Get started on keeping your part of the bargain

I can't get back to sleep. I woke up with this oddly intense thirst that I just couldn't slake. It was more irritating than desperate, honestly. So I've made myself a cup of coffee and gotten involved with writing some of my paper, Facebook, and listening to music. Coffee, by the way, is not good as a source of hydration. You'd think, being a diuretic, that would be completely obvious. And to be fair, it is. I just thought I'd...you know...share that.

Speaking of sharing, I'm going to share some things. Because to me, they're absolutely fun and ridiculous and embarrassing, and what else is this blog for?

Photography. But that's not the point right now.

Allen and I have been furiously cleaning out the townhouse, and today is the last day we have to get everything out. Having pneumonia really set me back, and we'd be done by now (I say "we". I have done about 95% of the amazing work in that townhouse, and while that is terribly aggravating, at least I know what a god job is being done) if I hadn't been cut off from cleaning for two weeks. This is all garnish.

I've been finding photographs. Old ones. And they make me laugh. I wanted to share a few more of them, but it looks like I only took pictures of two thus far. Ready? Fuck yeah, you are! BEcause you're a champion. Of the past.

Would you kindly take a look at those sweet, sweet mother fuckers circa 1985. Possibly '87. So, from the left, we have my Uncle Doug, my Aunt Carol, my cousin Chris is on her lap, looking sardonic and slightly aggravated (even though that paper airplane is gigantic and incredible. Look at those holed and perforated edges!), my grandpa George is the affable looking gentleman holding what can only be described as an incredibly large cap, my mommy with some adorable little tubster on her lap (I was on my own safari, it looks like. Binoculars all about the thing, and who knows what I was looking at. The shirt, though, indicates something potentially nautical. Nautical in 1931. Forget the safari, I suppose), and then there's my daddy, rocking the Borat look about three decades ahead of time, which is an admittedly bold fashion move. My cousin Chris and I have been picking out our favorite things about this photo. So far, mine has been the fact that it looks like my daddy isn't wearing pants. Which is foreshadowing, really, as pants really aren't a favorite of his at all. Ever. Chris's favorite is his dad's hair, which admittedly is god damn glorious.

Honestly, my favorite thing about this picture is the part of just me, my mommy, and my daddy. My mommy and daddy look so happy. My dad, however, bushy, looks handsome (look at that winning smile!), my mom looks relaxed and pretty (again, look at her smile!), and I look fun and adorable, because I am. I always have been, and I STILL am. Sometimes, I even carry binoculars. In my panties. I just like reliving the past, I guess.

But wait, there's more!

Unfortunately, this picture is going to unravel everything I just said about me always looking fun and adorable. I did go through a phase (can I reasonably call a period of about a decade a phase? I will, anyway, because fuck you, convention, that's why) where I looked like a fucking nerd. A HUGE one. I call this The Blue Period (well, right now. I've never really called it anything, but if it's good enough for Picasso, it's good enough for me!). Ready? Ugh. Ok.

HOLY SHIT I AM A GODDESS IN CRUSHED VELVET AND AN EMPIRE WAISTLINE. Sears had no idea such a gorgeous, delicious little dish was going to walk into their studio and just fucking crush the ever living hell out of that balloon backdrop.

You were a deeply cruel mistress, nineties.

So, what have we got going on here, hm? Let's dissect this mess.

I was a horribly skinny girl. And also very, very tall for my age. With horse teeth. I don't think I'm older than 11 in this picture, making this around the '94, 95 era. POSSIBLY '93, but I don't think I was any younger than nine. My mom picked out this outfit for me, which really isn't indicative of my memory of the day, rather a way to express that my mother dressed me (VERY unfortunately) until I was about thirteen. I have never forgiven her for this, and I suspect my forgiveness isn't coming any time soon. That heinous ring I'm wearing was my dad's. He lived out of state, and he gave it to me as sort of a parting keepsake. His company would have been better, but I digress. The cross came from my Aunt Jill, and really, I wore it because I liked jewelry but didn't own anything that wasn't my dad's, or made out of plastic.

That. Hair.

I had, at one time, long, beautiful ringlets. They cascaded all the way down my back like something long, beautiful, and cascading. A waterfall of hair. I believe I mentioned in a long ago post that both of my parents were compelled to brush my hair, because I don't know why. My mom wouldn't allow me to NOT have it brushed, and you just don't fucking brush curly hair. You brush it once, right after you wash it, and then you leave it alone. If my parents knew this, I'd be shocked. My mom believed my reluctance to brush my hair was proof that I couldn't take care of it, so she hacked it all off. This picture was about a year or two after it had all been taken away from me. I can tell, because it's longer than it was when she first cut it. And that is not an exaggeration. So, here, we have me sans long hair, with short, BRUSHED curls. Half up half down, for added ugliness. Moving on to my sallow skin!

