Is...how you say...freezing!

It's been colder than Santa's balls here in Portland the last few weeks. I assume Santa's balls are cold on account of the North Pole being pretty chilly and he doesn't look like he gets much action. So, as you can imagine, pretty damn cold.

We've gotten a little snow here and there, though nothing to brag about, but it's mostly been just damn cold and clear and icy and foggy. Most Portlanders would kill me for saying this, but I can't wait for the rain to come back. But that will warm things up a bit! Yikes it's cold out there.

So last weekend, Eminem and I drove a good three hours out of Portland to a cabin his folks have and then I promptly started to get a cold, which made me, per usual, a cranky, dramatic pain in the ass. But, my man handled it like a champ. As he always does. Which is why I love him.

But, even though I was getting sick, I refused to drive all that way just to watch football and movies and eat enough gluten free cookies to last me through the apocalypse, so I drug our freezing asses outside and we walked around a frozen lake and I got some great photos out of it. Totally worth losing my nose to frostbite, but that's what committed photographers are all about.



Then I came home to a week from hell. Between this cold that threatened to be the flu and feeling some immense stress from work and then some other shit which I just can't talk about, it was hard. Super hard yo.

Then a friend told me (so, you know, a very reliable source) that historically, that's the most depressing week of the year. Something to do with it being fucking freezing and everyone's stressed from coming off the holidays, blah blah blah. So that made me feel better.

And Saturday I got to go to my very first Trail Blazer's game. And even though they lost and even though I thought I might get into a LA girl throw down more than a few times (because that's how California girls do it. so don't fuck with us.), I had fun!

Still, even though it was freezing all night, a great reward for trudging along in the cold to do something with your guy that he genuinely loves is always cuddling with a human radiotor that makes you tea and breakfast in the morning. In case you missed it, my boyfriend is a human radiator. The man emits heat that could cure a hypothermia victim. Hospitals should keep him on standby.

As one parting thought, I've never liked the term "pussy whipped" for what I hope are obvious reasons. It's a horrible term. But I now own apparel for pretty much all of my boyfriend's favorite sports teams (except the Pats. because I'll always be a Niners girl).

So you tell me who's whipped.

So this one time, I went to India...

Did you miss me? The reason I was gone for so long, my friends, was because I was in India! What? Yes, yes it's true. I had the amazing opportunity to accompany my aunt on a trip to the Golden Triangle in India. Why? For fun. Just to be tourists. Because why the hell not? Because it's INDIA!

I truly had an incredible time. I took well over a thousand photos, which I guarantee will take me a year to get through and edit and upload. I ate a ton of good food, none of which made me sick, bee tee double you, contrary to what everyone told me (because, you know, I didn't eat food off the street like an idiot).

And I saw people, animals, palaces, mosques, temples, forts, and experienced a new place which I won't even attempt to do justice because travel to a place so different to what you've experienced is really the only way to best understand it. And I have a thousand stories to tell, which I don't even know where to start telling. Also: tiger safari. Tiger. Fucking. Safari. Enough said.

For now, here's a small sampling of photos I took. Many, many, many more to come.

Lost Gift Cards, Elections Make People Assholes, and Other Fun Tales

I haven't blogged in far too long. So instead of regaling you with every damn thing that's happened, I present you with a series of tales from the last month.

Ahem.



Lost Gift Cards

An as always lovely family member gifted me with 100 smackers from spafinder (dot) com for my birthday back in September and, because I'm much too busy to do lovely things for myself like getting MASSages, they've been sitting on my desk for the last million days.

I had a free day today, so I finally got my ass in gear and made an appointment last week at a spa. I gave them my credit card to hold my appointment and then didn't think anything of it until this morning when I went to grab my gift cards.

Gone. Like, gone. Like, I tore apart my apartment and they were nowhere to be found. Fucking fuckity fuck fuck. The spa was very understanding that I'd be late and I pretty much sobbed all the way to my appointment, telling myself that I didn't want to do it and I couldn't afford it, but I didn't exactly have a choice. I really didn't have a choice. If I canceled, they'd still charge my card, so my choices were to get a massage that I couldn't afford or to pay for a massage I didn't get. Luckily, I'm not dumb so I got the massage.

