"This is my home and I have to protect it."
~McCaully Calkin as Kevin in "Home Alone"
I have always loved that line. When times get tough and I am forced to be responsible for a household that I was basically forced to take over, that line rings in my head.
Recently my roommate moved out. Hopefully the last roommate I will ever have. With it brought a lot of emotions that I was neither expecting or prepared for. As he was moving things out of his room and into his mother's minivan, I was sitting in my room crying. At the time I wasn't quite sure why. I had been anticipating the moment for a while. I would finally have my house to myself and would no longer get frustrated at having to clean up after someone or purchase yet another roll of toilet paper or tube of toothpaste with no recognition, thanks, or help from someone else. It wasn't even the fact that am praying for my refinance to go through so I could actually afford to live without someone occupying my home. It finally hit me. I was crying because now I am truly alone.
As I have gotten older, watching friends get married and settle down and start families, has become increasingly difficult. It's certainly not that I want to walk down the aisle tomorrow or pop out a baby anytime soon, I just want that possibility to be in my future and honestly right now it is not. Like not even in the near future. That is a scary thought. Yes my biological clock is ticking. Not necessarily to have children, but to have the security of someone who loves me to fall asleep with me every night and to commit to me. I want that level of commitment.
But alas, I don't foresee that in my future. Not my near future anyway. So I guess that right now the struggle has become how long I am willing to wait. How long before you give up on someone or something that is important to you?
With my new-found "empty nest" syndrome, I'm trying to focus on me. On the positive. I can have an office in my empty room. I can rest assure that the dishes in the sink are my own. I can pee with the bathroom door open. This is my house and I have to protect it. At the end of the day, today, I am cranking up Otis Redding radio on Pandora, dancing around the house with a glass of red wine, and making tacos for my boyfriend. Maybe that's all he'll ever be, but for now, I'm just gonna do me.
Monday, November 12, 2012
Tuesday, August 21, 2012
You Have No Power Over Me
Thursday, August 16, 2012
Babies in Bars
I am a 32 year old woman who is not only not married but babyless. Due to the toxically fertile water in Lancaster County (and apparent lack of birth control), for someone my age to not have pushed out a few by now is a rarity. The older I get, the more friends I lose to the baby bug. Which also means more excruciatingly painful baby showers to attend where my homemade quilt that took twenty hours to sew is shoved under a pile of fabricated plastic whatsamajigs which are apparently now necessary for human survival.
It's not that I'm not happy for my friends. I am. It is just becoming harder to relate to them and harder to visit them without tripping over the millions of matchbox cars that threw up all over their living room floor. Which once was a conversation about weekend plans to go to concerts is now shadowed by which TV show their child is totally into this week. I must give them credit though. My 30-something friends who have recently dove into motherhood also happen to strike a balance between fun and the responsibility of raising a family. The "fun" part has toned itself down from shouting drunkenly at the local bar, to casually sipping wine in their backyard after the kiddos have been put down for the night.
I may be making myself sound like a child hating a-hole. I don't hate children per say, I just like to return them to their proper owner at the end of the day and continue with my successful life of doing whatever the hell I want, whenever the hell I want. Five minutes in a store with a screaming child is enough for my uterus to shrivel up inside my body, slam the door shut, and put itself under lock and key. Clearly I am not ready to be a parent and I am dealing with the fact that I may never be.
Motherhood may be your life, but it isn't mine. Ah finally getting to my point. Because I am and choose to be sans baby, I venture out to bars to unwind and have determined that BARS ARE NO PLACE FOR CHILDREN. There is no buzz kill greater then sipping on a cocktail after a long day, celebration, or get together with friends then to experience toddlers playing tag around the barstools. Do you really want to expose your child to what they have to look forward to when they are 21, broke, and trying to score with the random hoochie mama who is ordering a round of red headed sluts? I know that the conversations that I have when I'm tipsy should never ever fall on the ears of the innocent.
The other night I was out celebrating the success of a job with a bunch of friends and coworkers. I stumbled in my heals to the restroom to relieve myself after drinking a plethora of alcoholic concoctions only to find a mother changing her one year old male child on the provided board in the ladies room. I ignored it and found a stall. The changing of the baby was also a commentary on every little shake of the powder and as she was finishing, the child stood up and shouted "I'm naked!" Really? She laughed it off and I cringed. Why is your baby in a bar? Us single, childless bar goers do not need a play by play of what goes on nor do we need to even attempt to be proper as we're staggering our way back to our barstool. Take your child home, put on Sprout, and enjoy your beer in your own backyard. Leave the bars to us who chose not to drink that damn fertile water.
It's not that I'm not happy for my friends. I am. It is just becoming harder to relate to them and harder to visit them without tripping over the millions of matchbox cars that threw up all over their living room floor. Which once was a conversation about weekend plans to go to concerts is now shadowed by which TV show their child is totally into this week. I must give them credit though. My 30-something friends who have recently dove into motherhood also happen to strike a balance between fun and the responsibility of raising a family. The "fun" part has toned itself down from shouting drunkenly at the local bar, to casually sipping wine in their backyard after the kiddos have been put down for the night.
I may be making myself sound like a child hating a-hole. I don't hate children per say, I just like to return them to their proper owner at the end of the day and continue with my successful life of doing whatever the hell I want, whenever the hell I want. Five minutes in a store with a screaming child is enough for my uterus to shrivel up inside my body, slam the door shut, and put itself under lock and key. Clearly I am not ready to be a parent and I am dealing with the fact that I may never be.
Motherhood may be your life, but it isn't mine. Ah finally getting to my point. Because I am and choose to be sans baby, I venture out to bars to unwind and have determined that BARS ARE NO PLACE FOR CHILDREN. There is no buzz kill greater then sipping on a cocktail after a long day, celebration, or get together with friends then to experience toddlers playing tag around the barstools. Do you really want to expose your child to what they have to look forward to when they are 21, broke, and trying to score with the random hoochie mama who is ordering a round of red headed sluts? I know that the conversations that I have when I'm tipsy should never ever fall on the ears of the innocent.
The other night I was out celebrating the success of a job with a bunch of friends and coworkers. I stumbled in my heals to the restroom to relieve myself after drinking a plethora of alcoholic concoctions only to find a mother changing her one year old male child on the provided board in the ladies room. I ignored it and found a stall. The changing of the baby was also a commentary on every little shake of the powder and as she was finishing, the child stood up and shouted "I'm naked!" Really? She laughed it off and I cringed. Why is your baby in a bar? Us single, childless bar goers do not need a play by play of what goes on nor do we need to even attempt to be proper as we're staggering our way back to our barstool. Take your child home, put on Sprout, and enjoy your beer in your own backyard. Leave the bars to us who chose not to drink that damn fertile water.
Sunday, June 24, 2012
Shooting for the Underdog
I'm going to play the serious career girl card for a moment. Today's topic is brought to you by an art director. I could safely say that I may be a better art/creative director then an actual designer for many reasons. Throughout my career as such, I have been asked from people in the business and some not so much if I have worked with [insert known photographer here]. My response is usually 'NO' and I have reason to back it up.
Simply put, I shoot for the underdog. I actively search for creatives like myself. Those who may have not had the dazzling success of some who have the funds to purchase the latest and greatest equipment or ability to get their name out there. I tend to challenge myself by hiring those who are devoted to the art of photography. Those who do it for the love of it. Who's photographic eye shines through even in their family snap shots. I can smell talent from a mile away and invite these "underdogs" to play my game. To step into my world and better my cause of presenting Lancaster with fresh creative material by showing me what they've got. I never stop challenging myself and I want to challenge them as well.
Most of being successful is pretending you already are. I'm not going to lie, in my current job, we make it up as we go...learning and adapting with every step. Although this way of work does not come easy for some, it does allow a certain amount of creative freedom that would be hard pressed to find at a stuffy 9-5. We fake it but "at the end of the day" we love what we do because we do what we want.
That is what drawls me to those starting out. They are not tarnished by the name they made for themselves. They look through the lens without fear and expectations from others. It's almost childlike if you stop and think about it. I was told during art school that children are nearly the only people who have the ability to make art freely without the fear of rejection and judgement. I think it may be what holds back those career photographers. They have something on the line. They shoot weddings not because they necessarily want to but because it pays the bills. The great thing about where I work is that you will never make a career out of it as our staff photographer. That may sound horrible but thinking about it, that's actually a blessing to me.
I would never hire someone looking for a paycheck. I want to hire someone who has that childlike innocence. Who picks up a camera because they love what they produce. Because these individuals expect nothing more than a photo credit in print to show their friends and gloat to their families, they do the absolute best job they can do. They are nervous, jittery, eager to please, and grateful for the opportunity I have given them and I love them for it.
Simply put, I shoot for the underdog. I actively search for creatives like myself. Those who may have not had the dazzling success of some who have the funds to purchase the latest and greatest equipment or ability to get their name out there. I tend to challenge myself by hiring those who are devoted to the art of photography. Those who do it for the love of it. Who's photographic eye shines through even in their family snap shots. I can smell talent from a mile away and invite these "underdogs" to play my game. To step into my world and better my cause of presenting Lancaster with fresh creative material by showing me what they've got. I never stop challenging myself and I want to challenge them as well.
Most of being successful is pretending you already are. I'm not going to lie, in my current job, we make it up as we go...learning and adapting with every step. Although this way of work does not come easy for some, it does allow a certain amount of creative freedom that would be hard pressed to find at a stuffy 9-5. We fake it but "at the end of the day" we love what we do because we do what we want.
That is what drawls me to those starting out. They are not tarnished by the name they made for themselves. They look through the lens without fear and expectations from others. It's almost childlike if you stop and think about it. I was told during art school that children are nearly the only people who have the ability to make art freely without the fear of rejection and judgement. I think it may be what holds back those career photographers. They have something on the line. They shoot weddings not because they necessarily want to but because it pays the bills. The great thing about where I work is that you will never make a career out of it as our staff photographer. That may sound horrible but thinking about it, that's actually a blessing to me.
I would never hire someone looking for a paycheck. I want to hire someone who has that childlike innocence. Who picks up a camera because they love what they produce. Because these individuals expect nothing more than a photo credit in print to show their friends and gloat to their families, they do the absolute best job they can do. They are nervous, jittery, eager to please, and grateful for the opportunity I have given them and I love them for it.
Thursday, April 26, 2012
For Lack of Words
For Lack of Words...
I have been taking a lot of photos lately which I feel sums up things better than I can put into words right now. I suppose they're up for interpretation. Isn't that what photojournalism is all about?
I have been taking a lot of photos lately which I feel sums up things better than I can put into words right now. I suppose they're up for interpretation. Isn't that what photojournalism is all about?
Monday, March 26, 2012
Sex, Drugs, and Rock n' Roll
I told a friend that the reason I haven't posted on this blog lately is because I'm happy and I typically only write in times of despair. Last night I had happy thoughts rushing through my head and decided that I was going to write these thoughts and break the habit of spewing misery for others to read. Well wouldn't you know it, today is not a good day. However, I am going to try and channel that eloquently composed post that I had mapped out in my head last night but didn't have a chance to write since it was so incredibly late and I was so incredibly tired.
Last night I went to see Dr. Dog in concert at the Electric Factory. I like the band. I am not a "super fan", meaning I can not rehearse every lyric of every song, nor did I purchase an overpriced hipster beanie from the show. I can say I do enjoy their music. Dr. Dog has two singers. One being the poppy vocalist who is tall and dorky with a nasally sound and catchy sing-a-long tunes; the other mildly attractive who's voice is like sex. Gritty when it needs to be and smooth in just the right moments.
