I've moved!

Hey there, old friends. I don't know if anyone even still checks this blog, but, IF YOU DO, I just started a new blog: She Fucking Persists.

Find me over there and follow me if you so desire.

Homesickness, Anxiety, and Other Ailments

A thousand years ago, I promised you wonderful peoples a post about my anxiety and stress and how I've been struggling to keep hold of my wits lately. And then I never wrote it because when I'm battling my stress levels, I tend to neglect the things I love to do most. I let the necessary obligations rule (because, what choice do you have?) and any free time is spent trying to recuperate and rest. The last thing I want to do after being anxious and stressed all day or all week is use up any more brain space I might possibly have left. 

The sad part of that is if I'd make myself write or take photos, I'd probably be happier. Thus is the constant dilemma of the creative person who needs to pay the bills. I never even posted the gazillion photos I took of the snow. They're just sitting on my hard drive, forgotten and lonely and cold (they're cold because they're of snow. duh). 

And it's not even my job per se. It's me. I can't seem to handle the smallest amount of lately, though this isn't the first time I've been through this. The last time I had major issues with stress and anxiety, it was due to other things that I hadn't dealt with. I'm fairly certain that's the case this time as well and one can only overanalyze herself so long before cracking up. 

I really do need professional help sorting through it all and I've been looking for a therapist, but, so far, nobody is taking new patients. Do we just not have enough therapists in Portland? There's certainly a surplus in LA, so what's the deal? I did get a couple of recommendations from friends and I'm waiting to hear back if they take my insurance. Cross all your appendages, people!

It often feels silly that I'm struggling when all seems to be going well in my world. I'm with the best man I've ever known and he's been impossibly supportive and patient through all this, something I don't always know what to do with because I've never been treated so well. I have a decent job with many duties that I truly enjoy doing. And, of course, no work is without stress and I've been wondering what's wrong with me that I can't handle any sort of stress. Maybe, even though I'm capable of a lot, even though I'm creative and intelligent, maybe I can't handle putting so much of myself into my work. Does that make sense? I'm the type of person who does her work 100%, but what room does that leave for any personal happiness? I really struggle (and have always struggled) with how to maintain that balance. 

At any rate, it's easy to fantasize that a mystery relative with bequeath me a fortune and I can be self employed and just write and take photos and travel. Wouldn't that be the life? Le sigh. 

I'm sure a lot of this stress and anxiety is due to issues popping back up again, my childhood abuse, my adoption. Certainly a major part is that I spent most of my youth trying to earn a love that my mother would never give and I've found myself in a loving relationship and I think, deep down, I'm scared as hell of fucking it up (you know, because it was always "my fault" that my mom beat the shit out of me). I'm running ragged trying to keep it all in place. When it's most probably not that fragile at all. But I can't help but revert back to past fears because that's what one does. 

Hello, therapists! Hello? 

And, I have to say, I'm really homesick. When I moved from California to Oregon, I never anticipated that I would get homesick or that it would be such a production to go back to visit. It's a long way! California is a long-ass state, yo! So not only does it take a pretty chunk of change, I have to make the most of it and see every person in every city in the LA and San Bernardino area. It's a production. 

We are planning a trip down there this summer. We've been talking about it forever and, dammit, we have to make it happen. Boyfriend hasn't met anyone really and I need to see them too and, of course, we must go to Disneyland. Obvi.

I don't miss most of it. I still maintain my reasons for leaving, namely the heat and smog, but also a faster, more shallow way of life. 

Would YOU miss that? COUGH COUGH

I love Portland in so many ways. But it's truly difficult being so far from most of my friends and family. At least one of my best friends is here! I don't know that I could deal without her, because I don't actually have all that many good friends here. Sure, I have friends and I have my boyfriend's friends and we hang out and have a good time, but that doesn't compare to the lifelong friendships and connections I left behind, people who just know me so well. I miss them like mad.  

It doesn't help that Portland traffic is making me crack up. Honestly, I never thought that, after battling the Los Angeles freeways, I'd complain about traffic in sleepy little Portland, but I am. It's not the gridlock of major cities - it's the people. 

It's the drivers, the bicyclists, the pedestrians. Either people don't know the rules of the road here or they just don't give a fuck. There's no zoning out on the drive because you never know what someone will do. I have near misses every single day, no exaggeration. I'll almost hit a pedestrian who runs in front of my car. I'll almost hit a cyclist who runs a red light. I'll almost hit many many many cars who cut me off and drift into my lane and run stop signs and do crazy illegal things you would never think someone would do. EVERY DAY. Just this morning, I was cut off three times by cars and had to stop for two pedestrians sauntering across a 4 lane highway. Sauntering. Like they owned the goddamn world. 

And that's not even counting how many times I've nearly been roadkill by cars or bikes while I'm walking. I understand why people jaywalk here because crosswalks offer no protection. It's no wonder Portland is known for its great mass transit. They have to have reliable buses and trains because nobody here knows how to FUCKING DRIVE. Don't get me started on merging. 

Deep breaths. I'm getting all worked up just thinking about it. 

Clearly the answer to all my problems is money. I need to be rich so I can afford a helicopter to take me places (or, better yet, teleportation). And if I'm that rich, I won't need to work so I'll have less stress and I can afford any therapist I want to deal with my issues. AND I can afford to travel anywhere I want and bring anyone I want along. 

See? Money really can buy happiness. 

Anxiety and Driving in the Snowpocalypse

I have been planning on writing a post in which I tell you how I've been struggling a bit lately with anxiety and life changes and am looking for a therapist.

But then the snow happened and so clearly I need to tell you about that first.

BUT! First, a little about the anxiety. Years ago, before I moved to Portland and before I went through therapy the first time, before I cut off contact with my mother, and before I really started finding my own happiness, I used to suffer from what I lovingly call Random Anxiety.

Basically, it was anxiety that would come on with seemingly no trigger or with an illogical trigger, meaning something small that wouldn't make a regular person bat an eyelash would give raise my heart rate, get me all flushed and itchy, and short of breath and often in tears. I've never had a full on panic attack, thank goodness, because those are actually fairly scary and physically debilitating.

I've never had social anxiety, though being around lots of people for extended periods can exhaust me; my issue was more like high stress but I'd feel it even when I wasn't under that much stress.

I never really told anyone about this, except for my therapist (and my doctor before that), because I was so embarrassed to need medication when my mother was (and is) a prescription drug addict. Not that anyone should be embarrassed of needing medication! You do what you need to to survive this life, I say. But I was scared of taking meds, because of that, and so didn't want anyone to know.

The other reason I kept mum was because I worked very hard to display an air of confidence and control and I just didn't want anyone knowing just what a mess I actually felt I was.

Anyway, glossing over the next few years, I went to therapy, figured out my anxiety was triggered by all sorts of emotions I had buried as an abused child, and once I let myself feel, I was able to wean off my medication and learn how to handle stressors and have felt pretty great for years now.

Then the last few months, with some major changes (hello, moving in with my boyfriend!) and stress, and I've found myself having Random Anxiety once again (along with some other issues, which I'll tell you about another day). But, this time around, I knew the signs and what was happening and I've been good at doing the things I learned in therapy to calm myself down. And I've been looking for a new therapist here in Portland to help me work through these issues and get to a healthy place again.

As of yet, I haven't found a therapist.

And then two days ago, Thursday, the Snow with a capital S hit Portland. Snow hardly ever comes to Portland and certainly never this thick. Between the city never being prepared for snow and nobody (including me, the California girl), knowing how to drive in the snow, the whole city shuts down.

At 1pm, the powers that be decided to close the office, but I had an errand to run with a coworker that we couldn't get out of, so we headed to do that first. Everyone was trying to get out of the city (where I was) and the streets were packed.

Took this about 1:30 as I'd sat through 7 or so cycles at this stop light

We spent 2 hours driving 2 miles or so and then I could finally try to make my way home, which was 6 miles away. I was already fairly cabin fevery in my car, hadn't eaten lunch, though I did have some veggies and a nut bar in my purse and a bottle of water (which I was scared to drink because I didn't want to have to pee).

I finally made my way down to what I thought would be the best and easiest route home and came across a little fender bender blocking the only way. We were rerouted the opposite way and then U turned around back going south (the right way), but this placed me several blocks back AND behind some train tracks and of course there was a train and of course the train was going slow because of the snow traffic. I sat in that spot, not moving at all for about a half an hour.

Just sitting

Then I crept, block by block, for several hours, not making much progress, and trying not to lose my mind. I nibbled on my veggies, charged my phone, kept checking facebook, and called my boyfriend a lot to try to stay calm. He also kept offering to come get me and I was like, "Um, unless you have a helicopter, no. Your car would then just get stuck here and then we'd both be stuck in snow traffic."

There was just nowhere else to go. I was stuck there. Occasionally I'd get out and scrape the ice off my windshield wipers and run back in my car soaking wet, so at least there was that.

My anxiety was obviously rising and I'd waver between feeling okay or sardonic about the whole situation and feeling like it was the end of the world and I was going to have to spend the night in my car and freeze to death and goodbye cruel world.

Creeping along

At some point, I had the wherewithal to call my dad, who is a retired firefighter, and he pretty calmly told me I'd be fine and to keep checking in, and gave me a few practical tips. Thanks, dad.

Though, as dramatic as I am and as anxious and trapped as I was feeling, really the worst hadn't hit yet.

At about 5:30pm, I was able to get off the main road and get onto a side road I knew that I could cut over to my original route much further down. And, it was pretty wide open. Harder to drive on, to be sure, because the snow was getting pretty thick (and believe you me, I don't have chains), but at least I was moving!

I made my way out of the city and followed the backroad I knew, driving slowly, and sliding around here and there. When I turned to make my way up the small yet steeper than you'd think hill to get to one of the two main roads to my house (not including the freeway), I promptly got stuck in the snow. Every time I tried to go up, I'd slide back. So I braked and put my hazards on and started crying because I didn't know how to drive in the snow really and my car is so not 4 wheel drive.

Then a cop car pulled up behind me and helped me back up up and go another way. Thanks, random Portland cop who showed up at the right time! Seriously great timing on his part.

I headed toward the other route I knew, which I wasn't super hopeful about because it's a smaller road, but what choice did I have? I called my boyfriend and put him on speaker to keep me calm, because I was pretty much freaking out by this point. It was dark and icy and the snow kept coming and I was definitely scared of not getting home and, since I saw no Tauntauns around, I'd probably freeze to death.

So then, of course, there's quite the windy hill on this other road and I got stuck in the snow yet again. And, this time, every time I try to back up, I slide more and more around so that I'm getting perpendicular to the road. And I'm crying and freaking out. I try to pull over to the side, thinking maybe I can abandon my car on the side and walk to Starbucks or something where my boyfriend, with his  4WD Subaru (the official state car of Oregon), can come rescue me. But it's not working. I can't get to the side because there's too much snow.

Finally, I was able to back up into a side road and turn around and head back where I came. Boyfriend told me to go to a grocery store on that road, where he'd come get me and I could leave my car until the Snowpocalypse had passed.

I get to the grocery store about 6:15pm, sooooo excited to walk around and thought to by some gluten free bread (we were out) and wandered around, stretching my legs, and Boyfriend called, saying he can't get his car up our steep driveway.

And then I really did flip out. He offered to walk to me (what good would that do now?) and I just kept yelling and crying that I'd FIGURE IT OUT! Sigh.

I can't remember how I decided to try to find a route to the freeway, but that's what I would try. I stopped to get gas just in case and backtracked toward downtown, looking for the freeway entrance (I didn't know that route at all) and, again, keeping my boyfriend on speakerphone.

It took a long time, but I slowly found the freeway and crept along with the surprisingly few other cars all the way to my exit and then home, where I found Boyfriend standing in the snow, waiting for me. I wandered inside, cold, tense, and completely exhausted at 7pm. I'd been driving in the snow for 6 hours and it took me 4 to go 6 miles.

Then I spent a half and hour telling everyone who was worried about me that I'd made it home safely. Finally.

It's been snowing steadily since and, except for going out to take tons of photos and play around, I am not going out in that. No way, no how. You couldn't pay me anything to get in a car in the snow again.

Here are some crappy iPhone shots of what it looks like today. Better shots coming soon once I actually finish taking them and then editing.