And it was lovely. Seriously, insanely wonderful. It's ironic, but there's nothing like a massage to ease all your tensions created by getting a massage you can't afford.

I still can't find those damn gift cards. I've now cleaned my whole house and there are only there potential reasons they went missing:

1. I threw them away. Which I find highly unlikely. I just don't see myself doing that.
2. They were abducted by aliens with a lot of tension in their backs. Totally possible.
3. Maintenance at my apartment stole them. Unlikely, but unless they were stolen by aliens, it's the most rational answer I can think of.

It's just money, I know, but I feel like I'm out 200 bucks. $100 that I couldn't afford today and $100 that is probably being spent in a day spa on Venus. Damn Venutians. 

The Saga of the Pet Bed

A month or so ago, I spotted this fluffy, cushy, gray pet bed on sale at the grocery store. Hobbes doesn't have any pet beds, mostly because he prefers to sleep on the bed with me, but with Eminem over a lot, the bed is getting quite full. And I do have this storage basket at the end of my bed, which is perfect for a pet bed and Hobbes could sleep there and feel like he's still on the bed. Plus the gray looks so pretty against my bedspread. 

Ahhhh if life every worked out so perfectly. 

I put Hobbes on it and he jumped off it like it was made of lava. How dare I endanger my cat so! I put catnip on it. No dice. I covered it in treats, which he nimbly grabbed one by one without putting more than one paw on the bed at all times. 

Them Eminem came over and gently patted the bed and told Hobbes to get on it. And the damn cat did. Because that's how much he loves my boyfriend. Luckily for me, it didn't last long and Hobbes wouldn't lie down. 

I tried it with Hobbes again last week, by just patting the bed and telling him to get on it. It worked for a few minutes and he even lay down for a bit, but jumped down the minute I left. He's refused to get on it since. 

I give up. I totally give up. 

Elections Make People Assholes

I'm going to assume you all know that I'm an Obama girl. If you read my Sprocket Ink posts at all, you know I'm a fan of the O man and, thus, was totally celebrating his win last week. As many others were! And many others were not. I totally get that. Had Romney won, I'd have been super pouty and devastated. Such is human nature. 

So of course, Facebook was rife with both sides of that election night coin, as was to be expected. I was all, "Victory!" and "GoooooBAMA!" And others were all like, "It's the end of the world and we're all gonna die!" Or something like that. I'm paraphrasing. 

And I have to say that I love that! That is the fun and power of an election. Emotions run high and people get all passionate. That's politics, baby and I lurve it. 

I did unfriend someone on facebook that night and, I have to say, I don't regret it. It's not what you'd expect either and I'm only sharing this story because of what I learned about myself because of it. 

My friend posted on facebook something to the effect of how shameful it is how we're all behaving, gloating and complaining and it's just an election and how can we possibly put so much trust in power in the hands of one man and we're acting like idiots (this is from memory, mind you). And she told us all to shut up.

And I was mildly offended. But I thought, This girl is my friend and I've known her for years and I'm going to share my perspective and she'll be gracious about it. 

So I wrote (again, from memory) something like, This is how it goes for elections. For me, this is a win and so I'm celebrating. I'm sorry some might see that as gloating, but that's how it goes. 

I honestly think I wrote more than that, but I can't remember. And she replied (and this I remember verbatim): With all due respect, Andrea, that speaks volumes. 

And then my brain exploded. 

I was just so offended, so furious. I didn't care what her politics were or who she voted for or if she thought I was crazy for my politics. But her pride, her condescension, her self-righteousness struck me as offensive. How nice to be so much better than the rest of us! To not behave like idiots over something so trivial as an election. Pathetic little peons. 

That's what I felt she was saying, dripping with condescension  I stared at the "friend" button on her facebook page for some time. I knew it was childish to unfriend someone, something I've never done because of something so seemingly trivial, but was moved to do so instinctually. After too long, I finally did press it and then click that I was sure that I wanted to remove that person as a friend. 

It was a pretty powerful move for something that took such little time, but I knew almost instantly that it's what I wanted. I can't be friends with someone who thinks she (or he) is so much better than I or so much better than everyone else, who can't forgive human nature, who has to tell her friends to shut up when she doesn't approve of them. 

Only inclusive people get to be in my life, people who can accept that we all have differences, even if we fight tooth and nail over them, because that's what is great about friendships, and life, and people, and this country. The dialog, the fight, the celebrating and the sorrow, it's all part of this life and it's how we make it better. 

No, I will not shut up, thanks. Not today. 

A Good Man is Hard to Find

I really wanted to end this with a happy story. Eminem and I went though a little rough patch recently, had a little hiccup, and I honestly didn't know how to deal with it at first, because I've never been to that point in a relationship. Usually, I just get dumped. 

And at the end of the day, with all my shitty past relationships, I don't know that I would appreciate him as much as I do without having been treated so poorly in the past or had my heart broken too many times. Being wounded so often certainly made me scared to stick with it, of course, but he's worth it. The fear of losing him makes me want to work at being good to him just as he's trying to be good to me. 

I told him, half crying, half laughing, that I wouldn't let him go easily. I've dated all the other men in the world. All of them. And he's the only good one. 

I just knew in my gutty gut that he's the best guy I've ever known and so I'd figure it out, we'd figure it out. And we did. We're great. Stronger than we were before, I think, which feels fucking phenomenal and I can't express how fucking happy he makes me. We're both learning how to be with each other and I appreciate every minute. 

He's one in a million, that guy. 

Check check...is this thing on?

Wellll helloooo there. It's been a gazillion years since we last had a little chit chat. I apologize, I do, but I've just been so durn busy! And I meant to write last weekend. I have a whole catchup to give you plus another Mormon Girl/Atheist Girl post plus adoption craps.

But that was not to be.

Last Sunday was like the perfect day to get everything done. I slept in with the boyfriend, went grocery shopping, cleaned my whole house (except laundry), started painting drawers to a dresser I painted a few weekends ago, and settled in to write.

THEN! dun dun duuuuuuuun...my computer stopped charging suddenly. And this comp is on its last legs, like seriously. Like there might be a little duct tape holding parts together. But I have to coax this baby along until at least next year. Right now all my money is going into this India trip in December so I cannot purchase a new baby right now.

So, hoping it wasn't anything more serious than a dead charger, I left the thing backing up (just in case) and hoofed it to downtown PDX to get a new power adapter. The only annoyance was that the Portland marathon was that day, but parking a little far meant I got my fat ass (more on that later) moving anyway. Anywayyyyyyy, long story short (too late), it was just the charger. The battery is fairly shot too, but I'm not buying a whole new battery for this dying comp so I just have to leave it plugged in for like always.

But! I forgot to mention that I also left wetly painted drawers outside on my porch to dry. And as I got home, I see my hideous asshole upstairs neighbors on their porch grilling. And what did I find all over my drawers? Grill grossness and porch grossness that they'd swept off right onto my stuff. And they knew I'd been painting. So, like any mature non-passive-aggressive person would do, I shouted, "ASSSHOLES!" up at the porch and tried to clean up my drawers and bring them inside.

I would like to state for the record that should they meet their untimely deaths while I live below them, I didn't do it. I am not a killer. But I might celebrate inside just a little.

This is what apartment living does to a person.

So needless to say I was too tired and stressed to do any writing after that.

And the weekend before was my other cousin's wedding. Yes, my cousins (the three of us are like sisters) got married within a couple months of each other. Which, despite being expensive, worked out for me because I was sort of off the hook. I had to go by myself (because Eminem was in Vegas, the brat) and was so dreading all the relatives going, "So are you next? Where's your boyfriend?" And while they did ask about my boyfriend, because they're all weddinged out, they were like, "You're not next right? Tell us you won't get married soon." Awesome.

Here are some photos I took. I was not the photographer and didn't even take my camera because it's getting serviced, but my aunt had no idea how to use her new point and shoot, so I took it off her hands. Some of these tured out great. It was a nice, little camera!



But I will be shooting a wedding next weekend! Like for strangers, a real wedding gig. It's very exciting and I can't wait to share all the photos with you guys.

Speaking of, when I started this blog and when I started my flickr page, I never had any intentions of working as a photographer. It was just my art and my hobby. But now I think I need to rebrand to something more professional and use my real name. This is scary, especially because of the whole stalker situation I had a couple years back, but I think it's necessary. Thoughts? It means I'd connect this blog with my photography pages and I'd be exposing my real name in this forum.


And the new name (from Crazy Lady Photography) is.....drum roll please.....

Double A Photography

Because my last name starts with an A. What do you think?


I probably won't be starting a new blog just for my photography, but I'm thinking I may do a photography facebook page. What do you guys think? Too much? Not enough? I'll also be working on a logo.

Eek! So much to do!

Aaaaaaaaand....

Halloween is coming up and it's FALL! I love Fall. I love leaves and the weather gets brisk and I can burn pumpkin spice candles. What are you going as for Halloween? I'm not telling what my costume will be, but I'll share photos after! You all know I love making my own costumes and I'm making Eminem dress up with me. It's gonna be awesome!

Mormon Girl/ Atheist Girl

As most of you probably know, I was raised Mormon. And now I'm a half-queer, liberal atheist. So, some things have changed.

Anyway, my history is a tangled knot of complicatedness which forms my very clear ideas about my life and I'm sure someone finds that interesting. At the very least, I always find that people really like it that I'm completely open and honest about my religious upbringing, mostly because Mormons are a secretive bunch and especially now that Bishop Richie Rich is running for president.

With regards to the latter, I always find myself bringing up my background as a way to provide my own context and legitimate knowledge and also because I'd rather we argue the facts and stop talking about magic underwear and secret temple orgies where they slaughter unicorns. At least one part of that is made up. Guess which! (Pst! It's not the unicorns.)

A couple of my friends have expressed the idea that I should write a book on my story, I guess a Mormon girl turned atheist is a unique one? I'd guess it's probably more common than you'd think. It's just no one talks about it. Well, this got me thinking that I do want to talk about it. I want to start writing my story and maybe that turns into a book and maybe it's just a cathartic experience and maybe someone gets some insight into a huge American institution which outsiders still find totally mysterious and weird.

Of course to me, Mormons are still like my dorky big sister. I get to make fun of them and crack jokes about lime jello and CTR rings. But what I don't want to come out of this are the people who just want to make fun of Mormons. Ask me any questions you want. Open up dialog. Criticize what you honestly don't agree with. But I won't tolerate any cruel and attacking comments.

You probably don't know that I get attacking comments already on this blog, mostly because I just delete them. I've also been considering not allowing anonymous comments anymore. To sum up, be nice. It won't hurt you to just be nice.

Here's the first chapter of my story:

Neither of my parents were raised Mormon.

My mom was actually raised Catholic and, until I studied religions in college, my only impressions of the Catholic church were my mom's, which were completely overblown and held on a higher pedestal than any other Catholic I've ever met. This is because whatever my mom does, she does with gusto. She thought the nuns were like the coolest women every to walk the planet and totally wanted to be one. When she was thinking about being baptized into the Mormon church at 19, she evidently went to confession every day for it. But that should explain the kind of Mormon she was. I say was because I'm pretty sure she doesn't leave the house anymore.

My dad, on the other hand, he just kind of goes with the flow. I don't know that he was raised any religion. When my grandma died, she had some kind of Christian funeral, but fuck if I know if it was Methodist or Lutheran or whatever. I'm pretty sure she never went to a church when she was alive. And my grandpa was an abusive alcoholic. My dad started smoking at like 12 or something and he's never had any intention of quitting whatsoever and he'll probably be like George Burns and smoke until he dies at the age of 157. He also has a large cup of coffee every single day, no matter if it's 120 degrees outside, which it gets damn close to where he lives in the desert.