Because I do not claim to be a hardcore Dr. Dog know-it-all, I have never taken the time to watch live performances or even really look up what the band members actually look like. From judging the voices, I know one is sex and the other is nasal. Seeing them on stage is a whole other experience. The energy of the show in and of itself is one thing but watching Toby Leaman (oh my God his name is really Toby? mmmmmmm) bass player/second lead singer boy essentially make love on stage...mmmmm. He puts the "sex" in rock n' roll.
Right then and there I determined two things:
1. The men I'm attracted to are those who have a butt load of passion. It doesn't matter what it is for. Hell it could be as an amazing cross stitcher for all I care, as long as they put every emotion and every last breath into that passion. As long as they make everyone around them have absolutely no doubt that they love what they are doing.
2. Rock stars shouldn't be allowed to wear wedding rings. Strippers don't wear wedding rings right? Since most women would rather ogle at a lead singer gyrating their hips and pressing their open mouth on a microphone than watch a buff man strip down to a thong, I whole heartedly feel that it is the duty of a guy in a band not to wear a wedding band. It crushes the fantasy. If we can't have you after the show, let us at least have our fantasy. Yes, even if our boyfriend is inches away.
Just to throw the drugs in there for title sake...there were more plumes of pot smoke up in that venue than a Dave Matthews concert. There were also the remains of nitrogen balloons littering the streets after the show followed a block up by the source where they were still selling them to the after party crowd. It was a sunday night but who am I to judge? I have a new obsession and it turns out his name is Toby.
http://youtu.be/XP-XFG00aiE
Last night I went to see Dr. Dog in concert at the Electric Factory. I like the band. I am not a "super fan", meaning I can not rehearse every lyric of every song, nor did I purchase an overpriced hipster beanie from the show. I can say I do enjoy their music. Dr. Dog has two singers. One being the poppy vocalist who is tall and dorky with a nasally sound and catchy sing-a-long tunes; the other mildly attractive who's voice is like sex. Gritty when it needs to be and smooth in just the right moments.
Because I do not claim to be a hardcore Dr. Dog know-it-all, I have never taken the time to watch live performances or even really look up what the band members actually look like. From judging the voices, I know one is sex and the other is nasal. Seeing them on stage is a whole other experience. The energy of the show in and of itself is one thing but watching Toby Leaman (oh my God his name is really Toby? mmmmmmm) bass player/second lead singer boy essentially make love on stage...mmmmm. He puts the "sex" in rock n' roll.
Right then and there I determined two things:
1. The men I'm attracted to are those who have a butt load of passion. It doesn't matter what it is for. Hell it could be as an amazing cross stitcher for all I care, as long as they put every emotion and every last breath into that passion. As long as they make everyone around them have absolutely no doubt that they love what they are doing.
2. Rock stars shouldn't be allowed to wear wedding rings. Strippers don't wear wedding rings right? Since most women would rather ogle at a lead singer gyrating their hips and pressing their open mouth on a microphone than watch a buff man strip down to a thong, I whole heartedly feel that it is the duty of a guy in a band not to wear a wedding band. It crushes the fantasy. If we can't have you after the show, let us at least have our fantasy. Yes, even if our boyfriend is inches away.
Just to throw the drugs in there for title sake...there were more plumes of pot smoke up in that venue than a Dave Matthews concert. There were also the remains of nitrogen balloons littering the streets after the show followed a block up by the source where they were still selling them to the after party crowd. It was a sunday night but who am I to judge? I have a new obsession and it turns out his name is Toby.
http://youtu.be/XP-XFG00aiE
Monday, February 27, 2012
BFFs
My dog is old and sick. Well, he's not technically my dog anymore but he was and ten years ago when I moved out, I couldn't take him with me so he became my parents dog, the neighbors dog, the neighborhood dog. Dakota is unique. He's a lover. He'll let you climb all over him and will kiss you like crazy. Everyone in the neighborhood loves him because unleashed, he will show up on your doorstep and hang out with your kids all day just to return home every night to the man who has been more than a father to me than my own. My stepdad, Bill.