I actually DO remember this day, oddly enough. I had gotten into a HUGE fight with my mom and my step-dad right before this was taken, and I had been crying. A lot. I don't remember the nature of the argument, just that it was emotional. You can tell. My eyes are puffy and red, and that smile is fake as fuck. However, that could be due to the size of the chompers at the front of my mouth and not wanting to show them to everyone in the world, because they're huge.

I don't understand the backdrop. Or the size of my eyebrows. I feel like nobody was fooled, and it was patently obvious that I was not in the middle of some hugely amazing balloon party. I wanted a simple grey backdrop. My mom wanted something snazzy (this is the lady that would single-handedly orchestrate my glamour shots five to seven years later, and the resulting photos would be equally as unfortunate. Possibly more so, because Glamour Shots).  Since she was footing the bill, she won.

Allen and I have been chuckling over all of the photos I've been finding of myself when I was much, much younger. I would love to share the other ones, and I'm sure I will. At a later date.

I'm depressed that spring break is over and I got nothing accomplished aside from getting better. I've actually been writing my paper this morning as I write this, and Stevie is coming over tomorrow to have a long overdue study day with me. She has an exam on Thursday, and I have a metric fuckton of things that are due. I also have to write out the contract for the wedding I'm shooting in May. Busy, busy, busy. On top of those things, I have to reorganize my house. I haven't been able to do much here because I've been at the apartment for the last few days, scrambling to get everything out. Five years is a lot of shit to move and erase.

The last two days, and my love of Combos

I've been abstaining from carbs and sugars for months now. Despite all of the hiking, I was really good during the trip. The second to last day, I hiked three miles (of pretty strenuous trails), and I fucking DEMOLISHED a bleu cheese bacon burger with chimichurri fries from a brew pub local to Zion Canyon. Three miles may not sound like a lot, but these trails weren't smooth, they were essentially deep leg lunges up and down. It felt brilliant, but I was famished when I was done. I may have also eaten a small bag of Pizza Combos in the car. I didn't have to, but they're crunchy, and I like the taste.

Zion was amazing. My dad said we should do the Emerald Pools hike, but warned me that because I was sick, I should probably just take the shuttle around and do the smallest, smoothest hikes.

He's not the boss of the world.

This is at the end of the Emerald Pool loop we took (Kayenta Trail, to Upper Pool loop, to middle pool loop, to the lower pools, and back to the shuttle). I tried for ages to get this picture correct. The framing, the shadows, but I couldn't get it. This was the best I could muster.

This is at the middle pool. It's so snide of me, but there was a couple taking photos of the exact same spot, but they were using the built-in flash of their Nikons. Nikons that were arguably bigger than their superficial skill allowed. I'm a shit for chuckling at that, as I was that person a few years ago. I can only imagine the awful glare off of that pool, and the hideous, washed out quality of the background. I'm obviously not as good as I'd like to be, but I'm certainly not using my flash. I'm metering and adjusting accordingly. Which is hard. I still don't have it even close to down. But I digress. The point is, I'm an asshole.

This is the other side of the canyon at the end of the trail. I can't even imagine how cold that dude in the river is. I can't say I blame him, however. I was hot and sweaty, and I had the exact same inclination. Just not the follow through.

We saw this little dude sunning himself in the fading glow of the afternoon on the walk back to Jasper. I didn't really see any wildlife, aside from the exceptionally large crows, so his presence on the rock made me happy. What made me even happier was how many people got out of their cars and pulled out their cameras when they saw Derek and I hunched over the sidewalk, HUGE lenses in tow. What are they taking pictures of?? Oh, a lizard? Fuck that. And then they'd put their cameras away, get back in their cars, and drive off. Joke's on them, this lizard is fantastic.

I take at least one picture like this every time I go on a photography adventure. I don't always post them, because I can't always get the look and feel I want. This time, I did. This was leaving Zion. I was so sad to go, but I was exhausted and I didn't have any energy to even think about doing any of the other trails. Not even the easy ones.