Pretty sure my plants have died. And our front step is completely gone.

Anyone have a shovel?

Pretty

This is our driveway. Yup. Promise.

Photo of the Day: Little Miss Buttercup

This is my cousin's adorable rescue dog Buttercup. She'll love you within an inch of your life and I'm pretty sure this is the most still I've ever seen her. And isn't she just gorgeous in that light?

See more here. 

Photo of the Day: Around Downtown Portland

I don’t always take photos of flowers and cats. Sometimes I love me some architecture and a clear winter day in downtown Portland is especially lovely. The light gradient absolutely slays me. That sliver of light is just delicious. 

See more here. 

I've converted to Doctor Who and I still don't understand why

It finally happened. I have converted to the cult of Doctor Who and I'm still not sure why. I'm eons behind the rest of the world, but since it's a show about time travel, I think I'm off the hook.

I really have my cousin to thank. Granted, most of my friends call themselves proud Whovians, but she's always seemed more into Doctor Who than most. And I've given episode one (the 2005 version) a shot a few times and just couldn't get into it. I tried, really I did, but episode one was just so hokey that I couldn't stick it out. I resigned myself to never being into this pop culture phenom and assumed I just didn't understand its purported brilliance and that was that.

Fast forward to the last few weeks and the Black Death. After almost a full week of hacking and dying, I drug my sorry ass to urgent care where I found I had viral bronchitis and was told not to work for a few more days lest I infect the whole of my coworkers with the Plague. I complied, seeing as I felt like proverbial, not literal, shit.

But, seeing as I'd already been sick for a week, I was already getting a small case of cabin fever on top of my physical fever and so I was quite feverish and no amount of reading or SVU on Netflix could fix it (even though I do love Olivia Benson so, I can only watch so many rape stories. you understand.).

So naturally, I turned to my old friend the Facebook and asked for some suggestions of Netflix or Hulu shows that a sick, couch-bound girl could binge on and which I hadn't seen before. Of course, I received lots of recs for shows I already love or already hate and two recs for Doctor Who. Again, I thought, I want to like it, but I just don't think it's for me.

But my brilliant cousin, knowing me as well as she does (we're a lot like sisters, you know), suggested I not start with the first episode. She recommended one I'd like, which I did and which happened to be a two parter so of course I had to watch the next one, and then I decided to go back and watch from episode 2 forward and the next thing I knew? I was hooked.

It's been almost 2 weeks and I'm almost finished with season 2 and I can't stop. But I still don't entirely get why!

I did really like Christopher Eccleston and I really like David Tennant (even though it was hard at first not to picture him as Barty Crouch Jr.) and they're funny funny as all hell, which is really refreshing when you're watching a show about murderous aliens and the like. And don't anyone dare tell me what future Doctors are like. I'll find out on my own thankyouverymuch.

And it's certainly entertaining. It's funny and sad and sweet and sometimes a little scary. But it's also not that great. It's not particularly well done. Outside of the Doctors and a few characters here and there, the acting is really meh. And it's hokey. It's cheesy and the effects are rarely very good.

Also, Rose drives me bonkers. There are times I like her, but mostly I just find her annoying. Like, how many tubes of mascara did she take on the Tardis?

Oh and I did wonder, for most of the first season, why everywhere they went in time was either in the future or past UK or the people/aliens had a British accent, but then Rose explained that the Tardis translates any language, so it would make sense that they'd hear in an English accent. And then I saw the episode that was sort of in 18th century France, so that fixed that.

I also find it funny that many episodes are about mind control or world domination through television or technology - this from a television show. Ah well. Irony.

So why do I like it so much? It's 2014. I shouldn't like a cheesy, hokey show about time travel and rubbery aliens. But I do! I can't stop watching.

The only conclusion? Subliminal messaging. They're brainwashing me to like this show! It's the only explanation as to why it's so damned addictive. No wonder there's been so many episodes about mind control. They're practicing!

I kid. I kid. I love Doctor Who. Sure, I figured it out after everyone else did, but I'm making up for lost time. I should be all caught up in the next few weeks.

No spoilers please.

