I started teaching aerobics when I was 18. Which as you might guess, was in the not so distant past
Snort...fine you haters, stop rolling your eyes. It was awhile ago.
On with my story:
One day during class, a woman complained of all the jumping jacks and jump rope exercises. She asked if we could do less, or none at all.
Being a huge fan of jump rope and it's body toning benefits, I couldn't figure out why she didn't like the activity. Maybe she was just having a lazy day. I've had a few of those. I could sympathize.
I asked her if she was having a hard time breathing. She said breathing wasn't the problem. It was peeing.
"Peeing?" I asked, unsure if I heard her correctly.
She nodded and explained that since having her last baby, jumping made her feel as if she might pee her pants.
Not having kids of my own, I couldn't figure out why having a baby would make you feel like you might pee. I told her we were almost finished and it was probably just a sensation thing. She should try to continue with the class. No pain no gain, right?
Apparently I was wrong. A minute later she bolted from the room leaving a puddle in her wake.
I felt like the most awful teacher ever.
Flash forward a few years after I had three kids of my own.
After teaching a exceptionally challenging workout routine I decided to stop by the store on the way home. I pushed the cart up and down the aisles, as my toddler swung his legs, kicking me in the stomach.
"Henry," I stopped in my tracks beside the frozen foods. "Stop kicking me. It hurts Mommy."
He looked at my face, then at where he was kicking...then he looked a little lower. (Side Note: I sweat A LOT!)
"Momma!" He squealed. "You peed your pants. You peed, you peed, you peed. Georgie look, Momma peed."
I tried to shush him, but he wouldn't stop. That kid chose that exact moment to holler like he'd never hollered before. "Momma peed!" he yelled until every adult in a three aisle range was made aware of my body sweat issue.
I decided right then that it was karma because I made that poor lady jump till she peed. I guess in life sometimes things come back to bite you in the butt. That's all.
(Side note: Oh, and if you're thinking my sweatiness was more than sweat, I'll deny it till I die.)
Showing posts with label Just Talk. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Just Talk. Show all posts
agent stalking.
I go to a handful of conferences every year. Sometimes I get lucky (git yer mind outta the gutter)...I meant sometimes I'm lucky because I get to be the conference photographer. Which is a position that's not without perks. For example:
Perk #1 People hate me. When I turn my big lens on someone they look away or make a face. That makes me feel awesome. I love it when people avoid me at all costs. (Cue Nacho Libre voice) It is the best!
Perk #2 I flash people...and not just with my camera. My camera hangs from a fashionable neck strap that rubs across my side and front when I sling my camera around. It's a common everyday thing that I never think about much. That is, until last year at this conference. I brought a whole new approach to really understanding the genre. (The genre being romance. Think: heaving bosoms and bodice rippers. No, that's not exactly what I like to write...but maybe after what happened last year I should re-think it.) You can read about that here.
Perk #3 I stalk people. And when I say people, I really mean agents. The thing is, being the photographer is like having an all access pass. Kind of. Usually the conference board that I'm working for wants me to take lots of pics of the VIP guests, like agents and editors. In the event they are not offended by the camera or my style of flashing, I usually get to spend some time talking with them. And when I say talking, I really mean stalking.
Basically it's an ok gig all around.
In October I'm going to attend the Utah Romance Writers of America-Heart of the West Conference. Man, that's a mouth full. The conference is going to be awesome because some pretty amazing agents are coming. Agents that I'll be stalking with my big massive camera and heaving bosoms. Want to come too? If you do, go to this link. Mention that I sent you over and they may waive the late fee! And then if you go you can come and stalk and flash and be hated just like me.
Perk #1 People hate me. When I turn my big lens on someone they look away or make a face. That makes me feel awesome. I love it when people avoid me at all costs. (Cue Nacho Libre voice) It is the best!
Perk #2 I flash people...and not just with my camera. My camera hangs from a fashionable neck strap that rubs across my side and front when I sling my camera around. It's a common everyday thing that I never think about much. That is, until last year at this conference. I brought a whole new approach to really understanding the genre. (The genre being romance. Think: heaving bosoms and bodice rippers. No, that's not exactly what I like to write...but maybe after what happened last year I should re-think it.) You can read about that here.
Perk #3 I stalk people. And when I say people, I really mean agents. The thing is, being the photographer is like having an all access pass. Kind of. Usually the conference board that I'm working for wants me to take lots of pics of the VIP guests, like agents and editors. In the event they are not offended by the camera or my style of flashing, I usually get to spend some time talking with them. And when I say talking, I really mean stalking.