Needless to say, he wasn't exactly a model Mormon. I wouldn't say he was "Jack" Mormon, because he gave up drinking and was baptized when they adopted me in 1980. But he was just bad enough to never have a temple recommend or receive certain levels of the priesthood (this is an area I actually don't have much of a memory about, being a girl I guess). But he has a calling as the choir director and so he goes every week and conducts the music. I also imagine that he still sleeps on the stand, his head bobbing around shamelessly, something I found mortifying as a young teen.

So, no, my parents weren't married in the temple and never got sealed, a fact which my mom tried to make him feel guilty about every single damn day. She did eventually go to the temple on her own, but that was before she was a prescription drug addict.

At this point, I guess I explain why some people go to the temple and some don't. But I think I'll leave that for another day, because I want to stick to my childhood for now.

My parents' marriage, that one tiny detail, was enough to set me enough apart from the rest of the Mormon kids, enough to tell me I just wasn't quite good enough, just didn't "partake in the same blessings." Which taught me pretty early on that there are hierarchies within this culture and, if you start at the bottom, you have to struggle to fit in. I was also an only child, something you can imagine is very odd for Mormons. My best friend, who I met when I was like 14, also came from a different family model and she also felt the sting of being different in the Mormon church.

I can't tell you how many times I was told how special I was. But I didn't want to be special; I wanted to fit in. I never would, so instead I made up for it by, at first, trying to be perfect. Then, when it was clear I wouldn't be perfect (for anyone, but especially my mother), I became a rebel, I got my own ideas and opinions, I questioned everything, and, most of all, I made people laugh. People tend to be less on guard and less disapproving when you're making them laugh. And I think my spunk bought me time to be rebellious and wild while I was questioning everything I'd been told. I really did get away with so much.

But more on that later.

the epic and severely overdue catchup post

Look at me! Posting on my blog! Hallelujah praise baby jeebus.

Seriously though, I can hardly be blamed for skipping writing for, oh I don't know, a MONTH, because life has been totally insane. Yesterday felt like the first relaxed and free day I've had in a million years.

First, I had that ten days in California, which was so jam packed and whirlwindy that I so needed a vacation when I got home (and more on that trip in a bit). But it was right back to work and then to a work retreat, which I planned and organized and which I'm not complaining about because I love doing that stuff, but was another busy, whirlwindy time.



And I felt like I was battling a bug before that trip and I kept on fighting it on through the whole next two weeks, during which time I helped coordinate an office reorganization (like physical reorganization, like office and cubicles and phone lines and shit) and which I worked on today as well.

Last Thursday was the denouement of sorts of my mystery flu. I woke up Thursday with an insane migraine and it just got worse and worse as the day progressed and I ran around and lugged boxes and shit. By the time I left work, I was dizzy and nauseated and felt like death, pure death. I started feeling a teeny better about 8 or so that night, slept and slept and woke up Friday feeling fantastic.

Soooo clearly I'd excised my demons. I've never had an exorcism, but I'm pretty sure that's what it feels like. Plus, imagine how powerful I am to have done it on myself. All bow to my power.

And like I said, I worked some hours this morning, but I finally have a moment to sit down and write. Ahhhhhh.

So, let me back up. The California trip! I'll just give you some highlights.

First bit of drama was at PDX airport. I had to check a bag, so I decided to just check in at the airport. I go check in, get my boarding pass, kiss my boyfriend goodbye, and get into the long line to security. I get up to the first TSA guard who checks to see if your ID and boarding pass match and he goes, "This isn't your boarding pass." And then I had a heart attack. Turns out, the lady at Alaska switched my boarding pass with some chick named Rachel (which is funny, because that was my name for the two months before I was adopted, though I doubt TSA cares about that). Luckily, one of the guards took pity on my about-to-bawl-if-I-miss-my-flight face and took my to the desk to get my real pass and let me cut back into my place in line. Shout out to the guard at PDX! Sweetheart.

And I made my flight.