Initially, we had decided to swallow the last day in Bryce Canyon and head to Glenwood to get back in touch with civilization (not that nature isn't great, and to clarify, if Bryce Canyon had had even ONE full service gas station that didn't belong to Best Western, I could have stayed FOREVER, going out and taking pictures of everything I saw that delighted and amazed me) and maybe go back up to Crystal or Hanging Lakes. But I was so fucking blasted that driving five hours was the third least appealing option in the world to me, and I went back to the hotel, went for a quick swim, had three very substantial drinks, and crashed the fuck out.

I had planned on taking one more crack at sunrise photos. I threw my phone when the alarm went off and went back to sleep. I told you, my temper tantrums are legendarily ugly. Instead, we woke up at 8, packed up, had breakfast, and made the long journey back home, with plenty of photography stops along the way.

These are almost in order, but not really. When we got to Arches National Park for the last time, a storm wasn't even threatening to roll in. So, these were the last three photos I took in the park before we left. Where I also told off some silly bitch and her equally silly husband in front of their children.

Woman: HEY! You're off the trail.
Me: (I turned around, but then kept taking pictures)
Woman: YOU'RE. OFF. THE. TRAIL.
Me: Ok, great, thanks.
Woman: Don't be like that woman, kids. Don't just think you own everything, don't be like her. She's a terrible person.

And that's where I felt slighted. You don't know me, you ridiculous cunt. Don't use me as some example to your ugly kids. And I may be a terrible person, but walking into nature is hardly indicative of why I'm such a shit. In fact, this activity was one of the more wholesome of my life.

Me: HEY! Hey. Who told you it was ok to be so fucking passive aggressive?
Husband: What did you just say in front of my kids?
Me: Yeah. This is an extremely cool story, but really, I have to go. Have a very nice day.

And then I turned around and kept taking pictures. Was I off of the trail? Yes. Yes I was. Not that this is any excuse, but I was literally less than a foot away from the road, still on the very same sand the trail was made of, and I hadn't crossed a single sign telling me I couldn't be where I was.

The storm had more than rolled in at this point, and I think this is actually the very last picture I took in Arches National Park. I am simply wild about the colors.

I couldn't get the interesting shapes and textures and contrasts present here the first time we came through, but I think the darkness of the clouds really helps. To share a fun fact, I had laid down in the dirt for this picture, and when I came up, I had at least a pound of sand in my pants, shirt, and bra. I  have no fucking idea how that happened. I wasn't rolling around or anything like that. But I guess these things just happen.

Obviously, this is the same scenery, just from a different angle. I'm not sure which one I like more. So I'm putting them both up here.

This is how it looked when we first showed up. Clear blue sky, gorgeous. This is maybe an hour before the pictures up there were taken.

I have no idea where in Utah we were when we stopped to take these pictures, and I don't remember what made us stop. I think it was actually the canyon view, of which I couldn't get a good picture, but this one I like. Particularly because of that sun. Holy fuck. I promise promise promise I didn't add anything or fuck with anything in post to get it to look like that. This is the picture as I took it. 

This rock was on the other side of the picture above it. It looked like this wonderful locomotive made of one solid rock, and I loved it. I loved it all.

We listened to Serial on the way home. I loved it. I loved it so much. I was immediately sucked in and enthralled. I just finished it an hour ago, actually. Focusing on that podcast really helped me not hyperventilate myself to death during the snowstorm we hit in Vail that made seeing the roads next to impossible.

I'd be lying if I said I were thoroughly satisfied with the amount of pictures I took versus the amount of pictures I was happy with. I'm not. However, I WILL say that the quality has stepped up tenfold. I'm actually really looking forward to the wedding I'm shooting in two months. I feel...I feel confident about it. There are a bunch of pictures I didn't post on here, and with good reason. They're not for anybody else.

I'm exhausted. It's way past my bedtime. Frubs is up next to me, at his desk, writing. Allen is downstairs with a girl (she seems nice, and he seems to like her quite a bit. So much so that I will actually refrain from gossiping about it. For now, at any rate), and he's going to suffer for it tomorrow when it's time to wake up in four hours to go to work, but this is what people do in the initial courtship stages, and thinking about it makes me happy for him. My house is fairly quiet, aside from me listening to Ben Howard, and I'm pleased. I'm ready to go to bed.

How not to behave at sunrise: a sonnet

Derek and I had been taking turns driving from Colorado to Utah for fifteen hours on Friday. We made several stops along the way, but still, it was a long, LONG drive. No need to remind anybody that I was still ill.

