I haven't been keeping up with my blog. I'm like that though, I lose interest or get distracted, or lazy, whatever. But here I am. A lot has happened since I last wrote. A LOT!
Biggest news, I became a PARENT. Yup, that's right, a parent. And I have to say, it's been exactly 2 weeks since we brought our boyo home and I love him with every fiber of my being. I look at him and I marvel at how perfect he is. When he smiles I get the proudest feeling. Because he didn't used to do that. Smile.
I can't get into particulars, we are bound by confidentiality laws until our adoption goes through, but I can say, he wasn't very happy where he was. And now, he's a normal, though sensitive, 12 year old. He plays video games as often as he can get away with, and with me as a parent he gets away with it a lot, because I dig video games too. So I'm either playing with him or watching him and offering suggestions to help him. I read the screen while he slaughters zombies. He's too busy blasting away to read.
It's amazing how it happened, we got a phone call from our social worker asking us if we were willing to take a 12 year old boy as an emergency foster removal and keep him for about a week until they could find a foster home to put him in. We aren't foster parents. We are adoptive parents who are part of the fost/adopt program, which means we are adopting a child from the California foster care system. But in an emergency situation we can take in a child from another family that uses our adoption agency under respite. Respite would typically be used in situations where the adoptive family had to leave suddenly, say for a funeral, and couldn't take the child. Then you would take that kid for a few days or up to a week, until they came back. This situation was different, but we were still willing to help out. So we went to pick up this 12 year old and we were both nervous, we didn't know anything about being temporary parents and we didn't know anything about 12 year olds. Most of the kids in our lives are under 8.
So we go get him, long story short, he's awesome! Two days later we contacted our social worker and asked what we had to do to keep him. She had to contact his two social workers from the county and his lawyer, give them our homestudy and wait for them to approve us as adoptive parents. We held our breath, we prayed, we hoped and we got accepted! One week ago we signed permanent placement papers! It was the single best day of my entire life. I got a son and Iron Man jammies all in the same day. Score!
So now we wait the mandatory 6 months, then we can petition the court for adoption. We can't wait. We are so excited. We love getting to know this boy. This amazing, sweet, sensitive, funny, kind boy with the most amazing smile and the cutest dimples. We love hanging out with him. We have serious talks about what it all means, what it means to be a part of our family, what it means to have two moms, what it means that family is forever and we will be here for him, and for his children. I talk about when he's 16 and what kind of car we are going to get him, I talk to him about what he's gonna do when he grows up and how he's gonna come home from college every holiday, I tease him that he's going to live in my basement until he's 40 because I don't ever want him to leave. He reminded me we don't have a basement. I told him I would start digging. I want him to understand that this is his permanent home now and that we are all a family.
I think he gets it, but just in case he starts to doubt it, I will keep reminding him. Last night as I hugged him goodnight and told him I love him, he replied back, "I love you too". Second best day of my entire life. Gosh I dig this kid. And I just can't wait to see where we all end up. I'm sure that the teenage years are gonna be fun, hard, crazy, frustrating and all that. I know it's not always so easy, he's a human being with feelings that will come out in all kinds of ways, some of which may not be pleasant. It's OK. Bring it on. I'm a parent now. I can handle it. Well, with a lot of help from my amazing wife, I'm pretty sure I can handle it. Cuz we've got this parenting thing down.
Friday, May 20, 2011
Saturday, March 5, 2011
The booger that chased me
On a three day get-away to Utah this weekend. Sara took my total cheapness to heart (completely ignoring the pinkie oath swear we had made to each other to not EVER stay in a hotel/motel that was less than $50 per night).
We took off like a herd of turtles and pulled into the Bates motel in St. George at 11:30 Friday night. I turned to her and said, "really?! How much did you pay?"
"$30 a night". I just groaned. I walked in the office and was immediately assaulted with a smell. Not to be bratty or anything but the smell was, I told Sara later, not American. Most people would say foreign or exotic, I'm not that verbose at midnight.
My nostrils constricted and I concentrated on breathing shallowly while filling out the old fashioned registration form. No fancy computers up in this joint. Tho' to be fair the 16 year old son came out and offered up the wifi password.
We got to our room (two steps away from the office) quickly and jumped in our jammies and went to bed. An hour later I feel Sara trying to meld herself with my DNA. Or maybe climb up under my skin in an attempt to find warmth. I'm not sure. All I know is that girl was attached to my back like a howler monkey all night. Which was fine. I was busy concentrating on sleeping on a slab of concrete.
Woke up the next morning to the gentle pounding on the door from housekeeping. Sara got in the shower first. After that I jumped in. Oh joy Luke warm water. I soaped up all my girly bits, yelled for Sara to open the shampoo for me while warily eyeing something on the shower curtain I was convinced was a booger. I tried to convince myself it belonged to my girl. That still didn't make it less horrifying. Here's the deal, I'm wide. Like my shoulders could be front linebackers for the Steelers. So trying to maneuver a small shower and avoid what may or may not be a glistening booger=not fun.
Meanwhile Sara gets the cap off the shampoo, hands it to me. I dump it in my hand and lather up. Immediately I yell out , "what's up with this shampoo, I smell like a Christmas ham!". Clove flavored shampoo?
I step out of the shower, look at Sara and say, "I don't know what's happening".
She's too busy laughing to answer. So far this is an interesting trip.
We took off like a herd of turtles and pulled into the Bates motel in St. George at 11:30 Friday night. I turned to her and said, "really?! How much did you pay?"
"$30 a night". I just groaned. I walked in the office and was immediately assaulted with a smell. Not to be bratty or anything but the smell was, I told Sara later, not American. Most people would say foreign or exotic, I'm not that verbose at midnight.
My nostrils constricted and I concentrated on breathing shallowly while filling out the old fashioned registration form. No fancy computers up in this joint. Tho' to be fair the 16 year old son came out and offered up the wifi password.
We got to our room (two steps away from the office) quickly and jumped in our jammies and went to bed. An hour later I feel Sara trying to meld herself with my DNA. Or maybe climb up under my skin in an attempt to find warmth. I'm not sure. All I know is that girl was attached to my back like a howler monkey all night. Which was fine. I was busy concentrating on sleeping on a slab of concrete.
Woke up the next morning to the gentle pounding on the door from housekeeping. Sara got in the shower first. After that I jumped in. Oh joy Luke warm water. I soaped up all my girly bits, yelled for Sara to open the shampoo for me while warily eyeing something on the shower curtain I was convinced was a booger. I tried to convince myself it belonged to my girl. That still didn't make it less horrifying. Here's the deal, I'm wide. Like my shoulders could be front linebackers for the Steelers. So trying to maneuver a small shower and avoid what may or may not be a glistening booger=not fun.
Meanwhile Sara gets the cap off the shampoo, hands it to me. I dump it in my hand and lather up. Immediately I yell out , "what's up with this shampoo, I smell like a Christmas ham!". Clove flavored shampoo?
I step out of the shower, look at Sara and say, "I don't know what's happening".
She's too busy laughing to answer. So far this is an interesting trip.
Thursday, March 3, 2011
How are you feeling?
My cousin texted me one day and asked, "how are you feeling?". I pondered for a minute and replied back, "mentally, physically or emotionally?" because really with me you just never know.
I'm a walking, talking mood disorder. Sure, I'm on heavy medication to stabilize that, but there is no cure, I still swing back and forth, just not as high and low, as often, mostly like a gentle swing porch swinging kinda way. But some days, oh those days, when I am up and down and up and down, it's hard. It's hard to live it and it's hard to live with it. I often think about my friends and family that have chosen to stick by me through all these times. How time after time they have displayed patience, annoyance, understanding and love. I can't even begin to express how much that means to me.
I know I'm not the easiest person in the world to live with, and yet, my wife hangs in there, year after year. She nags me to take my pills, calls me out when I make up lame excuses as to why I didn't tell her I was out, picks up my prescriptions, monitors my intake so I don't end up like a celebrity tragedy minus the news coverage. She's just always there for me, even when I try to push her away. During my darkest times, I push and push and push, but every morning when I wake up there she is. I honestly would have left my crazy ass years ago. I feel guilty that she didn't and now she's stuck with me. I feel like a failure. I promised her a better future, now the future is here and it's worse. She should have left. But she didn't.
Physically I'm a mess. I'm trying to make that better. I've lost a lot of weight. About 75 pounds. I had to stop losing to try to let my skin catch up. Too much too fast is not a good thing. I'm working on building up the muscle underneath. I kinda slacked off, I keep injuring my hip. I so want to be a runner, but apparently my body just can't take the beating. So I'm going to shelve that goal, for now. Maybe later after I've toned up a bit.
I have arthritis, it sucks. It started in my early 20's which really just isn't fair and I let it control my life and used it as an excuse for way too many years. I took my health back last year. It's mine now and I have no more excuses. If I stay fat it's because I'm lazy, not because I have to. I know that now. I'm never going back. I may stay where I'm at now, but I'm never, ever going back.
Emotionally, it's about the same as the mentally. It fluctuates based on the mental status, but also just because I am really emotional to begin with. Like seriously I cry all the time. I cry at dog food commercials, I get teared up talking about my loved ones. I'm just sensitive. My grandma used to tell me, "you wear your heart on your sleeve", "you would give anyone the shirt off your back" and "you need to learn to toughen up or people are just going to hurt you". Yeah, I never could do it. So yah, I let people hurt me. I care too much, give too much, love too much, talk too much, hurt too much, laugh too much. Everything I do is just too much.
I'm guessing my cousin is sorry she asked.
I'm a walking, talking mood disorder. Sure, I'm on heavy medication to stabilize that, but there is no cure, I still swing back and forth, just not as high and low, as often, mostly like a gentle swing porch swinging kinda way. But some days, oh those days, when I am up and down and up and down, it's hard. It's hard to live it and it's hard to live with it. I often think about my friends and family that have chosen to stick by me through all these times. How time after time they have displayed patience, annoyance, understanding and love. I can't even begin to express how much that means to me.
I know I'm not the easiest person in the world to live with, and yet, my wife hangs in there, year after year. She nags me to take my pills, calls me out when I make up lame excuses as to why I didn't tell her I was out, picks up my prescriptions, monitors my intake so I don't end up like a celebrity tragedy minus the news coverage. She's just always there for me, even when I try to push her away. During my darkest times, I push and push and push, but every morning when I wake up there she is. I honestly would have left my crazy ass years ago. I feel guilty that she didn't and now she's stuck with me. I feel like a failure. I promised her a better future, now the future is here and it's worse. She should have left. But she didn't.
Physically I'm a mess. I'm trying to make that better. I've lost a lot of weight. About 75 pounds. I had to stop losing to try to let my skin catch up. Too much too fast is not a good thing. I'm working on building up the muscle underneath. I kinda slacked off, I keep injuring my hip. I so want to be a runner, but apparently my body just can't take the beating. So I'm going to shelve that goal, for now. Maybe later after I've toned up a bit.
I have arthritis, it sucks. It started in my early 20's which really just isn't fair and I let it control my life and used it as an excuse for way too many years. I took my health back last year. It's mine now and I have no more excuses. If I stay fat it's because I'm lazy, not because I have to. I know that now. I'm never going back. I may stay where I'm at now, but I'm never, ever going back.
Emotionally, it's about the same as the mentally. It fluctuates based on the mental status, but also just because I am really emotional to begin with. Like seriously I cry all the time. I cry at dog food commercials, I get teared up talking about my loved ones. I'm just sensitive. My grandma used to tell me, "you wear your heart on your sleeve", "you would give anyone the shirt off your back" and "you need to learn to toughen up or people are just going to hurt you". Yeah, I never could do it. So yah, I let people hurt me. I care too much, give too much, love too much, talk too much, hurt too much, laugh too much. Everything I do is just too much.
I'm guessing my cousin is sorry she asked.
Sticks and Stones...
I was thinking this morning about how as a society we are leaning so much towards the extremes. Hence the term extremist I suppose. But the politically correctness of it all gets confusing. I mean I'm not even sure if I'm allowed to call my black friends black. I don't like to say African American because what if they are from Jamaica? It's the same way with my Hispanic friends. Is it Hispanic or Latina/Latino? Unless you are specifically from Mexico you aren't Mexican. But then some Mexican's don't like to be called Hispanic because they are proud to be Mexican. See it's all very confusing.
Some people might say, "why even use labels?". Well that's fine to a point but if I'm at a party and I point at 4 girls standing by the wall and say, "That's my friend J, the graphic design one", are you gonna be able to pick her out? But if I say, "that's my friend J, the cute black girl". You might be more inclined to know which one I'm talking about. I suppose I could just say they one in the paisley shirt, but why do I have to censor my descriptions. I wouldn't be offended if you called me the white girl. The pasty one. The one white as Wonder Bread. The short chubby girl. The lesbian. The dyke with the cool hair. Whatever. You see I don't mind labels. Words can hurt but only if you let them. Dyke used to be a derogatory term, and to some it still is. But I believe that if you take ownership of the word it loses it's ability to wound. I own the word dyke. By taking it and making it mine I take the hurt out of it. Gays did that with the word gay. It used to be shameful, fag too. But by taking ownership of the words, they no longer have that impact, and now we call ourselves those things.
I was walking down the street with my girlfriend, holding hands, and some guys walked by and said, "dyke!". I just laughed and said, "why yes, I am". Because, seriously folks if that is the worst thing you can think of to call me, I'll take it. Of all the things you could call someone (liar, bigot, racist, murderer, psychopath, abuser, etc.), if the absolute worst thing you can say about me is that I'm a dyke. Well by all means I will take it. It must mean I am doing something right.
Some people might say, "why even use labels?". Well that's fine to a point but if I'm at a party and I point at 4 girls standing by the wall and say, "That's my friend J, the graphic design one", are you gonna be able to pick her out? But if I say, "that's my friend J, the cute black girl". You might be more inclined to know which one I'm talking about. I suppose I could just say they one in the paisley shirt, but why do I have to censor my descriptions. I wouldn't be offended if you called me the white girl. The pasty one. The one white as Wonder Bread. The short chubby girl. The lesbian. The dyke with the cool hair. Whatever. You see I don't mind labels. Words can hurt but only if you let them. Dyke used to be a derogatory term, and to some it still is. But I believe that if you take ownership of the word it loses it's ability to wound. I own the word dyke. By taking it and making it mine I take the hurt out of it. Gays did that with the word gay. It used to be shameful, fag too. But by taking ownership of the words, they no longer have that impact, and now we call ourselves those things.
I was walking down the street with my girlfriend, holding hands, and some guys walked by and said, "dyke!". I just laughed and said, "why yes, I am". Because, seriously folks if that is the worst thing you can think of to call me, I'll take it. Of all the things you could call someone (liar, bigot, racist, murderer, psychopath, abuser, etc.), if the absolute worst thing you can say about me is that I'm a dyke. Well by all means I will take it. It must mean I am doing something right.
Thursday, February 24, 2011
"WHY do you know that?"
Driving with Sara the other day and she says, "those cars are stupid looking".
"Huh?, what?", looking up from my iPhone and glancing around. Then I spot it. "Oh the Nissan Cube?"
"Yah, they are just dumb. They look stupid. Except maybe the back window. That part is kind of cool how it wraps around. They look like they should be in a cartoon."
"Oh, yeah like Roger Rabbit."
"Or like that guy that does Cranium and Cadoo, you know it would fit in there..."
"Baseman."
"...but then it would have to be the colors that match those colors, that would be cool..."
"Baseman."
"...if it was in those colors."
"Pink, and blue and yellow."
"But not blue like Ally's new car. It would have to be that same blue like he uses."
"Baseman. Like a grayer blue, bright but not too bright."
"What?"
"What, what?"
"What do you keep saying?"
"huh?"
"You keep saying it, what are you saying?"
"Baseman?"
"Yes"
"That's his name."
"Who's name?"
"The guy that designed the packaging for Cranium. His name is Gary Baseman."
"WHY do you know that?"
"Because he's a famous illustrator"
"But how do you KNOW that? WHO knows that?"
"I said he was famous. He's done a lot of magazine covers too."
"But why would you know that? No one just knows those things."
"I do."
"You're weird."
"Huh?, what?", looking up from my iPhone and glancing around. Then I spot it. "Oh the Nissan Cube?"
"Yah, they are just dumb. They look stupid. Except maybe the back window. That part is kind of cool how it wraps around. They look like they should be in a cartoon."
"Oh, yeah like Roger Rabbit."
"Or like that guy that does Cranium and Cadoo, you know it would fit in there..."
"Baseman."
"...but then it would have to be the colors that match those colors, that would be cool..."
"Baseman."
"...if it was in those colors."
"Pink, and blue and yellow."
"But not blue like Ally's new car. It would have to be that same blue like he uses."
"Baseman. Like a grayer blue, bright but not too bright."
"What?"
"What, what?"
"What do you keep saying?"
"huh?"
"You keep saying it, what are you saying?"
"Baseman?"
"Yes"
"That's his name."
"Who's name?"
"The guy that designed the packaging for Cranium. His name is Gary Baseman."
