she told your mom she was pregnant, your mother gathered up all your baby clothes and gave them to her to help her out.  She loved them.  They were all English-styled and hand-made.  She couldn't believe how generous and kind your mother was."



...the baby clothes.  My mother, my sweet mother, gave those to someone who needed them.  That was so her.  She was so giving.  She never hesitated to give.


It brought a tear to my eye.


That's where all the somethings went.  She made them somebody else's somethings.  She probably knew that she'd loved me enough that I'd never need those things to feel her with me.  I realize this now.


My mom was a hero.  She was my hero.  She was their hero.  She gave and gave... and gave.  These are the people the world needs.  We need these heroes...no matter how small.  We need more Rosies. 


I got off the couch.  I was sick of feeling sorry for myself.  I was missing her.  I was missing the girl I used to be before she got sick.  I missed smiling more.  I missed being on stage.  I missed performing.  I missed writing.  I missed my music. I missed my confidence.  I was sick of hurting.  I was sick of the news about the tragedy in Newtown.   I was sick of my broken heart...


Last night I drove to Walmart on a mission.  I want to be a hero....no matter how small.  I picked up a toy for a girl and a toy for a boy and drove to a Toys for Tots drop-off.  As I placed them in the bin I said in my head, "These are from Mamma Rosie."  She's apart of me.  Through me she still lives.  I can be a hero.

I may not have a tree this year.  I may not even necessarily have a Christmas.  But... the sentiment is still there.  When you have a mom like Rosie.  It's never lost.


Tomorrow will be covered in white.  Lots of it.  With all the snow... and no place to go...  I hope you all smell what I'm cooking here.  Go shovel your neighbor's driveway.  Scrape the ice off a friend's windshield.  If you're fun... go stop by a snowed in neighbors house with some peppermint schnapps and hot cocoa.  ;)   ...I don't know how heroic that last one is but... haha.


It's time to be heroes.  ...no matter how small.



Merry Christmas.


DB

Goofy Spice

I'm getting more and more nervous reading up on Girls Rock Camp stuff. There's a lot of child psychology in the handbooks and I'm just so overwhelmed. I cannot say HOW excited I am to be apart of this. This is a dream of mine. It's ALWAYS been a huge dream of mine to work at a camp that empowers young girls.

I remember sitting in my Women in Society class listening to a lecture on young girls and self esteem. The statistics were concerning to me. The amount of girls that are bullied, suicidal, depressed, and have body image issues were astounding. It broke my heart. I remember exactly where I was sitting in that classroom when my brain went, "Man... I want to, like, start a camp for young girls and teach them how to be strong women."

I remember wanting to hug all the girls in the documentary we watched about the effects of young girls without father figures. I wanted to be a big sister to all of them. I wanted to take each one aside and tell them how things get better with age, how beautiful they were, and how much they were worth. I wanted to tell them that people will try to walk all over them. People will try to put them down. People will laugh at their dreams. People would call them names...

And the answer to all of that is? When someone tries to walk all over them... stand up. They can't walk all over someone who stands tall and strong. When someone tries to push them down? They need to reinforce themselves with positivity. A strong foundation cannot be knocked over! When someone laughs at their dreams... they have to use it as motivation. Forgive them for not having the ability to imagine and possess ambition and remember that the power of suggestion and belief is unstoppable. If you believe you can move a mountain... that mountain will move.

.... and finally... when someone calls them a name... they need to know that, "you're only what they call you if you answer to it." Don't let someone ever tell you who you are. Ever.

Sure, names and accusations may hurt... we're all vulnerable to hurt, but in order for that put-down to affect you, you have to care about it. If you don't care... it can't affect you. We will all fall, find bumps in the road, and have doors slammed in our faces. It's the person who gets up and keeps on fighting that wins. Resilience, persistence, ambition, dedication, and hard-work will find success.

This camp brings the power of music and the power of self esteem together. I'm so thankful to be a part of it.

This is where I'm a little scared.....

These girls will be very interested in the instructors. These girls will ask us lots of questions and will want to know about my personal life. They also might idolize or find heros in the instructors so they'll absorb a lot of what we say. The girls will LOVE gossip and we're warned that it spreads like wild fire. They'll also want to add us on facebook, myspace, and twitter and we're warned to watch the things we say on all our media outlets. (yikes)

These girls are one of the target markets with my music. It's no doubt that they will be curious of me. I KNOW they will love a couple other musician lady-friends of mine involved in this program as well. They're silly, fun, intelligent, talented, and beautiful to boot. This equals fascinating!