Derek had the brilliant idea that we should wake up at 5:30 to take sunrise pictures in Bryce Canyon, because he hates me, that's why. But I did it, even though I cried when he woke me up. It was fucking freezing, I didn't want to set up, I wanted to sleep. But we got to Sunrise Point (because we're obvious, and so is Bryce Canyon), set our gear up, and started snapping away. Everybody else, including Derek, was focusing on the immediate horizon. I was focused on...a tree. Because I'm predictable.

I got to cold and had to go back to the car before the light got REALLY good, and I was sitting in the car, watching the golden sunlight break through the trees and muttering angrily at myself for being such a god damn weenie. Frubs got the good light, though. I got the meh light. But, I was to sick and tired to wake up any of the other mornings that we set our alarms for more sunrise pictures, so I hope that photo makes up for it.

It doesn't.

GUESS WHAT? There are more trees.

This is somewhere in and about Bryce Canyon. Pretty much all of the next ones are in and about Bryce Canyon.

You know...maybe I should just visit a forest next time.

Uh...somewhere in Bryce?

The man earns his photos. No wonder he's so fucking good.

I hate this photo, if I'm being honest. I truly dislike it. But apparently, this is THE spot in Bryce Canyon. I don't understand why. It's not all that cool.

The drive back to the hotel goes through Red Canyon, which is also gorgeous, but not as congested with tourists. So we stopped there, because oddly enough, I grew tired of Bryce Canyon incredibly quickly.

We found this wash area, and I ran all the way down to find things to snap away at. IT was ever so lovely, with the fading daylight. Not quite at golden hour, but close enough to still be pretty. And obnoxious, with the shadows and the odd flatness.

It's part of a tree. The obsession still stands!!!

Red Canyon was stunning. I fucking loved it.

We ended the day at Sunset Point (I can't make this shit up. I've tried), and I spent FOREVER trying to get this one shot. I got it well enough for my tastes.

After this, it was dinner with the racketeers, then swimming, then blissful, blissful sleep.

Stay tuned for our next episode, Zion and the wonders of a bleu cheese burger in Springdale.

Racketeering: It's not just for the mob!

Ok, so. There was this really awesome abandoned motel in Sego that Frubs was fairly positive used to be a meth den. I suppose I can see that...the kitchen was torn apart, but the additions were highly suspicious. Also, there were bizarre white hand prints all about the thing:

MYSTERY PLACE!!! Very mysterious. 

Those hand prints were EVERYWHERE, except for one room. This room, with the two chairs I fell in love with (someone had to):

Sit in us! We don't have chlamydia!

They were dirty and broken, but an absolutely fabulous chartreuse color, and it's hard not to love something that's retro and unwanted. Or at least, it's hard for me. 

The outside of the motel was run-down and bolted shut, thankfully it all connected to the one room that I broke the door into (I apparently give zero fucks about property damage?). But every door was a different color. 

Blue Seven! Like Bingo, but haunted. 

It smelled absolutely putrid in there, and I half expected one of us to find one or several dead things. Probably people. We didn't. I actually got a bit wigged out and didn't want to explore any more of the hotel. 

From there, it was straight to Bryce. 

Except not. 

I didn't realize Moab was on the way (ish) to Bryce Canyon, so I demanded a stop in Moab to stretch my legs and take some pictures. Holy. Fucking. SHIT. 

This was the first vantage point in Arches National Park, and the sky goes on forever. I sat here for at least twenty minutes, ignoring all of the voices around me, and listening to everything else. It was magical. I know I use that word a lot as a descriptor, but it's always, always accurate. 

Here's Frubs, doing what we do best:

There was a staircase down into the canyon, and the trail looked pretty long. Under ordinary circumstances, I would have been all the fuck about it. However, the combination of feeling ill and knowing we had five more hours on the road sort of hampered that desire, so I just took a picture instead.

If I'm being honest, I cannot remember the names of the places we stopped while we were at Arches National Park. They completely escape me. However, they were all absolutely beautiful.

Just Utah being Utah. You know, sans Mormonism. Overtly, anyway. 

I'm so glad I bought wide lenses. But it didn't even matter. This space is so expansive and wonderful that I missed something incredible no matter where I stood, what I did, or how wide open I shot. 

And none of these pictures are even good. Everything is lost in translation, and my pictures don't even matter. Which is upsetting, but fucking amazing at the same time. 

One of the last pit stops we made (at which I threw the most amazing temper-tantrum, and consequently broke my sunglasses in the process) had the most amazing tree. And I do love trees. 