But Dakota is thirteen now and not in great health. Having put our childhood dog down a few years back, we are suddenly preparing ourselves with the sad fact that Dakota may not last to see the end of the year or maybe even the month. I thought it would effect me more. I thought I would look at him and be devastated to witness my dog with one foot in the grave. I guess I stopped knowing him as well as I did. I guess I thought that since he lived a long, good life that I wouldn't feel as bad. What I do feel bad about is the way Dakota being sick is effecting the people who are around him everyday. The one's that call him their best friend.
Watching Bill with tears in his eyes is heartbreaking. This dog, his best friend, is consuming his every thought—his every move. He can't function properly and springs into action each time the dog lifts his head or moves incorrectly. After many tests we found that the dog has vertigo and that it should pass within a few days. Even if it does, the dog is old and it may just be prolonging the inevitable.
While sitting with Bill and watching the dog for hours lay in the middle of the yard, he said the most heartfelt statement I have heard in a while...
Bill: "All of my best friends are going to hell in a hand basket."
Me: "What do you mean? What else is going on?"
Bill: "Oh your mom and her back problems. I'm really worried about her. I ran a bath for her the other night and she's just stumbling around here always in pain."
How sweet is that? They have been married for...oh I don't know, maybe fifteen years and her and the dog are his best friends. He doesn't want any more. He doesn't need anymore. When they are hurting, he takes care of them and is empathetic to every ache and pain. To me, that defines what a best friend is. When they hurt, you hurt. It breaks your heart each and every step. That ability within human beings gives me hope. Instead of being upset that Dakota may be on his last leg, I feel a glow knowing that he is is, was, and will always be truly loved by someone. What more could anyone ask for?
But Dakota is thirteen now and not in great health. Having put our childhood dog down a few years back, we are suddenly preparing ourselves with the sad fact that Dakota may not last to see the end of the year or maybe even the month. I thought it would effect me more. I thought I would look at him and be devastated to witness my dog with one foot in the grave. I guess I stopped knowing him as well as I did. I guess I thought that since he lived a long, good life that I wouldn't feel as bad. What I do feel bad about is the way Dakota being sick is effecting the people who are around him everyday. The one's that call him their best friend.
Watching Bill with tears in his eyes is heartbreaking. This dog, his best friend, is consuming his every thought—his every move. He can't function properly and springs into action each time the dog lifts his head or moves incorrectly. After many tests we found that the dog has vertigo and that it should pass within a few days. Even if it does, the dog is old and it may just be prolonging the inevitable.
While sitting with Bill and watching the dog for hours lay in the middle of the yard, he said the most heartfelt statement I have heard in a while...
Bill: "All of my best friends are going to hell in a hand basket."
Me: "What do you mean? What else is going on?"
Bill: "Oh your mom and her back problems. I'm really worried about her. I ran a bath for her the other night and she's just stumbling around here always in pain."
How sweet is that? They have been married for...oh I don't know, maybe fifteen years and her and the dog are his best friends. He doesn't want any more. He doesn't need anymore. When they are hurting, he takes care of them and is empathetic to every ache and pain. To me, that defines what a best friend is. When they hurt, you hurt. It breaks your heart each and every step. That ability within human beings gives me hope. Instead of being upset that Dakota may be on his last leg, I feel a glow knowing that he is is, was, and will always be truly loved by someone. What more could anyone ask for?
Friday, January 6, 2012
Anger: How it Can Help You
I'm not going to lie, I woke up in a piss poor mood today. I cried for no reason. I felt unloved, unappreciated, and talentless. Today, I hated the world and everything was annoying and meaningless. These downswings are usually when I am most able to channel the hopeless feelings into writing. Lucky you.
But hear me out. When I feel this way, which thankfully is not very often, I make a valiant attempt to try to understand where these feelings are coming from and to turn that negative energy into something productive and good. Instead of wallowing in sorrow and anger by sleeping or not talking to anyone, I feel that it's important to refocus.
For example I asked myself these questions:
Why am I feeling this way?