Photo of the Day: Little Miss Hattie

This is my cousin's adorable and utterly precocious little girl. She's 16 months old with enough energy for 6 kids. In other words, the cutest.




See more here. You'll be glad you did!

Photo(s) of the Day: Artsy Fartsy Christmas

I couldn't resist sharing more than one! Happy Holidays, all!






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I have the Black Death

Once upon a time, someone I once knew that time once told me that sick Andrea was the funniest Andrea. I suppose it's probably true. When I'm sick, this dark, sardonic side of me comes out that I can usually suppress the rest of the time, when I'm a fucking ray of sunshine, all perky and bubbly and make people barf with the sweetness of my smiling disposition.

It's true. Don't laugh.

But I'm not sweet this week. I'm sick. So sick in fact that I have stayed home the last two days from work. I can't recall the last time I took two days off in a row that wasn't for a planned vacation, and I admit that being sick is such a waste of time off that seriously grinds my gears. Nonetheless, I'm home. Because I walked into the office morning whereupon my boss saw that I was the walking, coughing reincarnation of The Black Death and she promptly sent me right back home.

I'm not complaining, mind you. I looked like Death and I felt (feel) like Death. I probably sounded like that opening scene of Outbreak when some sap is hacking away and you're wondering why everyone isn't running for their lives because pretty soon they're ALL GOING TO DIE.

I really did everyone a favor by going home. I'm sparing the world an outbreak of The Plague. Or maybe TB. I've heard it's making a resurgence. And this cough is so bad, I do feel like Doc Holliday minus the jaunty mustache and deathly sex appeal. So at least there's that.

But if I have to die of Tuberculosis alone at home, at least I have two cats that are trying to heal me with their purrs. If it works, I'll market them to the naturopaths of the world.

Though, with as fat as Hobbes is, I'm not sure if the weight of him on my hacking chest is really helping. 

I do find it interesting that I've been wanting to blog for weeks now and even have a nice list of blog ideas, but have been entirely too busy to do so, and once I have time, it's because I'm sick so all I can talk about is phlegm and snot. 

Yay. 

4 hours until my boyfriend gets home. Must hang on until then. At least I have Netflix to sustain me, as I left my current book on my desk at work.  Again with the previously mentioned life ruling. 

And oh yeah. It's Christmas next week and I still haven't posted photos from Thanksgiving. I rule at life. 

If I live to Christmas. I've heard you can live quite some time with Tuberculosis. Send Robitussin. 

Photo of the Day: Fluffers

In case we haven't fawned over my boy enough lately.

See more here.

Photo of the Day: All the Changing Leaves

Because I can never get enough of those Fall colors.

See more here. 

On Manifest Destiny and The Consumerization of Thanksgiving

It's that time of year, when we gather all our kin and eat a ton of food and booze, and yell at each other because we really don't want to be together, and celebrate the hostile takeover of most of a continent, and then wake up the next day at the asscrack of dawn to trample all in our path just to get a great deal on a piece of shit "It" toy or a flat screen TV.

Yeah, I'm a buzzkill. I know.

Everyone knows by now that I'm not a huge fan of Thanksgiving, which I've gleefully and recently coined, "Manifest Destiny Day," which I think sums of the whole thing quite beautifully. But before I get to Manifest Destiny and how Black Friday is a gorgeous metaphor of that long tradition of taking what we want, a little recap on my tenuous relationship with the holiday:

I've never been much a fan of Thanksgiving food. Huge hunks of turkey? Not for me. Stuffing and cranberries and green bean casserole? Yucky. I like corn and potatoes, of course. Because potatoes are glorious, said the Irish girl. And somehow macaroni and cheese always made it into the mix, probably because I hated all the other foods and mac & cheese is also glorious.

Thanksgiving was never much fun in my house. I can count the good childhood Thanksgivings I had on one hand and I remember each good time extremely clearly. I remember splatter painting a table cloth (with permission) with my cousin. I remember eating homemade whipped cream. I remember my boisterous uncle telling a story, which involved wild hand gestures and the subsequent knocking over and splashing of cranberry sauce all over his new and very white house.

Not Thanksgiving, but I couldn't resist sharing one of the many matchy Christmas photos my cousins and I had to do.