Looking out over everything, not giving a single fuck. It was an immediate favorite. Thanks, Utah!

A few hours later, we reached Bryce Canyon. And let me fucking tell you something about Bryce Canyon: If you're thinking of going there without bringing every single things you own, DON'T. 

There is nothing out there. not for miles. Everything that IS out there is owned by Best Western, and it's all middling quality at best. The alcohol is extremely expensive, and you can only buy for three hours. There's a general store (owned by Ruby's, owned by Best Western) that sells normal things...sort of...for at least 65% mark up, which isn't an exaggeration. We did the math. There are three restaurants. Two of which are closed for winter, so really, there's one restaurant. And it's awful. Awful and expensive. And since it's the only game in town, the wait is hideously long. And they don't take reservations. So if you're not camping, with your own food, you have no choice but to either buy overpriced lunchables at the general store, or wait two hours for a shit buffet that starving people would rather die than eat at. They've set themselves up a fairly cushy little racket there. 

Our room was nice, though. Clean, quiet, right at the end. 

The one thing I didn't enjoy, and here is the only place I'll really vent about this, because I've gotten so used to it from the other side out here that it doesn't even register anymore:

There was an entire hotel full of Koreans staying with us. I honestly think we...well, I...was the only white person there that wasn't staff. Here, Derek and I get a lot of disapproving looks from older white couples. A lot. We both notice it. Noticed it. We ignore it completely now. Because really, a white woman with a Korean man isn't all that odd a thing, particularly in a town with such a strong military presence. 

Bryce was nowhere NEAR as tolerant as the racist fucks here at home, and we got it tenfold from the Korean tourists. Points, stares, gossip. I didn't understand it, but I suppose it doesn't matter. It was worst when we would go to the pool at night to start unwinding from whatever busy day we had, and it wasn't as bad with the men as it was with the women. I'm not generally one to assume people are talking about me, but Derek and i are positive all of the idle gossip and the pointing and the disapproving looks? They were for us. It made me sad and uncomfortable. 

Next entry: Bryce Canyon, Sunrise, and a hideous lack of hiking boots. 

My summer in Utah: The Movie, Part one, The Novelization

So, I didn't let having pneumonia hold me back from my trip. But my trip also didn't slow down in intensity just because I had pneumonia.

I couldn't sleep the hours before we left, so I didn't. Which meant I had been awake for almost 24 hours by the time we left. And I was MISERABLE. I'm not a pretty sight to behold when I'm incredibly ill either way, but this was especially bad, since I couldn't be in my own bed, resting. I won't talk about all of the unpleasantness surrounding being beaten up by pneumonia. It's really of no consequence. I shouldn't have gone on the trip, but I'd been planning it for so long, and so hard, that I wasn't going to let a silly thing like fluid in my lungs stop me from enjoying the four day with Frubs. And I really did enjoy it.

Since I had been sleeping in the car on the first leg of the adventure, Frubs hadn't gotten any gas like I advised him, and when we finally found a gas station, we had less than ten miles left in the tank. A yelled about this. A lot. I'm not proud of this, but it's something that happened. I am quite keen on throwing temper tantrums when I'm ill, in between bouts of crying, whining, and sleeping. It's what I do. It's also wildly unattractive, but fuck it all if Derek doesn't take it in stride.

I will interject here and say this: I've been questioning the validity of marrying Derek. I thought maybe I was doing it just because I want to get married. Not in some desperate attempt to fill some antiquated ideal of what my life as a woman should be like, but because I DO want to get married, and Derek is as close to perfect as I've seen. I thought maybe, despite all of this, I was settling. I wasn't happy with that, and I thought maybe I should call everything off. I wrestled with this for awhile. I am 100% I'm not settling, and I've made the right decision. Derek is amazing, we have fun together, he makes me laugh, he's kind to me, he's patient with me, and he values me. The value and adoration is overt. It's not weird, or hidden, and privatized so only we see it. He openly loves me, and it's not a secret that's been killing me for the duration of our time together. It's brilliant, and while we joke about our impending divorce (our current timeline is five years, and we're thinking of having a divorce pool at the guest table for the wedding. Everybody kicks in five bucks and throws a date on the board. If we make it past the date, we keep the money. If someone else picks the date we divorce, they...well, they probably don't get the money, but maybe they will. Tongue in cheek. My mom thinks it's gross), I think the years before it will be mostly rich and lively and fantastic. I'm looking forward to them.

Anyway, the trip.

Day one: Cisco, Sego, Ute Country, and the Definitive Perks of Not Being Shot

I had found two abandoned towns that I wanted to stop in on the way to Bryce: Cisco, Utah and Sego, Utah. We stopped in Cisco first, and it didn't really yield much. There WAS a very tiny post office with a creaky door, and when you peeked inside, big, black, bold letters are the first thing to meet your gaze, and they say: It's a nightmare after midnight.

                                                   Somehow, I don't disbelieve that claim.

                                        This Abandoned Post Office, brought to you by PEPSI!
                                              The soft drink of crushed dreams and fuck you.

When I told Allen about it, he said it made him want to write. I told him it brought up the exact same reaction in me. At first, I thought maybe I had hallucinated it in a fever dream, but I pointed it out to Frubs. It was very real. To add on to the creeps factor, there were all of these symbols in every building around the town. A sort of cartoonish looking devil head (I think Frubs got a picture of it...I didn't take one, I know that for sure), with a cross on either side. One cross was right-side up, the other was upside down. I get that things like this are incredibly common in amateur graffiti...I mean, fuck, I see it all the time at Graffiti Falls...but there was something about it here that was unsettling. I'm not trying to make a bigger deal out of it than it deserves, I'm just noting it. It was about 7 in the morning, and an incredibly interesting start to the day. It also seemed like everything in Cisco was miniature sized. Most of the dilapidated shacks that used to be homes had private property signs all over them, and for us, it depends on how we feel that day regarding whether or not we pay attention. We paid attention. But, there was one property that didn't care about trespassers, so we obliged and trespassed all about the thing. I have to stress again that everything in this used-to-be-a town seemed so oddly small. I didn't take any pictures for scale, though I should have. But the entryways were small, the appliances were small, the distance from the floor to the ceilings? Small. Perhaps the nightmare after midnight is a full-on riot of midget ghosts. Or a host of murdered contractors killed by an angry mob of townspeople because they fucked up the execution of the town's design.

I'm sure this gives little to no indication of how very tiny it actually is, but in case it does, EVERY BUILDING IS LIKE THIS. Just...small. We didn't understand it. Everything in there was also extremely old, so aside from the weirdos that come here after midnight to experience real hell, and then puffy-paint their bizarro devil heads (because it wasn't spray paint, it really was puffy craft paint all over the place. Crafters...with an EDGE! On more than just their ribboning sheers. They've got a dark side...made of felt. BLACK felt), this place hadn't really been lived in since...the 70s? Perhaps the 80s? It'd been a long time.

"What are you doing, honey?" "Oh, nothing, just taking a soak in the tub while I listen to The BeeGees on the record player, whilst slow-roasting a ham. The usual."

The tiny oven, typewriter, bathtub, and television were all in this room, and maybe these help you process just how bizarrely tiny everything is. But in the corner, there was a book! It was old, and yellow, and slightly crunchy, but I didn't even attempt to smell it, because it would have been pee. I know it would have been pee.

                                                      The Cask of Amont-pee-llado

I did love the kitschy little oven, though. I don't know why.

                                                                         Sylvia!!!

Odly...though, pneumonia considering, not so odd...I didn't feel very inspired to take pictures in Cisco. I was pretty half-hearted about the whole debacle. I just wanted to lie down. Frubs did busy himself with taking pictures of Jasper (Did I mention that's what I named my car? I did. It's Jasper. He's handsome, and we love each other), and I sort of sat down in the grass and moaned to nobody in particular, which did me little to no good, but seemed like a good idea at the time.

We got back in the car and headed to Sego. We drove through a little town, and I commented on how run down it looked (I am not entirely quick on the uptake when I'm delirious with fever and lung liquid), and how I hoped Sego looked as cool (just to insert a spoiler: that WAS Sego. I told Derek to keep driving, because I'm a moron, but a very persuasive...read: bossy...moron). We come to a mountain road, and we keep driving, driving, driving, until we see a sign that says, "You are not entering Ute Territory. Any trespassers beyond the fence will be shot on sight. Do not trespass." You make a very convincing argument, sign. So we didn't trespass. We kept to the portion of the road we were allowed to be on, and I kept babbling about Sego being close, it had to be close (yeah, it was. It was ten minutes in the other direction), and then we hit an actual gated fence that further demonstrated not to cross the fucking line, you god damn pale faces, you do not belong and we will shoot you where you stand, because you've earned it, that's why.