.... this is terrifying. I know that I was a little sponge at their age too. I remember my camp counselors at camp and how we wanted to know what counselors were dating. I remember looking up to them and even mimicking a lot of their behaviors and attitudes.

The pressure! The pressure to make a positive impact!!

((sigh))

I've wanted this. God has given me an immense opportunity and a blessing to do the very thing I said I wanted to do, silently to myself in that classroom 4 years ago.

I'm ready to step up to the plate. I've got to be strong for these girls. I wish so much I'd had what I'm about to do when I was their age. I had a really rough time with body image specifically and believing in myself. In middle school I was told I was an ugly duckling constantly. I think a counselor even told me, "just because you're not one of the pretty girls doesn't make you less of a person." (Nice, lady. Right? Bitch.) I had girls tell me I dressed weird and laugh at me. I had girls say cruel things about my weight. I started late with music because I was so afraid. Girl would tell me I couldn't sing... and that I should quit dreaming of meeting my idols because I was a nobody. I hope I change at least ONE of their lives and make them strong... then I know my work has been done. These days... all those girls from junior high message me about where to shop, get their hair done, and how I do my makeup. I'm the go-to gal. These days... those mean girls are coming to my shows and signing my facebook wall with well wishes. We all grow up and out of things. They were just as insecure as I was... if not more. Instead of embracing my unique style. I let them make me believe I was wrong. If it feels right for you. It's never wrong.

.... I wish I'd known that. These girls are going to have it drilled into their cute little skulls, I tell ya! :)

I feel like a spice girl... but damn.... "Girl Power." :)

Love,

Goofy Spice

The most intimidating thing...

I recently got asked to be apart of a volunteer program called Girls Rock Camp, in which young girls who want to be musicians are coached, encouraged, and brought together to showcase their talents.

Can I just say WHAT an honor to be asked to be a part of something like this? My gah... this has always been a dream of mine. I remember when I was in junior high I wanted so badly for something like this to exist for me. In college I thought, "Man, if I ever make it big I want to start a camp for young girls who need encouragement and the need to build their self esteem."

It's no secret that I have a huge love for children. I kind of adopted a little sister about 3 years back and she's helped me grow as much as I've helped her. I feel really great being apart of her life and teaching her not to make some of the mistakes I did. I feel like it's such a good thing to be that, "big sister," type and not some mother figure. I also love encouraging her to not go with the flow and telling her not to be afraid of being different. I always tell her how proud of herself she'll be looking back knowing she marched to the beat of her own drum.


Things like my relationship with that little girl is what makes me feel truly fulfilled.


To do that on a grand scale? To be a big sister to a bunch of cool little chicks wanting to do the things I do? .... My heart would only pop into a grand finale like the fireworks display at Disney.


The thing is.... how do I even teach them to do what I do? How would I be good at this job they've asked of me? Teachers are amazing people! They shape our youth! You have any idea how big those britches are? What a responsibility! I'm so scared! I can't play an instrument. I don't know much about music theory. How would I create a lesson plan? Where would I begin?? All I have is songwriting experience, stage presence experience, and just a positive attitude.

I do have one thing....


I see it with my, "little sister."

.....I feel like I'm kind of a pied piper of little girls. I don't know what it is... but little girls LOVE me and I love them. I'm able to just.... morph back into being a ten year old instantly. I'm very influential on them and they think I'm cool. :) ... I wonder how long THAT will last now that I'm getting older.


However, when I'm with little chicks, I sometimes feel like Jennifer Garner in 13 going on 30 lol.


I wanna teach them what's cool, what's fun, what's right, how to stand up for themselves, how to love themselves, how to deal with bullies, boys, and mean girls. I want to just... be there and help them be tough little Danielle Brittanys. :)



My heart is in a knot. I'm like, "Oh man! How do I teach these girls the things I know?" Most everything I do just comes naturally. How to I put that into words or... be their sensai? Also I think, "Man! I don't want to let the people down running this camp because I'm not really all that credible!" ... I just write and record music. I get on stage and I sing. It's what I do. I'm not a credible source for anything in the music industry. The women playing instruments and teaching choir are soooo the people for this job. Me? I'm just a pop tart. :)


I don't know what I can bring to the table... but what I do know is I want to be involved SOME how. I just am so scared and intimidated by teaching what I know. I don't know it all. All I know is that I can totally teach these girls to be kickass and tough.