But the rest were complete suckass. Usually my mom wouldn't start cooking until late in the day, because she's a world class procrastinator, something she'd find a zillion ways to blame on me or my dad or the dogs or maybe even the bird, while she also refused any help. Part way through the day, we'd all be starving and someone would pick a fight about something stupid, I'd be told I was an ungrateful little shit and go crying in my room and my dad would storm out the front door, slamming it and putting another crack in the door frame, and nobody would be happy. If we were lucky, we might be served dinner around midnight, which would undoubtedly be delicious (meaning the potatoes and corn and mac & cheese), and, while my mom was an excellent cook, I'm sure part of the deliciousness was due in part to our fasting the rest of the day's entirety.

So there's no nostalgia for Thanksgiving in me. There's no holding hands around a warm table filled with my loved ones declaring what we're thankful for. Most of my memories are of stress and tears.

And I also try to put aside that "giving thanks" means thanking the deity in the sky for whatever it is I supposedly didn't earn myself or didn't get by pure chance or serendipity or whatever. If I have things or happiness or love, I suppose I'm supposed to thank Someone with a capital S for it. So if I don't believe in said deity, can I just thank myself?

Then I worked retail. My very first real job out of high school was retail and I worked various sales and management positions for most of my twenties. Now, if there's one thing I am thankful for, it's that I never had to work at Wal Mart and come into work at 1am on Black Friday and dodge the murderous hoards all day. But I did work at malls and I did often have to leave Thanksgiving early (when I was still in contact with my madre) in order to get home at a decent hour to get enough sleep to work the next day at the asscrack of dawn and survive the utter madness that would ensue and continue for the next month.

Needless to say, Thanksgiving for me has, more often than not, signaled the start of stress.

And I still get all stressy thinking about it, even though I don't work retail anymore and I have had a few wonderful (small) Thanksgivings with my little cousin and I am starting to like the holiday season a bit (the lights and the winter and maybe even a little snow). And there are people I love who love this holiday. I get that. I can suck it up and make myself be social for a day and eat my gluten free mac & cheese and drink wine and participate in this odd day.

Le sigh.

I respect that plenty of people like this holiday. Though I'd argue that we should at least know what we're celebrating and it has nothing to do with the story we're raised on. I'll skip the retelling of the Thanksgiving story (because, long). You can read that here.

I do, however, want to talk about Manifest Destiny.

Now if that doesn't describe the entire history of the colonization of North America, I don't know what does. Sure, the term didn't come about until the 19th century, but the sentiment predated that by hundreds of years. We expanded beyond Europe. We took what we wanted and destroyed everything in our path. And we called it our duty and our destiny. And we called all men equal while millions suffered on reservations or in slavery or disenfranchisement.

I believe that's what therapists call justification.

I'm not saying we put aside this major tradition that so many people love; I'm saying let's learn the real story and at least acknowledge that our history is based on murder and subjugation and disenfranchisement and that an entire population of people still think of suffering on this day while we're stuffing our faces and being grateful for such abundance.

I'm just saying we have a little perspective.

So where does Black Friday and consumerism come in? Well where doesn't it? I know we're all lamenting the consumerization of this (and all, really) holiday(s), and no one hates the mentality and stress of it all more than I, but I also think it's completely natural given our history. Black Friday is SO Manifest Destiny!

It's our real life pageant play of colonization. We're not taking over countries and continents, but we each get to be little imperialists and conquer the shopping! Claim all the things! Take all the stuff and who the fuck cares who gets in our way! We deserve it! We were good all year! Gimme gimme gimme gimme!

All we're missing are flags.

It's not a decline in our civilization so much as a fulfillment of our longest traditions.

So I'm torn. I hate the shopping and sheer madness of it all. I mean, does anyone honestly think it's sane behavior? And you won't find me anywhere near a shopping center on the worst Friday of the year. But I also think that maybe this is just a teensy bit karmic. Maybe our karmic punishment for all of the crimes against humanity our civilization has enacted on land is that we'll eat ourselves alive, both literally one day and figuratively the next, until there's nothing left.

But I'll still participate in Thanksgiving.