BUT.

It said something about looking at the petroglyphs from the designated pathways.

...Petroglyphs?

Fuck yeah, petroglyphs! We had, by my bossy, sickly demands, wound up at an absolutely amazing historic site that practically nobody knows about, covered in Ute, Fremont, and Anasazi pictoglpyhs and petroglyphs. From several different discovery eras (1883, 1908, and 1972). And it was just breath taking. To be surrounded by something so...I don't even have the word for it. Here are some links if you want to read up on them, but really, you should go see them yourselves. They're wonderful.

If you're playing Visit America, The Home Game, here are my incredibly paltry pictures of them:

Take the information with a grain...or a shaker full...of salt, and try not to buy into the extra-terrestrial hype. The pictures just happen to be really in focus and true to color.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Thompson_Springs,_Utah (not really a wealth of information, but could be fun for a Wikipedia black hole excursion!)

http://www.ancient-origins.net/ancient-places-americas/haunting-rock-art-sego-canyon-extra-terrestrials-or-spiritual-visions-001584

On the way back to the interstate to get back to Bryce (I figured Sego was behind the fence on Ute territory, and I wasn't about to fuck with that), Frubs figures out that Sego was the place we drove through. So we tooled about for a couple of hours in abandoned homes, an abandoned motel, a cemetery, and generally just walking the streets remarking on the odd quiet of the school, the still in the air, and the eerie feeling that always settles into an abandoned town the way a deep cold permeates your bones.

The chairs are from the inside of the window building. I've started to make taking a window picture mandatory every time we visit a new abandoned place we've discovered. They can say so much, not to get all queer with it. But with this one, you can see the horrid exterior of the outer house, with the peeling paint and the warped glass, and in the window's reflection, you can see another abandoned, unloved home with a dead tree right across the street. Kind of poetic, in a weird, weird way. But maybe that's why I love it so much. It's all so bizarre.

Coming up next in part two:

Racketeering and You: A beginner's guide!

For now, I have to go to bed. I am thoroughly exhausted, and I have missed my critters so. Please understand I'd like to talk about my trip in-depth, and we're only at about 1pm on the first day. These posts are going to be fairly long. Save yourselves...I'm a rambler.

Anybody who gets struck by lightning twice has to have a perspective on hope

It's 1:30, and I can't sleep.

It's raining outside, and I'm drinking a glass of wine while I write this.

I'm not sure what to say, really.

Tomorrow is going to be a busy day. I have to insure Jasper (that's what I named my car, for those of you playing the home game), go to the DMV, go to work, do some more work at the old place, come home, pack the car, and then do homework. Then wake up at 3 to leave for Moab, Bryce, and Zion. I found a few abandoned towns on the way to Moab and Bryce, and I am so fucking excited to peek around them.

I want to walk in the rain. Maybe I will. I won't be sleeping either way.

Come to me, just in a dream...come on and rescue me

I have pneumonia.

Kinda wish I were dead.

I won't let this kill the Bryce Canyon trip.

How long can we go 'til we're nothing but a pile of bones?

I finally have a new camera.

I got another wedding contract, and it pushed me over the edge. I also bought a new lens, and I'll be buying a second new lens in the next few days, after I kick the fuck out of this flu that is currently beating me down. This is my second day home from work. I got sent home yesterday, and today, I was told not to come in. I have a fever, my voice is almost gone, and my chest feels like a steel-lined safe. Plus, I look awesome. In a big hoodie, sweat pants, and unshowered. Fuck yeah, boys! Bring it.

I need to kick this by next weekend. Frubs has a four day, so we're planning on taking a small trip. If all goes well, I'll have a bunch of amazing pictures to post in a week and a half. Plus, we'll be taking my new car, which should be getting here on Wednesday. Yay! All good things, I just have to wait for them. I hate waiting.

I played around with my camera the other day, the day that I got it. The ISO capabilities on this thing are fucking amazing:

Here's Frubs, with our ridiculous dog. It looks well lit, but really, it was dark. That photo was taken at ISO 10000. And it's insanely clear and perfect. I mean, details-wise. The picture itself is blurry, because I was so excited to be playing around with my camera. I'm actually fairly partial to the picture, if I'm being honest, despite the lack of focus.

This one was taken at 12000. Selective focusing, this time on purpose. Silly doglet sleeping on my bird pillow like a common lazy. But it looks so bright, even though the room is actually quite dark.