My speculations:
1. I have worked very hard all week. Barely leaving my desk to eat, exercise, play with my dog, or do housework.
2. I am not entirely sure I trust the person I give my heart to.
3. I feel uncreative because I feel everyone is better than me.
4. My house is dirty and falling apart and people many think poorly of me for that.
Ok so there we have some things that may just be the reason. I know some of these things are just mere figments of my skewed imagination but for sake of fixing the problem, let's consider them. I believe that everyone has the power to change their way of thinking. They may not be able to change a situation but they can change the way they view it. So in order to "fix" this problem of needing a major attitude adjustment today, here is what I did.
1. I texted a friend and asked if we could get together later to get out of the house.
2. I talked to my roommate about how I felt and he related. (Visit the link for his humorous explanation.) http://hyperboleandahalf.blogspot.com/2010/05/sneaky-hate-spiral.html
3. I cleaned, cleaned, and cleaned some more.
To focus on #3 lets just say I went on a cleaning frenzy. Go ahead, splash grease all over the kitchen. Explode sauce all over the microwave. I'll just clean it up. Go ahead Jake (the dumbass cat), shit on the basement floor. I'll bleach the hell out of it. Oh look...another lightbulb burnt out! F you...I just bought replacements!
One of the wisest people in my life, the person I owe a lot of my major decisions in life to, just told me in a recent conversation that I need to get more angry and he needs to be more calm. We need to come to a medium ground on our moods and should both be somewhere in between zen and total fucking chaos. Given the state he was in when I spoke to him, I disagreed (though I didn't tell him that.) Why would I want to be more angry? Well I've come to the conclusion that he's right. Yet again. Anger drives us and forces us to get things done. It can stick with you and break you down if you let it or it can be just the kick in the ass you need to move forward with a vengeance.
Are you angry? Use it. Use it and do something good with it.
But hear me out. When I feel this way, which thankfully is not very often, I make a valiant attempt to try to understand where these feelings are coming from and to turn that negative energy into something productive and good. Instead of wallowing in sorrow and anger by sleeping or not talking to anyone, I feel that it's important to refocus.
For example I asked myself these questions:
Why am I feeling this way?
My speculations:
1. I have worked very hard all week. Barely leaving my desk to eat, exercise, play with my dog, or do housework.
2. I am not entirely sure I trust the person I give my heart to.
3. I feel uncreative because I feel everyone is better than me.
4. My house is dirty and falling apart and people many think poorly of me for that.
Ok so there we have some things that may just be the reason. I know some of these things are just mere figments of my skewed imagination but for sake of fixing the problem, let's consider them. I believe that everyone has the power to change their way of thinking. They may not be able to change a situation but they can change the way they view it. So in order to "fix" this problem of needing a major attitude adjustment today, here is what I did.
1. I texted a friend and asked if we could get together later to get out of the house.
2. I talked to my roommate about how I felt and he related. (Visit the link for his humorous explanation.) http://hyperboleandahalf.blogspot.com/2010/05/sneaky-hate-spiral.html
3. I cleaned, cleaned, and cleaned some more.
To focus on #3 lets just say I went on a cleaning frenzy. Go ahead, splash grease all over the kitchen. Explode sauce all over the microwave. I'll just clean it up. Go ahead Jake (the dumbass cat), shit on the basement floor. I'll bleach the hell out of it. Oh look...another lightbulb burnt out! F you...I just bought replacements!
One of the wisest people in my life, the person I owe a lot of my major decisions in life to, just told me in a recent conversation that I need to get more angry and he needs to be more calm. We need to come to a medium ground on our moods and should both be somewhere in between zen and total fucking chaos. Given the state he was in when I spoke to him, I disagreed (though I didn't tell him that.) Why would I want to be more angry? Well I've come to the conclusion that he's right. Yet again. Anger drives us and forces us to get things done. It can stick with you and break you down if you let it or it can be just the kick in the ass you need to move forward with a vengeance.
Are you angry? Use it. Use it and do something good with it.
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