This year, Eminem and I will be trekking down to Northern California to stay with my older cousin and her family, mostly so he can finally meet some of my family, and I'm sure we'll have a good time. For one, my mother won't be there, which is always a good thing! Two, booze! Three, I love my cousin and her family and I'm confident they aren't the train wreck my immediate family is. Four, I'm armed with GF rolls from my favroite bakery and my cousin is making me a GF mac & cheese and I'm making these Reese's bottom cheesecake cups. Five, road trip with my man! Yeah!

See, I can have fun. I just like to be conscious of why I'm having fun and know what I'm celebrating. I don't think that's unreasonable.

Photo of the Day: Outside My Front Door

This is what I get to come home to every day.

See more here. 

Photo of the Day: Wet Leaves

Wet leaves are as much a part of Portland Fall as the rain itself. It also means that, however pretty, one must walk carefully so as to avoid falling on one's ass in the street.

See more here. 

Photo of the Day: Autumn Light

I'm finally taking photos again! Try not to die of shock.

I love Autumn. It's my very favorite and I can't believe I haven't taken more photos of my fave season this year, so I'm making up for it now.

Because I tend to migrate toward macros, I thought I'd play with light and shadow in some full tree shots. What do you think? Isn't this afternoon light just delicious?

See more here.

The Crazy Bunch

As a kid, I always loved the Brady Bunch, maybe because I was an only child who desperately wanted a houseful of siblings, though, let's be honest - I was also obsessed with Marcia and her gorgeous hair and bellbottoms and I pretty much spent a chunk of my formative years trying to look like her.

And, while I never had a houseful of siblings, I did have two cousins who were just like sisters (seriously, I'm soooo the middle child), and I definitely had a houseful of pets.

Where I'm going with this is that Eminem have our own Brady Bunch-esque house going on. Sure, we don't have children, but we do have two cats that used to be only children and a bulk of our days is consumed by those two furkids.

Truly. Merging the furniture has been surprisingly breezy. We've been able to mostly agree on decorating and style (aside from his occasional affinity for plaid). We've yet to have any huge blowout fights (though that's not really our style) and have survived just a few small tiffs with no casualties. We don't fight over the television. In fact, most evenings, he'll be watching some game on TV while I watch one of my shows on my laptop with my earbuds.

So no issues!

But the cats. Those rascals.

Hobbes desperately wants to be friends with Iggy, which makes sense. The only other cat knew was Jete and those two were the best of friends. In many ways, Hobbes was Jete's cat, while she was mine.



And now I'm tearing up a little. Dammit if losing our furbabies isn't painful forever.

It also freaks me out a little how much Iggy is like Jete.

He's smaller and has this cute munchkin face, but he's just as smart and moody and mischievous. He's also cuddly in a really demanding way. Saturday mornings, he'll often crawl right up into my face and demand attention and it reminds me soooo much of her.

So Hobbes has been surprisingly bold and brave about Iggy. He's doing everything he can to get Iggy to see how sweet and cuddly and harmless he is. But Iggy isn't so sure about Hobbes. Just when it seems he's warming up to my fat boy, Hobbes gets too close and hissing and head batting ensues.

They do seem to get along the water fountain, taking turns at the dripping faucet, but that's their only neutral zone as yet.

So Hobbes has taken a new tactic: making Iggy jealous. He's been sleeping in Iggy's fave spots, cuddling up to Eminem, and eating all the food. Well, he ate all the food before too.

I have to hand to it him; I never would have guessed my big lug would have been smart enough to come up with such a plan. And it seems to be working, sort of. Iggy hasn't warmed up to Hobbes, but he has warmed up more to me. He even slept on my side of the bed last night.

The jury is still out on these two, but I have hope that they'll be best friends soon enough.

Horrifying Shit on Pinterest: Racist Halloween Costumes

Horrifying Pinterest shit is BACK! I had intended to link up a Halloween post before Halloween, you know, so people can learn something. But alas, my laziness and lack of time management skills won out and so you get this gem after Halloween. 