"WHY do you know that?"
"Because he's a famous illustrator"
"But how do you KNOW that? WHO knows that?"
"I said he was famous. He's done a lot of magazine covers too."
"But why would you know that? No one just knows those things."
"I do."
"You're weird."
Monday, February 21, 2011
You don't LOOK Mormon
I am Gay. I know, not much of a shocker there, huh? I mean I work really hard to look this gay. The hair, the clothes. Not just any 41 year old woman can pull off a Justin Bieber haircut.
I am Mormon. Ok that one may be a shocker. I mean I don't look Mormon. I think it's kind of amusing. When I say I am from Utah, the most usual response is "how did you stand it with all those Mormons?".
It seems funny to me that people automatically think the two are mutually exclusive. You are gay so you can't possibly be Mormon, let alone have friends and family who are, right? Um, no. Wrong. I am gay, my brother is Mormon (or LDS for those of you not cool enough to say Mormon), my nieces and nephews are Mormon and yes, believe it or not some of my best friends are Mormon. Wow. Who woulda' thunk it? Love and acceptance from people who are fundamentally opposed to my lifestyle? Yep. What can I say, I have awesome people around me who love me just because they know I am a great person. No really I am. I'm one of those people that opens doors for old people, says thank you always and until my wife broke me of the habit (after explaining to me "this isn't Utah") I would pull over and offer my help to anyone on the side of the road.
"But how can you be Mormon, isn't your church against gay people?". Well, ya. It does get a little sticky there. You see being Mormon to me stopped being about my standing in the church and more about just my belief system a long time ago.
When I first came out about 15 years ago or so I had a really hard time. I was attending church regularly and was planning on going through the temple. I really love my church. It was actually during a meeting with my bishop where he explained that in order for me to go through the temple I had to be completely and utterly honest — with myself and with God. After much soul searching and anguish I decided that if I was to be honest with myself then I had to admit that I was gay.
Believe me I didn't want to be. I spent years denying it. I squashed it down, I denied it to myself, my family and my friends as over and over again they would ask me, assure me they would be OK with it. I would say no every time. I was so far in denial. I just wanted to be married in the temple and pop out 3 or 4 kids and live a nice quiet life. If I had done that it would have been Hell. Because I would have denied who I am as a person. I would have lost myself and never found the true happiness that comes from loving someone completely — mind, body and soul.
So technically I can now be excommunicated for admitting I am gay. Not that I was hiding it, I just stopped going to church so it never came up, as far as I know I am still on church record. Doesn't matter to me. Doesn't mean I won't still tell people I'm Mormon. I still believe in the teachings of Jesus Christ. Yes, I believe in Joseph Smith. I'm totally down with there being a prophet in modern times. I think it's cool. I think Teancum was the first Rambo. I think garments are awesome and I'm bummed I never get to wear them. I'm totally going to practice family home evening with my kids. So regardless of what people say or believe, in my heart I am Mormon.
I am Mormon. Ok that one may be a shocker. I mean I don't look Mormon. I think it's kind of amusing. When I say I am from Utah, the most usual response is "how did you stand it with all those Mormons?".
It seems funny to me that people automatically think the two are mutually exclusive. You are gay so you can't possibly be Mormon, let alone have friends and family who are, right? Um, no. Wrong. I am gay, my brother is Mormon (or LDS for those of you not cool enough to say Mormon), my nieces and nephews are Mormon and yes, believe it or not some of my best friends are Mormon. Wow. Who woulda' thunk it? Love and acceptance from people who are fundamentally opposed to my lifestyle? Yep. What can I say, I have awesome people around me who love me just because they know I am a great person. No really I am. I'm one of those people that opens doors for old people, says thank you always and until my wife broke me of the habit (after explaining to me "this isn't Utah") I would pull over and offer my help to anyone on the side of the road.
"But how can you be Mormon, isn't your church against gay people?". Well, ya. It does get a little sticky there. You see being Mormon to me stopped being about my standing in the church and more about just my belief system a long time ago.
When I first came out about 15 years ago or so I had a really hard time. I was attending church regularly and was planning on going through the temple. I really love my church. It was actually during a meeting with my bishop where he explained that in order for me to go through the temple I had to be completely and utterly honest — with myself and with God. After much soul searching and anguish I decided that if I was to be honest with myself then I had to admit that I was gay.
