When we last heard from Jax Resto: "I imagine the possibilities of being in a band with my big brother. I'd gladly ditch the “all-female” theme for a brother/sister one...." And then she met potential bandmate Chelsea Bass... and now....
Raven texts me about doing a photo shoot this Saturday. Apparently she is also great with hair and makeup, as well as photography. “Sure,” I text back. Anything to feel like we are moving forward. Or maybe just a distraction from the fact that we are not. I stare at the blank computer screen, debating whether to get up and do something “band” or just veg in front of the TV. As if helping to make up my mind, my cell phone rings. I glance at the caller ID and my heart pauses as I recognize the name I programmed in a few days ago: Chelsea Bass.
I answer the phone with “Hi!” rather than “Hello.” She laughs and we gush in excitement over finding each other and over the project I have in mind. We plan to meet Monday at Starbucks in the Port Charlotte Mall.
Saturday, Raven and I go ahead with our scheduled photo shoot, figuring we can add other members as we go. I guess it's a way of remaining optimistic. So, that morning, I fill a suitcase with different outfits and drive to Raven's house in North Port. After an hour or more in hair and makeup, we are ready to shoot, but as luck would have it, my camera suddenly dies. Feeling ready for the cover of Rolling Stone, we drive to a nearby Walmart, where I purchase a new camera.
Later, back at the “studio,” Raven gives her expert opinions on how I should pose. “Don't smile,” she tells me. “Rockers don't smile.” I smile anyway, later glad I did when we upload the photos and Raven looks pissed and I look happy. However, though I don't claim to be an expert photographer and the one thing Raven doesn't claim to be expert on is modeling, she seems almost as pleased with the pictures I've taken of her as the ones she's taken of me.
Satisfied with the progress we've made, but too tired and hungry to do anymore, I head home, happy to find the pizza my husband and son saved for me from their lunch. I wash it down with a Yeungling Porter while I excitedly tell my husband about my productive day. He smiles politely the way he usually does when I talk about anything band related.
Monday afternoon, we meet Chelsea, our bass player hopeful, at a Starbucks in the Port Charlotte mall. She is lovely. Still deserving of too-good-to-be-true status, but seemingly real enough. She must not be able to play.
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Raven texts me about doing a photo shoot this Saturday. Apparently she is also great with hair and makeup, as well as photography. “Sure,” I text back. Anything to feel like we are moving forward. Or maybe just a distraction from the fact that we are not. I stare at the blank computer screen, debating whether to get up and do something “band” or just veg in front of the TV. As if helping to make up my mind, my cell phone rings. I glance at the caller ID and my heart pauses as I recognize the name I programmed in a few days ago: Chelsea Bass.
I answer the phone with “Hi!” rather than “Hello.” She laughs and we gush in excitement over finding each other and over the project I have in mind. We plan to meet Monday at Starbucks in the Port Charlotte Mall.
Saturday, Raven and I go ahead with our scheduled photo shoot, figuring we can add other members as we go. I guess it's a way of remaining optimistic. So, that morning, I fill a suitcase with different outfits and drive to Raven's house in North Port. After an hour or more in hair and makeup, we are ready to shoot, but as luck would have it, my camera suddenly dies. Feeling ready for the cover of Rolling Stone, we drive to a nearby Walmart, where I purchase a new camera.
Later, back at the “studio,” Raven gives her expert opinions on how I should pose. “Don't smile,” she tells me. “Rockers don't smile.” I smile anyway, later glad I did when we upload the photos and Raven looks pissed and I look happy. However, though I don't claim to be an expert photographer and the one thing Raven doesn't claim to be expert on is modeling, she seems almost as pleased with the pictures I've taken of her as the ones she's taken of me.
Satisfied with the progress we've made, but too tired and hungry to do anymore, I head home, happy to find the pizza my husband and son saved for me from their lunch. I wash it down with a Yeungling Porter while I excitedly tell my husband about my productive day. He smiles politely the way he usually does when I talk about anything band related.
Monday afternoon, we meet Chelsea, our bass player hopeful, at a Starbucks in the Port Charlotte mall. She is lovely. Still deserving of too-good-to-be-true status, but seemingly real enough. She must not be able to play.
Click here to read more!
Our Year-End Giving Campaign is going on NOW! The Museum Of Motherhood is the first and only facility of its kind, celebrating the “her”story of mothers around the world. We need your help -- please make your tax-deductible contribution today!NOW OPEN in NYC - Tues.-Sun., 10:45-6:30