My beautiful orchids. This time, I made sure to focus on them, so I could get into Lightroom and zoom in properly, to check out all the details. I can see EVERYTHING. It's amazing. This camera and the lenses are the best investments I've made so far, and I'm saying that as someone who just eliminated car payments from her life for the next five or more years.

I've had no energy to get back out and take more photos. Frubs and I went out a day or two before I got really sick, but we went out too late, and I didn't really feel up to wandering around. I can't wait to kick this, and I REALLY can't wait for my four day adventure next weekend. It's going to be so amazing. I've been waiting to go out and take photos like the ones I'm going to go take for AGES.

Frubs has been amazing at going along with me to knock places off of my Colorado Bucket List. We're starting to work on places outside of Colorado, and that we start next weekend. Bryce Canyon, here I come!! Maybe. As long as I'm not sick. I don't want to stay sick. :(

Dear dude, I'm tripping balls. Fondly, Louise

So, I pulled the trigger and bought my new Canon 6D. I've hemmed and hawed over it for the past month or so, and I finally decided that it's worth the money (it's very moderately priced, for a full frame camera with such good reviews). I do enough photography work, and I do it enough as a hobby, that plunking down eight grand for a new kit isn't really a lavish expense. It's almost necessary.

It's quite possible I'll have a new wedding client in the next couple of days/weeks. I'm not sure how I feel about that, but I mean, I like getting paid thousands of dollars to do something I love. I just seem to have anxiety attacks when I shoot weddings. I'm so afraid I'll fuck up. I only have one shot at it. It's not like family photos, where I can pose people, or put them in better light, or a more flattering position. I get one fucking shot.

Speaking of which, I put the money down for my wedding photographer today. He's going to  make twice what I normally make for a job, but he's fifty times as good, so I'm fairly sure I win this round. Sometime this weekend or next weekend, I have to go pay for the wedding place thing, and that's going to make me sad, because it's so fucking expensive and I wish I didn't have to part with that money. I mean, I DON'T have to part with it, but a girl only gets married two or three times, if she's lucky. I want at least one of my future marriages to be outrageous and glamorous and over the top. Might as well start off with a bang. My next few husbands can deal with the courthouse, or Vegas. Or a Vegas courthouse. Then, there's the shit for the honeymoon, which is ALSO expensive, but I think I may have talked my dad into paying for that.

Anyway, nobody cares about my wedding. It's silly for me to talk about it.

I finished my homework for the day, and I need to go out, run a couple of errands (which means going to Walmart, because it's open, and Target is not. I fucking hate Walmart with something really, really fierce), and then I'm hoping to come home, take a shower, read a chapter, blow dry my hair, take a quiz, and go to bed. I have to work tomorrow, and then I have to come home and finish up the house for the housewarming party that's tomorrow afternoon/evening. I haven't straightened up nearly enough, but I'm sure the forty or so people coming will understand. And if they don't, they can get the fuck out, and leave the booze and food they're bringing with them. It's going to be like the fucking sixties up in this piece tomorrow. Everybody bringing food and booze, and milling about my house. That's not really secular to the sixties. Not sure where I was going with that. Tupperware parties, maybe? Who knows.

I had homework for abnormal psychology today, and my paper (sixteen fucking papers in this class. Can we discuss this? I hate it) was on the ethical issues with diagnostic labeling. It made me sad to write it.

Let alone Nick Cave's Deep Cuts

My house is so quiet.

I finished my homework a little bit ago, and I was going to put things in the kitchen away, because everything is sitting on the floor, but instead, I'm having a drink, snuggling up with my big, dumb, dog, and watching Fringe. My TARDIS blanket and pillow came today, and my electric fireplace is working wonders right now. I am the comfiest, happiest girl in the entire world right now. The snow is sparkling outside, and it's so chilly and wonderful out there. But only because I'm snug in my house, on my couch, with my lazy girl.

As soon as everything in my house is put away where it belongs, I'll take photos and post before and afters in here. The last week has been so hectic that I haven't really had time to do or say much outside of house stuff and homework to do anything other than breathe, and even that takes effort to remember.

I was discussing necessary existence for one of my classes this week, and I found the topic slightly confusing. Still interesting, but the finer points had me at a bit of...well, a loss at how to properly process the information. Every semester, I tell myself, "no more philosophy classes". But I've taken one every single time.

It's amusing to me that there are never any shooting problems on television shows. Everybody is a crack shot. Except Kevin Bacon's team in The Following. Which I call The FBI Needs to Cover the Back.