There were so many examples of racist costumes, mostly in the vein of "culture as a costume." If you don't know what I'm talking about, Google it. I'll wait. :) 

And, while the cultural appropriation costumes go back a long time (such a long tradition of racism to celebrate, evidently),  but there's an even more perverse issue when it becomes the Sexy Racist costume. At that point, we go beyond the problem of Sexy Halloween monopoly (meaning a woman cannot buy a pre-made costume that isn't uber sexified) and the devaluing of a huge, non-monolithic culture into one stereotype and we now sexualize that monolith, that stereotype. And that has huge consequences. 

See: above. 

I hope that made sense. I didn't want this to be a long post. I highly encourage you to do tons of research on the subject because there's SO much more to be said than I can articulate. 

Thankfully, I've spotted no Blackface pins, probably because at least costume manufacturers, while content to make money off of cultural appropriation and racism, seem to have some line they won't cross. That doesn't stop white people from taking it upon themselves to paint their faces to mimic another race every single damn year. Hey, people, stop it! Just stop it. No more blackface fullstop. 

Aaaaaand discuss. 

Grieving Sprocket

The other day, I told you that part of the reason I haven't written was due to my big move (yay!), but the other part is because I've been grieving and haven't wanted to write or take photos or really be expressive at all.

See, the beloved Sprocket Ink is no more. 

And I am very sad. I wasn't there the entire time, but I was there at the beginning and at the end and there's something sweet and sentimental about that. For about 2 years, I was happy to have a forum to write about news and politics, where I was never censored, where I felt a responsibility to talk about what I was passionate about and flex my writing wings.

And I was part of an incredible community there! I left the first time because, with the exception of a couple folks, I didn't feel part of the writing crew. When I came back, I found the greatest group of nerdy, lovable, witty, warm, and brilliant people whom I could always turn to whether I needed to rant about some idiot politician or just about work issues or some stupid facebook debate. 

I really hope those friendships remain with the death of our wonderful site. They're truly wonderful people.

So, as you can imagine, I've been very, very sad. I felt like I was laid off from the best job (even though I wasn't paid). Or I was going through a breakup, except my ex in this instance was gone forever, not living a new life with some hot girl he met in a bar (just kidding. that actually never happened to me). 

I've been truly grieving. And I'm glad I let myself grieve, because now I'm starting to feel myself again. And look at me! Writing again!

I also have a ton of articles over at Sprocket that I have no clue how to pull off and save. If anyone is super techy and smart at Wordpress, I'd very much appreciate the help. 

Some of the ex Sprockets have some ideas in the works for next steps and I'm really hoping to be a a part of that too. I'm not sure what I'll do in the meantime. I hope to write here a hellofa lot more, but I haven't decided if I'll write about politics at all here or just save that for an external site. I just don't know that this is the place for it. I might rant about world issues like racism or sexism, etc., but I don't know that I want my blog to be taken up by politicians and pundits and government. 

Time will tell, I s'pose. 

Bye, Sprocket. It's been too wonderful. 

Our House

Well hello, old friends, old buddies, old pals. It's been a thousand years since I've written, a veritable millenia, if you will. I have a bunch of good reasons for this, of which I may or may not write about in this post. I honestly haven't decided yet. Let's just all be glad I'm actually writing, shall we?

Yes, yes we shall.

The biggest reason I haven't written was that I MOVED! Into a house! With Eminem! Huzzah!

Yeah, moving sucks. I don't care if you're moving into an awesome house with a great guy with all kinds of rainbows and happiness and unicorn shit, you still end up with lots of boxes everywhere and won't know where all your stuff is for weeks and have to spend money making your house livable. It sucks and it's hard work and it eats up all your time and energy.

Despite all that, however, we are totally happy and the house is just beginning to feel like a home. We still have some boxes left and have a couple spaces to finish nesting and photos to print and hang and I have some crafty projects to complete, but it's just at the point where I feel good about it. I come home and feel like the space is really ours.

Here are some photos of the empty house. I'll share finished photos when it's all done. (please excuse this photographer for taking iPhone photos)

Happy Peoples

We're also decorating in largely orange and grey, which I'm sure has nothing to do with these two:

No we didn't decorate our house to match our cats. Shut up. Only crazy people do that.

Anyways, I suppose that's all for now. Le sigh. Apparently I get burnt out really easily these days.

Happy Halloween! More soon, I promise!