A hearty chuckle

As is usually the case, after Hot Pants goes out drinking, he passes out in my bed. Dead to the world. Doesn't matter how much he drank either. That man makes sleeping an Olympic sport. Good luck waking him up.

So, the other night, he'd done just that. Then I awake at some point in the middle of the night and can just make out his dark shadow standing in the corner of my room on my side of the bed. And he's walking into this chair I have in that corner like a bug in a windowsill. I can see outside, just can't figure out how to get there! Over and over, he's bumping into this chair.

So I go, "What are you doing?" And he goes, "LKJGJHTRDJG JYFG OINEFIYRBFWHFI NUIYB NUY." That's a direct quote.

I respond with incredulity, "What?" Which I felt was an appropriate response.

He says, exasperatedly, "The Xerox! I gotta move all the Xerox!"

So I calmly inform him, "You're not at work."

To which he replies, "THEN I HAVE TO PEE."

So I very forcefully point out that the bathroom is in the opposite direction and don't pee on my furniture or he may have to die tonight as well.

He did, eventually, make it to the bathroom and, I am happy to report, did not pee on my furniture or my carpet and still retains his life, but not before getting stuck at my desk chair (picture the bug again) thus necessitating the turning on of the light.

I have now told this story five thousand times to my friends and then all of his friends, but I can't help it. It made my whole week.


My man is nothing if not entertaining.

a little bit lost

I feel like I'm losing myself. I'm not sure where I went, but I can't quite find myself again.

I've always said that I met myself during my travels and, if that's true, maybe it becomes easy to lose oneself when you stay stagnant. I haven't really traveled in a long time. I'm not talking about my trip to California, I'm talking about truly traveling, experiencing somewhere new, meeting a new place and tasting its cuisine. I miss sitting in a foreign cafe, drinking some local tea or coffee, listening to live music, and soaking in the pure, raw experience.

But beyond that, I don't really do anything that I love anymore. Not personally anyway. I never write, I hardly ever take photos. I used to wander the streets taking photos of anything I spied, coming home to an impossible amount of film to sift through. I took photos on my vacation, but hardly any before or since. I don't ever write anymore, blogs or essays or poetry.

I don't create with words. Hell, I don't create anything. I suspect my creative muscle is atrophying.

I barely recall the last time I danced.

So if what you do is who you are, who am I? Am I someone new? Someone who can't bring herself to just create something, anything?

Where are the streets to wander and why don't I look for them? Where are the hours of sublime nothing, spent only with earbuds and a camera or a book and a cup of tea? Where are the minutes of delicious inspiration? Why did I let that go and how do I find it again?

When people ask me about myself, especially at work, where folks are all about the numbers and the selling techniques, I say, "I'm a creative." It's what's essential to the core of who and what I am. But can I honestly say that anymore...when I don't actually create?

All I know is it's causing me pervasive sadness, sadness that creeps in when I least expect it, ruining whatever happy moment I'd been enjoying, as if I'm grieving some friend who died too young. I resent myself for letting this loss happen. I feel immense guilt at just watching this girl waste away and doing. absolutely. nothing.

Nevertheless, I just sit here, motionless, somewhere beyond apathetic.

And yet.

And yet.

These thoughts ran through my head tonight over and over, like a long train that just won't end, and, instead of pushing them aside in favor of sweet, sweet sleep, I got up, pulled out my laptop, and wrote.

Duh, you snort, with the disdain of a thirteen year old.

You know I wrote. Obviously. But I haven't done that in a long time, chosen to write instead of whatever else beckoned me. I stopped and I wrote. I laid my thoughts to paper and I created.

That has to be a start.

these are some banging laws

This made me happy:


Via: Medical Insurance

I shoot people!

When I was in California, I had the amazing opportunity to do an engagement shoot for my favoritest cousin Lindsey and her fiance John. These two were already some of my favorite people on the planet, so I can't tell you how cool it was to photograph them. It was the first engagement session I've done (or any kind of formal people photography really) and I was really, really nervous. But they were awesome and fun and game to try lots of fun things and, thus, the photos turned out great. I took a roll of 120 film too, which of course I've yet to develop.

I can't wait to photograph their wedding! And now I can't wait to do more sessions like this. Thanks, Linds and John, for the opportunity!

I didn't die in California. Promise.

So yeah. I've been back for like 2 weeks or a week and a half. Or something. I can't be bothered to do the actual math. I also haven't written a post since before I left for California and don't even think about making me do THAT math. I may just eat your head.

I am so close to quitting blogging. And let me tell you...it's not for any dramatic reasons. I just don't want to do it anymore. I never want to write. It's become this albatross that I keep out of guilt, because quitting is such a loser move. But DUDE I just don't wannaaaa (she said in her whiniest voice)! Who knows? Maybe I've outgrown the blog. Or maybe I'm just burned out. Whatever.

Anywayyyyy. I'm not quitting yet. Just kind of leaning there.

I don't really want to write about my trip. There were good moments and there were some rough ass moments. Needless to say, I missed Portland and, while it was so good to see my friends and family who I missed so much, it was really great to come home too.

Here are some highlights:

Shooting an engagement session for my cousin and her fiance, two of my favorite people on the planet. It went really well (I was VERY nervous) and as soon as the film is developed (I shot some on 120), I'll share those photos with ya.

My dad: Hey, you look like you lost weight!
Me: No, I actually gained weight, but thank you.
My dad: See? I know how to talk to women.

Getting to meet Shnerfle, probably one of my best blogging friends and I'm so happy to call her my real life friend. There were hugs and squees and happy making. You can see some of her photos from our visit on her photo stream.

The weirdest karaoke experience on the planet. They record you singing, replay it for the whole bar on many, many TV screens after you're done thus solidifying your humiliation, and give you a DVD to take home. I've been contemplating sharing my humiliation here, but haven't decided yet.

Picture it: we're driving a mountain road. To our right, sheer cliff. To our left, the other lane and the a steep wall of rock. We come around a curve and this deer runs down the rock wall and straight toward my car. I am able to stop before hitting him, but he keeps coming straight at us and gets pretty damn close to my car before veering to my left and keeps on running. It was probably one of the scariest, coolest, and awesome experiences I've had. I've never been that close to a deer, for one. Two, how scary for both the deer and us! Three, what the hell happened to that deer? Did someone else hit it? Did he keep running to freedom? We'll never know.

Getting home alive because Hot Pants and I didn't kill each other, though I'm sure we came close.

I have no idea why I make crazy faces. I really don't. It's my default.

Here are a handful of the hundreds of photos I took: