Alright, kids... I put about 50 photos from the wedding and reception up on my flickr account. They're out of order, and some aren't retouched. I'm sorry. It's almost 5:30 a.m. and even I have to sleep eventually. I hope this holds everyone over until Luke can put up a real webpage. :)
Thursday, May 26, 2005
Friday, May 20, 2005
Orange you glad I didn't say banana?
You know, I have actually slipped on a banana peel. I swear I'm not making this up. I was in the new auditorium at my high school circa 1996. There was a banana peel on the floor, and I didn't see it. Wetzel saw the whole incident, including the part where my legs flew out from under me like a cartoon character, and he was like, "Who does that happen to in real life? Who ARE you?"
Apparently, I am a living, breathing, walking, talking joke book for 7-year-olds.
Although... okay, I've sort of stayed away from recounting some of the wedding day drama, because whatever- they're married; it was great. But someone actually found a fly in their soup at the reception.
Person: "Waiter, what's this fly doing in my soup?"
Waiter: "I think it's doing the backstroke."
And then, the kicker... The other day, I was photographing the Pegasus Therapeutic Riding Program's annual show, which was inspiring and great and beautiful. As I arrived at the paddock, dark thunderclouds began to amass in the sky like street thugs. I had to grab my gear and start shooting the obstacle class immediately (because I was afraid they'd stop the competition and move all the horses to the barn and I'd find myself shooting crappy weather art for the local section) so I didn't snap a picture of this. I SO wish I had, but anyway...
In an adjacent field, grazing among standard run-of-the-mill horses, was a zebra. I KNOW. I couldn't believe it either. Right there in the field: pony, pony, oooh pretty Arabian horse, zebra, pony. I never really thought about it, but I guess ordinary horses and zebras wouldn't have a problem sharing a pasture. What are they going to do? But still, what they is true. When you hear hoofbeats, you really *don't* expect to see zebras.
That's not really a joke for 7-year-olds, though. So I'll close with this instead: What's black and white and black and white and black and white?
Heh. :)
Apparently, I am a living, breathing, walking, talking joke book for 7-year-olds.
Although... okay, I've sort of stayed away from recounting some of the wedding day drama, because whatever- they're married; it was great. But someone actually found a fly in their soup at the reception.
Person: "Waiter, what's this fly doing in my soup?"
Waiter: "I think it's doing the backstroke."
And then, the kicker... The other day, I was photographing the Pegasus Therapeutic Riding Program's annual show, which was inspiring and great and beautiful. As I arrived at the paddock, dark thunderclouds began to amass in the sky like street thugs. I had to grab my gear and start shooting the obstacle class immediately (because I was afraid they'd stop the competition and move all the horses to the barn and I'd find myself shooting crappy weather art for the local section) so I didn't snap a picture of this. I SO wish I had, but anyway...
In an adjacent field, grazing among standard run-of-the-mill horses, was a zebra. I KNOW. I couldn't believe it either. Right there in the field: pony, pony, oooh pretty Arabian horse, zebra, pony. I never really thought about it, but I guess ordinary horses and zebras wouldn't have a problem sharing a pasture. What are they going to do? But still, what they is true. When you hear hoofbeats, you really *don't* expect to see zebras.
That's not really a joke for 7-year-olds, though. So I'll close with this instead: What's black and white and black and white and black and white?
Heh. :)
Monday, May 16, 2005
Croptease
Everyone keeps asking to see wedding photos. I'm going as fast as I can; there's just a lot to sort through, and of course, I need to Photoshop my beefy arms and remove all zits and shiny foreheads before I post or print anything. I think Luke is going to put up a website when he comes back from the Big Lucrative Job on a Mountain in California. In the meantime, I'll try to post a new photo as often as I can.
Saturday, May 14, 2005
Conspiracy Theories
Last night I spent time with a guy whom I know is a conspiracy theorist, but he's witty and interesting and he has a really great dog. We made casual plans, and it was never clear if it was a date or not. I didn't have high expectations for the night, as in... I wore a little makeup, but I didn't shave my legs.
I was back home exactly one minute shy of an hour later.
When I was sick my senior year of college, I woke up every morning with my heart pounding, out of breath, panicking. Terrified. I couldn't picture the future. I knew I wanted the Big Girl Job at a newspaper, an apartment of my own, a plan for being with Stephen. I knew what I wanted. I just couldn't imagine how I would, you know, get there.
I don't want to have to convince someone else that all the passion and quirkiness inside me is actually a good thing. I want to know what the future brings. I want to know how this story ends, how this all works out, what my "reasonably happy-ever-after" will be.
Instead... the early morning panic? Is sort of back. I-wanna-go-home-I-wanna-go-home-I wanna-go-home. Sigh... Note to self: don't pursue people you know to be a little mad, no matter how cute his dog (whom he swears has a form of logic all her own) might be. Maybe the CIA has tapped into my hypothalamus and is controlling my moods from a remote location?
I was back home exactly one minute shy of an hour later.
When I was sick my senior year of college, I woke up every morning with my heart pounding, out of breath, panicking. Terrified. I couldn't picture the future. I knew I wanted the Big Girl Job at a newspaper, an apartment of my own, a plan for being with Stephen. I knew what I wanted. I just couldn't imagine how I would, you know, get there.
I don't want to have to convince someone else that all the passion and quirkiness inside me is actually a good thing. I want to know what the future brings. I want to know how this story ends, how this all works out, what my "reasonably happy-ever-after" will be.
Instead... the early morning panic? Is sort of back. I-wanna-go-home-I-wanna-go-home-I wanna-go-home. Sigh... Note to self: don't pursue people you know to be a little mad, no matter how cute his dog (whom he swears has a form of logic all her own) might be. Maybe the CIA has tapped into my hypothalamus and is controlling my moods from a remote location?
Wednesday, May 11, 2005
SuperBoobs to the Rescue!
When I think about all of last weekend's craziness (all of which was just part of pulling off a large traditional wedding), I sort of can't believe so much... STUFF... was crammed into such a short amount of time. In fact, the part where Amanda pricked her finger and got blood on the front of her dress (before the ceremony) was sort of forgettable, due in part to the kick-ass stain removal kit we had on hand. So I thought I'd share this photo of Me, Kelly and My Boobs in action. Ah, photojournalist approach...
Tuesday, May 10, 2005
2,633...
...is the combined number of photos that Luke and I shot in the last 72 hours. Yup. From soup to nuts, (or rather, bachelorette party to last dance), we shot photos under water, in the rain, over the altar, in front of backdrops, in the limo, in the morning, late at night, while dancing, while drinking, while spinning, while smiling, while laughing, while crying, and hell, maybe even while sleeping, which is what I am about to do like IT'S. MY. JOB.
Yawn...
:)
Shout out to Jason: For the first time in my life, I think I'm speechless. You were the most attentive (albeit frequently abandoned), considerate, kind and protective date in the world. Thank you, thank you, thank you. Thank You.
Yawn...
:)
Shout out to Jason: For the first time in my life, I think I'm speechless. You were the most attentive (albeit frequently abandoned), considerate, kind and protective date in the world. Thank you, thank you, thank you. Thank You.
Monday, May 02, 2005
Bye now! Bye! BUH-bye! Bye now!
Six minutes left! C'mon, 26!
Sorry, 25. Thanks for not actually knocking me out after smacking me upside with that frying pan. Please do let the door smack you on the ass on your way out. There will be no parting gifts.
26, however, you may open all the birthday presents you like.
;)
Sorry, 25. Thanks for not actually knocking me out after smacking me upside with that frying pan. Please do let the door smack you on the ass on your way out. There will be no parting gifts.
26, however, you may open all the birthday presents you like.
;)
Sunday, May 01, 2005
Heartbreak: Month 3
Status: Significantly less sucky, with severe suckystorms moving intermittently throughout the region
"I think it's getting to the point where I can be myself again. It's getting to the point where we have almost made amends. I think it's getting to the point that is the hardest part.... You think it's only fair to do what's best for you and you alone. I think it's time to make this something that is more than 'only fair.'"
-Barenaked Ladies
I do know that Stephen is reading regularly- (Everybody smile and wave)- and he's made it quite clear that he doesn't care if I call him a fucker because, in his words, "that's what blogs are for" AND "[he] gave up the right to care about being called a fucker." So there that is.
It's sort of remarkable, but honestly- sometimes I still don't know how it happened. When we were first dating, in the very, very beginning when he was still in Connecticut and I was in Prague or at the beach over the summer, he would light a candle late at night and talk to me. Sometimes now, really late at night, I lay in bed and talk to him, and I imagine he can hear me. I can hearing him saying, "I can hear you."
But he wasn't always good for me. When I first moved here, Luke was helping me assemble my bed when the headboard fell and bonked me on the head. It really, really hurt. He pulled it off me, and asked if I was okay, and I was like, "Ow...no...ow...no." But I sort of walked it off. If Stephen had been here instead of Luke, I probably would have dissolved into tears. Stephen's steadiness gave me leeway to fall apart completely, and it wasn't good for me. Because I never do anything by halves, I think I'm also the type of person who can't afford the luxury of being totally overwhelmed. On the other hand, he started dating someone else less than two weeks after we broke up. Yup. Fucker.
Who's a loser? Who? ME! Me, dammit! Me!
;)
On the other hand, there is so much to look forward to. For one thing, in less than a week, my sister is marrying a man who not only doesn't mind when I show up at 3 a.m., but also says things like, "You should have left a dead badger with a note that said: 'Unlike this badger, our love will never die.'" And that's when you wake him up. Imagine how funny he is when he's, like, fully awake.
Moving away badgers now to chipmunks (humor me).. Two days ago I did a story about graduating college seniors and the job market that required me to visit a college campus. As I walked out of the Career Development office, I saw a big fucking crow torturing a chipmunk. I instinctively got all indignant with the bird, like: "HEY! I'm a big meat-eating hypocrite. You drop that rodent NOW, buster!" It did, but the chipmunk was all slow and wonky and "Scary bird, help me!" And then, as if getting caught talking to myself while I walk the dog isn't bad enough, I was all, "You okay, buddy?" to the chipmunk. He wasn't bleeding, but there was a beak mark in his fur and he was really, really slow.
I was debating trying to scoop the chipmunk into a lens box and taking him to my chiropractor (His mother is a wildlife rehabilitator. who once ran into the waiting room carrying a swan whose neck was broken and demanded to use the x-ray machine). Anyway, the chipmunk could still walk, so I waited while he stumbled up an embankment to a little hole behind some rocks.
On a more profound note, I did an amazing story in a battered women's shelter the other day. Cindy said it best: There's nothing quite like that to give one's heartbreak a kick in the pants.
And then today... I met a man who literally took my breath away. I don't know if he'll call or not, but I think he will. I have never, ever said this before (Melissa, Becky- brace yourselves), but he's cuter than John W@nner. Uh huh. Oh, yes, I did just say that. We're all gonna be okay. Me, the survivors in the shelter, you guys, Stephen, even the chipmunk.
Well, probably. Everyone pray for the chipmunk.
"I think it's getting to the point where I can be myself again. It's getting to the point where we have almost made amends. I think it's getting to the point that is the hardest part.... You think it's only fair to do what's best for you and you alone. I think it's time to make this something that is more than 'only fair.'"
-Barenaked Ladies
I do know that Stephen is reading regularly- (Everybody smile and wave)- and he's made it quite clear that he doesn't care if I call him a fucker because, in his words, "that's what blogs are for" AND "[he] gave up the right to care about being called a fucker." So there that is.
It's sort of remarkable, but honestly- sometimes I still don't know how it happened. When we were first dating, in the very, very beginning when he was still in Connecticut and I was in Prague or at the beach over the summer, he would light a candle late at night and talk to me. Sometimes now, really late at night, I lay in bed and talk to him, and I imagine he can hear me. I can hearing him saying, "I can hear you."
But he wasn't always good for me. When I first moved here, Luke was helping me assemble my bed when the headboard fell and bonked me on the head. It really, really hurt. He pulled it off me, and asked if I was okay, and I was like, "Ow...no...ow...no." But I sort of walked it off. If Stephen had been here instead of Luke, I probably would have dissolved into tears. Stephen's steadiness gave me leeway to fall apart completely, and it wasn't good for me. Because I never do anything by halves, I think I'm also the type of person who can't afford the luxury of being totally overwhelmed. On the other hand, he started dating someone else less than two weeks after we broke up. Yup. Fucker.
Who's a loser? Who? ME! Me, dammit! Me!
;)
On the other hand, there is so much to look forward to. For one thing, in less than a week, my sister is marrying a man who not only doesn't mind when I show up at 3 a.m., but also says things like, "You should have left a dead badger with a note that said: 'Unlike this badger, our love will never die.'" And that's when you wake him up. Imagine how funny he is when he's, like, fully awake.
Moving away badgers now to chipmunks (humor me).. Two days ago I did a story about graduating college seniors and the job market that required me to visit a college campus. As I walked out of the Career Development office, I saw a big fucking crow torturing a chipmunk. I instinctively got all indignant with the bird, like: "HEY! I'm a big meat-eating hypocrite. You drop that rodent NOW, buster!" It did, but the chipmunk was all slow and wonky and "Scary bird, help me!" And then, as if getting caught talking to myself while I walk the dog isn't bad enough, I was all, "You okay, buddy?" to the chipmunk. He wasn't bleeding, but there was a beak mark in his fur and he was really, really slow.
I was debating trying to scoop the chipmunk into a lens box and taking him to my chiropractor (His mother is a wildlife rehabilitator. who once ran into the waiting room carrying a swan whose neck was broken and demanded to use the x-ray machine). Anyway, the chipmunk could still walk, so I waited while he stumbled up an embankment to a little hole behind some rocks.
On a more profound note, I did an amazing story in a battered women's shelter the other day. Cindy said it best: There's nothing quite like that to give one's heartbreak a kick in the pants.
And then today... I met a man who literally took my breath away. I don't know if he'll call or not, but I think he will. I have never, ever said this before (Melissa, Becky- brace yourselves), but he's cuter than John W@nner. Uh huh. Oh, yes, I did just say that. We're all gonna be okay. Me, the survivors in the shelter, you guys, Stephen, even the chipmunk.
Well, probably. Everyone pray for the chipmunk.
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