You all know I was there for my cousin's wedding right? The best thing was renting this deliciously pretty lens for the trip. I now must make this lens my own. I must. It's my precious and I can feel body deteriorating without it. I hate my other lenses now, my shitty, pathetic lenses. The losers.



So first, I did several things all wrong. I was trying to save money because I'll need some dough when I go to India in December, so I didn't rent a car or get a hotel room. And I know my cousin kept telling me I wasn't a problem and wasn't getting in the way (and, admittedly, I did clean house and make drinks and food, so I think I was a big help), but if I'd sprung for a hotel, I would've been one less body in her house. And I really really really should've found a way to rent a car. It would've been helpful on my cousin, but it would've also given me more freedom and I could've spent more time with other friends and fam. But oh well. Live and learn right?

The other thing I should've done was find a way to take my boyfriend with me. Because the last trip down with a guy was so disastrous, I had decided a long ago that I wouldn't take a date to the wedding. But then as Eminem and I were doing great, I realized that I did want everyone to meet him and he won't have another chance for a long while. Plus, I missed him like crazy and I really did need someone there for me, someone to keep me sane when I was getting super stressed out. He was great and was texting me sweetness the whole time. But I really did need him there. But I lived, so, oh well.

I did get to my best friend's house in the desert and got to meet my new nephew Lucas, aka the youngest old man in the whole world with the puffiest, pinchiest cheeks you will ever ever see.



I really wish I'd gotten more time with them, but I will get to see them at Christmas. At which point, Lucas will probably be a foot taller and riding a bike and reading and shit. Sigh. Such is life.

I did get to see my dad, though, and I was struck by just how OLD he's gotten in the last year. The man always looked like Einstein, but now he looks like Mark Twain, his hair is so white! He and I also used to make fun of old people who would read all the signs out loud. Yeah, he does that now. He shuffled around the mall with me and he announced all the signs. 50% off sale. Hot Topic. AT&T. Pretty Nail.

This last story I hesitate to share and I'm holding back many of the details until it unfolds. Okay, here goes:

My aunt (the mother of the bride) is alllll about geneology. She's like way into it and has done tons of work on our family. Anyway, so this aunt was giving me a ride and she needed some part on her car, so she and I are sitting in the waiting room of a Subaru (you know, the official state car of Oregon) dealership and chatting as two ladies are wont to do. We got to talking about my biological family (I'm adopted) and I told her how years ago, I found out my parents' names, etc, but never could find any more info. I also haven't opened my records or anything.

So she pulls out her iPad, signs into her Ancestry.com account, types away, and after a little search, finds my mother. Seriously. And right there on the screen is a photo of my biological mom and sister. Right there. And I they looked like me, which is the craziest feeling if you've never ever seen what a blood relative looks like. I'm not sharing that photo yet because I just feel like that's wrong somehow. I'll explain in a sec.

So then it took off from there. Turns out my mom died when I was little, though I don't know why yet and I'm going to order her death certificate to find out. we did a ton of research on my family and I have a notebook full of genealogical history from my mom's side. And then we found my sister, like I have an address and a recent photo of her and everything. From some of the info we found, I think she's aware of me, but the ball is clearly in my court because she'd have no way of know who I am. So, I'm going to write her a letter. I admit that I haven't even started it and while I don't want to waste much time, I do want to write it carefully and find the right words. That's partly why I want to wait to share the photo; I don't want to find her through this blog, because I want to contact her myself.

Here's a baby picture of me instead:

Crazy right? The best way to describe how I'm feeling is cautiously excited. I'm nervous to be sure, but way more curious than anything. Wish me luck!

I'm also coming up on two big events. Next week, I'll turn 32 and Eminem and I will have dated for six months. I'm totally happy about both.

Aaaaand scene.

Lindsey & John: The Wedding

Guess what? I was in California last week for my cousin's wedding. It was an insane whirlwind of a trip, which I'm sure I'll blog about later, but for now, the dessert first!

I have many, many photos of the bridal shower and the wedding prep and rehearsal, but I know what you really want are the wedding photos.



The wedding was small and lovely. Very vintage and beachy and sweet. And everyone cried.