Basically it's an ok gig all around.
In October I'm going to attend the Utah Romance Writers of America-Heart of the West Conference. Man, that's a mouth full. The conference is going to be awesome because some pretty amazing agents are coming. Agents that I'll be stalking with my big massive camera and heaving bosoms. Want to come too? If you do, go to this link. Mention that I sent you over and they may waive the late fee! And then if you go you can come and stalk and flash and be hated just like me.
bread butt.
The other day while I was making the typical PB&J lunch for my two youngest kids, I found myself out of bread. Luckily I keep a back-up loaf in the freezer. I pulled it out and thawed the first four pieces. When I started spreading the PB on the butt of the loaf, Teddy said, "I don't want that piece."
That was new. Up until that very moment I thought Teddy loved the end piece. He didn't protest the day before, or the day before that.
"I thought you liked the butt piece," I said.
"Not anymore. I don't like the butt."
I sighed. This new opinion of his had recently outed tomatoes and cucumbers too. I worried for a brief moment that he might become as fickle an eater as one of my friend's kids that will only eat toast and salmon.
Ruby pulled herself up on the stool beside him and said very matter-of-factly, "I like butt."
And right then all my worries were washed away with laughter.
That was new. Up until that very moment I thought Teddy loved the end piece. He didn't protest the day before, or the day before that.
"I thought you liked the butt piece," I said.
"Not anymore. I don't like the butt."
I sighed. This new opinion of his had recently outed tomatoes and cucumbers too. I worried for a brief moment that he might become as fickle an eater as one of my friend's kids that will only eat toast and salmon.
Ruby pulled herself up on the stool beside him and said very matter-of-factly, "I like butt."
And right then all my worries were washed away with laughter.
procrastination.
I am guilty of procrastinating. Everything. Basically if I have something to do I'll wait until the very last minute to do it. Having said that, you'd think I didn't ever get anything done. Right?
Not so. See I have a theory. It is the theory of over-procrastination equals mass-production.
When I have a lot to do and I'm down to the last minute, I usually work faster and more efficiently. I get a lot more done. For example, when I have seven shoots to edit in less than a week, a chapter to write for my writing group, kids' appointments to attend, and a filthy house to clean; I actually end the week with a five of the seven shoots completed, a half-chapter written, an extra book read (because I cracked under the pressure and I de-stress by reading), only one appointment forgotten for the kids, and a semi-clean house.
If I compare that to any other normal non-stress week, I'd say my completed total isn't too shabby. I may have not finished everything I needed, but at least I did more than I usually would.
And so what I'm saying is procrastination creates an environment where you can be more productive than if you were sitting at home doing nothing. Therefore, I deem this the week of procrastinating!
Go Forth and Procrastinate.
...um, am I way off base here, or do you procrastinate too?
Not so. See I have a theory. It is the theory of over-procrastination equals mass-production.
When I have a lot to do and I'm down to the last minute, I usually work faster and more efficiently. I get a lot more done. For example, when I have seven shoots to edit in less than a week, a chapter to write for my writing group, kids' appointments to attend, and a filthy house to clean; I actually end the week with a five of the seven shoots completed, a half-chapter written, an extra book read (because I cracked under the pressure and I de-stress by reading), only one appointment forgotten for the kids, and a semi-clean house.
If I compare that to any other normal non-stress week, I'd say my completed total isn't too shabby. I may have not finished everything I needed, but at least I did more than I usually would.
And so what I'm saying is procrastination creates an environment where you can be more productive than if you were sitting at home doing nothing. Therefore, I deem this the week of procrastinating!
Go Forth and Procrastinate.
...um, am I way off base here, or do you procrastinate too?
egg-actly what i'm talking about.
Did you know that regular store eggs come out brown and are bleached white?
I'm ashamed to admit my ignorance, but I didn't know that until Doug, my step-father-in-law-once-removed, handed me a dozen eggs from his chickens (that live in his back yard) and told me just that. He said, "Did you know they bleach store bought eggs white?" I said, "Really? That's weird. Why don't they just keep them brown."
"I dunno," he said. "Probably because people like the look of it."
Well, I thought about that. Not for too long or anything. It's not like I'm sitting around pondering the color of the almighty egg for days on end. It just struck me as odd. Why can't brown eggs stay brown? I can't say I ever gave it much thought...here I go with the thinking about it all again...and what I came to think about it is this:
I think brown eggs look mighty fine and real purty. Maybe if we all though that then we'd have speckly brown eggs instead of bleached white eggs. There. I done said it. I like brown better than white. Call me an egg-cist.