I want these girls to think, "Hey! I'm unique. I'm gonna show these people JUST who I am!" and I want to teach them to follow their dreams and work hard.


If that means that I'm just kind of a peon in the background chiming in a bit and cheering them on... then deal.


I should show them a picture of me when I was in 7th grade and say, "Check this goofy lookin' thing out!" and let them laugh at it. :) Then maybe, hopefully, possibly, they'd see I've morphed into a less awkward, pretty fun, ambitious chick with big dreams and they can do it too?


I only hope.


I want to teach these girls to not be afraid of who they are and being goofy. ..... I've embraced it. Have you seen my shake weight video on youtube? ((slaps forehead))

:)

<3
Danielle

So this is it

My shaking hands felt the scratches in the varnished wooden floor boards. A lot of people had paced and bustled over these floors. Dust bunnies and salt from the sidewalks made them gritty to the touch. My legs were splayed out carelessly as I leaned on one hip. I was merely a collapsed lump on the floor. I was totally unconcerned that my ensemble was black and that I was probably going to be full of floor silt when I decided to stand up. Didn't matter. Not right then.

With little wells of tears wobbling on my lower lids and tiny tear drops resting in my lower lashes.... I looked around the green room. I sniffled and tried to catch my breath. Band stickers and graffiti littered the walls and mirrors. A lot of people who share the same dream had made their mark. I kicked myself thinking, "Man... I wish I had a sharpie or something to plaster my name up there with the rest of them."

It would have been a great night to be a vandal.

Loud music, teaming voices, and a gallery of sounds slammed up against the other side of the door. The noise was sneaky. No escape. It crept in through the crack underneath the door just to antagonize me.

I looked around again, just sitting in that pile of myself. Slow motion. Everything ran in slow motion. I was thankful for my luck and blessings... my God, I'm so lucky.... but I couldn't help dwell on the reality that there was always going to be something trying to bring me down. The higher up you go... the more potential energy you gain. It's like an elevator. You're heavier going up. There's just more pull on you to bring you down. You can either accept it and proceed or you play it safe on the ground. Something had just tried to drag me to hell. In that moment, I was trying to decide if I was going to let it.

I wiped my eyes. "No more of this, Danielle. You're tough," I thought. Black streaks of mascara smeared across my index finger. "Aw crap." I looked in the mirror and tried to fix the mess I'd made. Hopeless. I looked like a blubbering, blonde raccoon. I fussed with my hair, powdered my now pink nose, and tried to blink away the sadness in my eyes. I had work to do. Brave face. It didn't matter what happened to make me feel this way. It comes with the territory and the show must go on. This is what will separate me from the faint of heart. This attitude will keep me in the game. I'd lick my wounds later when I had time to myself...

DB

No mo'!

This is advice to anyone out there looking to, "make it," in the entertainment industry:

Don't sacrifice who you are for fame and fortune.


Please, please, pleeeeease don't sell out.


Your heart is a great GPS. Follow it. Don't compromise who you are for money. Who you are is irreplaceable. To throw away your identity for money or stardom is giving up.


A friend of mine said, "I'd rather fail as myself than succeed as someone else." I couldn't have said it better myself.



I've lived my life as Danielle Brittany for 24 years. I think who I am and my style is unique and apart of a great package. Let me just say it, "By George, I like myself!"

So when someone tells me to change my look, change my name, and change who I am..... I simply say this: I can't do it. I won't do it! And if that's what it takes.... then I'm not trying hard enough or we're not thinking hard enough to bypass that garbage.


It's like when you get a new hair cut and you go home and style it the same way you've been doing your hair for years. I'll always come back to myself. No need to reinvent the wheel. It's good! I'm a firm believer in enhancing what is good.... not trying to reinvent it.


Fighting for what you believe in doesn't make you difficult. It makes you have a backbone. It makes you strong.


Don't ever let anyone tell you who you are. That's for you to decide. Every morning we all have a choice of who we want to be when we wake up. Nobody makes that choice for you.



More words of advice: The truth will always set you free. Karma is a real thing don't succumb to malicious actions or petty behavior. Harboring grudges will always keep negative energy with you. Stooping low is never the best revenge. Living your life better is. Step out of your shoes sometimes. Forgive those who violate you and try to sabotage you. Remember that sabotage is a goal of someone trying to ruin you because they are threatened by you. Pity them. Pray for them.


Stay true to yourselfs, folks!

Danielle