Believe me I didn't want to be. I spent years denying it. I squashed it down, I denied it to myself, my family and my friends as over and over again they would ask me, assure me they would be OK with it. I would say no every time. I was so far in denial. I just wanted to be married in the temple and pop out 3 or 4 kids and live a nice quiet life. If I had done that it would have been Hell. Because I would have denied who I am as a person. I would have lost myself and never found the true happiness that comes from loving someone completely — mind, body and soul.
So technically I can now be excommunicated for admitting I am gay. Not that I was hiding it, I just stopped going to church so it never came up, as far as I know I am still on church record. Doesn't matter to me. Doesn't mean I won't still tell people I'm Mormon. I still believe in the teachings of Jesus Christ. Yes, I believe in Joseph Smith. I'm totally down with there being a prophet in modern times. I think it's cool. I think Teancum was the first Rambo. I think garments are awesome and I'm bummed I never get to wear them. I'm totally going to practice family home evening with my kids. So regardless of what people say or believe, in my heart I am Mormon.
Thursday, February 17, 2011
Don't let go of that balloon!
Spent last weekend in Santa Maria with my sisters and brother-in-law David (who is soooo full of awesome it's just an honor to be in his company). I did an engagement photo shoot with my cousin Stacey, who is gorgeous by the way, so it was almost too easy to make them look great.
We left early Saturday morning for the trip. I got up about 6:00. Knowing Sara the way I do I know better than to wake her that early, so I put my headphones on, played some Train while I woke up. I was feeling kind of weird, kinda tired, but excited to go on our trip.
Finally got Sara up and her grumpy butt out of the house by 9:00, which by the way, is a miracle. We decided to stop at my sister Audrey's house in Santa Barbara to meet her new boyfriend Mike. By the time we got there I was tired and feeling wierder.
"I shoulda got some coffee", I said to Sara.
"Told ya", she replied a little too smugly.
Whatever. We get inside and I meet Mike. He seems like a really nice guy. I was excited to see my sis. I always get excited to see my little sisters. I love them. What can I say?
After visiting for a while we take off to head up to my sister Bev's house in Santa Maria. As we are leaving Sara says to me, "Can I tell you something without you getting mad?"
"Probably not, so just don't tell me."
"Why can't you just take it in the manner I mean it, not as a put down?"
"Because I can't, so unless it's life threatening, don't tell me".
"Well I'm going to tell you anyways", she declares, "you keep interrupting people. You interrupted Audrey like 5 times, and Mike too. He probably thinks you're rude".
"I did?"
"Yeah"
"Oh, I'm feeling kind of manic today", I grumbled, then proceeded to pout for at least 40 more miles. Cuz, yeah I don't like to be told when I do something wrong. I really don't take criticism well. And I do try really hard not to interrupt people when they are talking, but sometimes I just get carried away. Like that day.
So we finally make it to Bev's house and 5 minutes later Audrey walks in, she must drive REALLY fast because I know I was doing over 70 and left at least 15 minutes before her! We all decide to go hang out at a winery to do some wine tasting. My sisters like the wine, I like the pretty girls that go wine tasting and Sara likes hanging out with David and his complete and utter awesomeness. We hop in the car and head out. We are chatting away as we drive to the vineyard. We get out of the car and as we are walking in Sara grabs my hand and says to me, "babe what is wrong with you today?"
I'm like, "what?"
"You're all over the place, up, down, up. You're like a balloon that someone blew up and then let it go."
She was right. That was exactly how I was. I just couldn't even out. My moods were all over the place. I was waffling between manic and comatose. I was like the poster child for a bi-polar episode. But machine gun style. I was a living, breathing, walking roller coaster of moods. "The doctor changed my meds around, I think my body doesn't know what to do?"
We went in to the winery and I made my way outside to sit with David and and my dog-nephew Carson. The girls got their wine and we all sat and enjoyed the weather. I worked on staying calm and trying to get myself under control. I knew I had a photo shoot in a couple hours and I was worried that I was going to blow it. What if I was too scattered to do my job correctly? Lucky for me I had three amazing assistants (and David) who helped by holding light reflectors, suggesting poses, catching awkward looks or angles and generally just kept me grounded.Bev even scooped dog poo out of the way with a rock. That's going above and beyond! The photo shoot went off perfectly. The couple looked amazing and didn't think twice about following our suggestions or guidance.