I'm ashamed to admit my ignorance, but I didn't know that until Doug, my step-father-in-law-once-removed, handed me a dozen eggs from his chickens (that live in his back yard) and told me just that. He said, "Did you know they bleach store bought eggs white?" I said, "Really? That's weird. Why don't they just keep them brown."
"I dunno," he said. "Probably because people like the look of it."
Well, I thought about that. Not for too long or anything. It's not like I'm sitting around pondering the color of the almighty egg for days on end. It just struck me as odd. Why can't brown eggs stay brown? I can't say I ever gave it much thought...here I go with the thinking about it all again...and what I came to think about it is this:
I think brown eggs look mighty fine and real purty. Maybe if we all though that then we'd have speckly brown eggs instead of bleached white eggs. There. I done said it. I like brown better than white. Call me an egg-cist.
Holla' ya'll for the brown egg.
Now don't them eggs look nice?
wishin' and hopin'.
Sure, it would be great if the world was at peace and people gave hugs instead of slugs. But why not throw a little self-love in my wishing too? One day I wish that a literary agent will find my manuscript in his/her email inbox, and after reading through the entire novel in one sitting (because it's so uber-amazing the agent wouldn't be able to rip his eyes away) the agent will then call me on the phone and
And yes, I would like the agent to actually use that term.
Is that so much to wish for?
I don't think so...but I hope the second half of my wish comes sooner than the first half.
huntress.
Once I dated a guy who was a hunter. He sent me a picture of himself sitting on top a deer or a buck (I have no clue about these things really) and the poor deer-buck was dead. Blood and guts and all were exposed. Gag, right? That poor deer-buck animal was a goner. It's wee little offspring were left to wander through the woods alone.
Now that many moons have passed since I dated hunter-boy, I too have gone the way of the huntress.
Well, kind of.
I recently shot an animal. And I have the picture to prove it. No, it's no deer-buck animal. But a Moose!
Now that many moons have passed since I dated hunter-boy, I too have gone the way of the huntress.
Well, kind of.
I recently shot an animal. And I have the picture to prove it. No, it's no deer-buck animal. But a Moose!
Yes, ya'll. I done gone and shot me a Moose.
Now who's the huntress?
Boo-yah. Ya'll come back y'here.
(Something about shooting wildlife has inspired the hick-lovin', animal-huntin' side of me.)
this is me for real.
I posted this earlier on Facebook, but it makes me laugh so hard I thought I would share it here. My friend Finny caught this true life shot of me at a recent wedding. I'm not sure whether I should be appalled that I'm looking so freakishly blissful, or that some young boy appears to be checking me out. Either way, all I can say is: That's right boys, I still got it.
truth...or something like it
Some days that's truer than others. Of course, I'm still cutting back on my DC habit.
so very cheesy.
I love to take wedding photos...and I love all my cute couples...and I think all their pictures are to die for. Gush, gush, gush. Yeah, I get that I sound like a total sap. Cheesiness to the max. But it's the truth. Well, most of the time. I'll not be speaking of any bride-zillas here so you can go elsewhere if you think this post has anything to do with the bride I encountered last week that nearly ripped my head off because I merely mentioned she might have to wait one minute longer to take a certain picture. Please, like I'm working on her time schedule. When will these brides learn that their wedding day is MY day? Mine, mine, mine. Where I'm the photog rockstar and they're just a momentary blip in my shot.
Uh, did I just say all thought in out-loud cyber space?
Pardon the serious tangent. The truth of the post is this, sometimes I really do love my brides and grooms to death. And sometimes I shed a tear. Like when I snapped this shot:
Sometimes I cry. (Note: should you mention this fact to anyone I'll deny it. I'm no sissy photog.)
So when my close friend's little sister gets married to an awesome guy, and then she shares a tear-jerking dance with her father...sometimes I get a little misty-eyed. Or a lot.
And it's those times I realize that I love photography even if sometimes I get stressed; sometimes I feel as if I don't have time to pee; sometimes I wish I was writing instead of shooting; sometimes I want to just turn my ringer off and spend two hours taking a hot bath.
Sometimes it's so worth it to be a photographer. And one of those times would be when the awesome father of the bride (pictured above) includes a little bonus on top of my wedding fee. A bonus that's not at all too cheesy for me and my queen of cheese.
When the bonus is a can of COUGAR GOLD, then I say it's pretty darn great being a wedding photographer!
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