Afterwords we went to dinner and had pizza and beer. I got a tiny bit tipsy, so I cut myself off quickly. I learned the hard way that psych meds and alcohol don't mix. We hung out, spent way too much time trying to figure out how to get the Wii to work so we could preview the pics I had shot that day, until I realized, duh, I shoot in RAW, we couldn't see them anyway. Oops. Then we watched some MMA action, me and David yelling at the TV like a couple nuts. But it was fun. It's always fun with my family.
Sunday I woke up and I knew that it was over. At least for now. I was stabilized. Completely and utterly wore out — bruised and swollen knees, aching legs and dog tired aside, at least for the time being I was just feeling normal. Well as close to normal as I ever get.
We left early Saturday morning for the trip. I got up about 6:00. Knowing Sara the way I do I know better than to wake her that early, so I put my headphones on, played some Train while I woke up. I was feeling kind of weird, kinda tired, but excited to go on our trip.
Finally got Sara up and her grumpy butt out of the house by 9:00, which by the way, is a miracle. We decided to stop at my sister Audrey's house in Santa Barbara to meet her new boyfriend Mike. By the time we got there I was tired and feeling wierder.
"I shoulda got some coffee", I said to Sara.
"Told ya", she replied a little too smugly.
Whatever. We get inside and I meet Mike. He seems like a really nice guy. I was excited to see my sis. I always get excited to see my little sisters. I love them. What can I say?
After visiting for a while we take off to head up to my sister Bev's house in Santa Maria. As we are leaving Sara says to me, "Can I tell you something without you getting mad?"
"Probably not, so just don't tell me."
"Why can't you just take it in the manner I mean it, not as a put down?"
"Because I can't, so unless it's life threatening, don't tell me".
"Well I'm going to tell you anyways", she declares, "you keep interrupting people. You interrupted Audrey like 5 times, and Mike too. He probably thinks you're rude".
"I did?"
"Yeah"
"Oh, I'm feeling kind of manic today", I grumbled, then proceeded to pout for at least 40 more miles. Cuz, yeah I don't like to be told when I do something wrong. I really don't take criticism well. And I do try really hard not to interrupt people when they are talking, but sometimes I just get carried away. Like that day.
So we finally make it to Bev's house and 5 minutes later Audrey walks in, she must drive REALLY fast because I know I was doing over 70 and left at least 15 minutes before her! We all decide to go hang out at a winery to do some wine tasting. My sisters like the wine, I like the pretty girls that go wine tasting and Sara likes hanging out with David and his complete and utter awesomeness. We hop in the car and head out. We are chatting away as we drive to the vineyard. We get out of the car and as we are walking in Sara grabs my hand and says to me, "babe what is wrong with you today?"
I'm like, "what?"
"You're all over the place, up, down, up. You're like a balloon that someone blew up and then let it go."
She was right. That was exactly how I was. I just couldn't even out. My moods were all over the place. I was waffling between manic and comatose. I was like the poster child for a bi-polar episode. But machine gun style. I was a living, breathing, walking roller coaster of moods. "The doctor changed my meds around, I think my body doesn't know what to do?"
We went in to the winery and I made my way outside to sit with David and and my dog-nephew Carson. The girls got their wine and we all sat and enjoyed the weather. I worked on staying calm and trying to get myself under control. I knew I had a photo shoot in a couple hours and I was worried that I was going to blow it. What if I was too scattered to do my job correctly? Lucky for me I had three amazing assistants (and David) who helped by holding light reflectors, suggesting poses, catching awkward looks or angles and generally just kept me grounded.Bev even scooped dog poo out of the way with a rock. That's going above and beyond! The photo shoot went off perfectly. The couple looked amazing and didn't think twice about following our suggestions or guidance.
Afterwords we went to dinner and had pizza and beer. I got a tiny bit tipsy, so I cut myself off quickly. I learned the hard way that psych meds and alcohol don't mix. We hung out, spent way too much time trying to figure out how to get the Wii to work so we could preview the pics I had shot that day, until I realized, duh, I shoot in RAW, we couldn't see them anyway. Oops. Then we watched some MMA action, me and David yelling at the TV like a couple nuts. But it was fun. It's always fun with my family.
Sunday I woke up and I knew that it was over. At least for now. I was stabilized. Completely and utterly wore out — bruised and swollen knees, aching legs and dog tired aside, at least for the time being I was just feeling normal. Well as close to normal as I ever get.
This is my brother-in-law David. He is just full of the awesome.
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