TGIF

Oh man am I glad it's Friday. It has been a rough week. And I don't mean that in a light existential angsty it's in my head way (which sometimes happens), it's just actually been rough due to circumstances and events. But it's going to be a great weekend. And do you know why? Because look:

Newt in a t-shirt. Look at that little Ewok. I can say with certainty that I used to be anti- clothing on dogs, but you know what? People change. Putting a shirt on that dog made me happy. Inexplicably happy. It will definitely happen again.

Wait, so you're not going to be wearing a dress?

Kyle and Emily did their engagement photos with Kyle Carnes Photography this weekend and they are totally awesome. I mean, look at that photo. This shoot was special to me for several reasons. One, I'm in Kyle and Emily's wedding. Obviously, they aren't sticklers on gender roles and rigid tradition because I am a groomslady. Two, I was an initial supporter of their idea to have a 50s style gender role reversal photo shoot, threw out some ideas in the brainstorming session, and was very much looking forward to seeing the end result. Three, I was there for the conversation between Kyle and Kyle, during which, the proverbial lightbulb went off and Kyle C realized he wasn't going to have to shoot Kyle Arthur in a dress and make it look like a Norman Rockwell painting. Apparently there has been some links missing in the communication. Lastly, the shoot took place at our house. I'm pretty proud of the home that Sam and I have put together. I think it's very homey and well-decorated (obviously completely objective) and it gives me a lot of joy to see it in the background of these photos. Go to Kyle's blog to check out the rest.

The Last Sasquatch Vol. 2

From top:

Kale and Kyle love hats

Kyle in Kali's hat

Up

Wool and fur

Sneak Preview

I finally developed some of the film that I have sitting around (yes, you finally get to see Sasquatch photos). The wonderful thing is that every single envelope is like opening a Christmas present. The bad thing is that I literally have no idea what they are anymore. The problem with this is that Sam volunteered to drop them off and pick them up. He had a few rolls he wanted to develop as well. He dropped them without incident. It was when he picked them up that things got awkward.

Now, I worked at a camera shop for awhile in high school. Our policy was to offer to look through the photos with the customer so they could ask for corrections if they wanted. Often people were surprised we looked at the photos while developing them. I developed countless rolls of film and bore witness to a million shitty teenage party pics, awkward family photos, detailed photo documentation of a stuffed animal collection, two dudes and a stripper in a hotel room, christenings, graduations, marijuana plants, puppies, Haystock Rock, pretty much everything that could be documented with a camera. If something was particularly hilarious you would save a print to show the rest of your coworkers. We rolled our eyes at blown out, out-of-focus disposable camera pics, backlit portraits, and the people who wanted us to magically make them look better. The only thing you were required to report are photos of child pornography. The rest was fair game. That doesn't mean I wouldn't go out of my way to let someone know I thought their photos were lame (For instance, asking the businessman with the stripper if he would like to look through his photos in an overly sincere voice). Basically, people who work in camera shops are punks.

So, Sam goes to pick up the photos and receives a fair amount of grief from these kids. They're doing your classic knowing commentary and eventually throw out, "So, I guess you really like to party huh?" Sam is clueless. "Let's just say there are a few photos of a . .. uh .. . phallic nature." Sam is shocked. He looks through them. He doesn't recognize anyone in the photos except for Liz. It's a party and no one is really wearing clothes. He brings them home to me. Most of the people I don't recognize but it slowly comes back to me as I flip through the photos. The disposable camera I took to the "Anything but Clothes" party. We all have that water-logged look of people who were soaking their livers in beer on a regular basis. As I flip through it becomes apparent that someone took my camera. The photos are blurry and random. This camera thief first photographed people I didn't know, the floor, people's feet, and then he apparently tired of that and decided to photograph his penis. Horrible. And he had a Prince Albert piercing. More horrible.

Poor Sam.

After the Party

You know, some of my favorite times are after the big event, when everyone is kind of loopy, and danced out, and hungry, and you end up sitting around laughing about your favorite moments of the evening (in this case making fun of the English guys in the pink shirts and making the DJ play ODB), eating food (in this case not-so delicious pizza), and cuddling. Also, taking a million photos while lying on top of a hotel comforter (something I would usually immediately remove and throw in the corner due to rumors of bodily fluid stains) doesn't seem like a bad idea at all. I love these girls.

Whiteout!

After a particularly dry January, it feels especially good to get these epic snowstorms up at the mountain. Meadows has received 24 inches in the past 24 hours. Jeeeeeez. It has been so good up there. Here's a shot of Eva (in red) and I (in green) at the top of Heather Chair. This was after a magical run through Jack's Woods. I probably turned five times total, threw some powder around, and generally felt really glad to be alive. The best thing? The storm isn't over.

San Francisco Treats

How great would it be to work at a mannequin factory? There's something so fascinating about their diminutive bodies and awkward gestures. In NZ all the mannequins had distinct nipples which kind of weirded me out. However, none of them even came close to these mini Sinatras and Biebers in their be-suited, creepy glory. Keep looking. It gets weirder the longer you stare at them.

The Great Outdoors

Last fall, Sam, Jocelyn, Tom and I went camping at the beach. Correction. We went "camping" at Fort Stevens State Park. We had pretty big expectations because an acquaintance of Sam's had told him that it was this great place to camp. We went there and apparently, even though it was late in the year, we should have made reservations. However, there was a prime spot left. The man behind the desk showed us on the map, "It's right by the bathrooms and the showers. The ladies will like that." He winked at us. It really was. It was right next the showers. And the Oregonian newspaper box. So much convenience! We got up in the morning and laughed and laughed. Even more funny was that Sam's friend did not tell him it was a "great" place to camp. We looked at the text in the light of day and it turns out he said it was "tight". Never trust the opinion of someone who uses "tight" as a synonym for "good."

Pretty Pictures

It was such a great three-day weekend. I hope you all had a good one too. We had a successful dance party at 834, filmed the first segment of the Couch Street Massacre, Liz and I went up to the mountain and had a fantastic day of snowboarding, and yesterday I went and hung out with my family. Now I'm horribly busy with work and a side project that is going to take up a lot of my time for the next few weeks. The blog will not be updated as often; I apologize in advance. In order to keep things somewhat interesting I will be posting some photos because they're easy and don't take much time.

This one was taken by my magical friend Kali. It is Alexis and I sitting near the house we rented at Sea Ranch during Rachael and Kale's wedding. At this very moment we discovered that we both love pulling all the seeds off the tops of tall grasses and then letting them fall out of our hands. Sometimes it's the simple things.

What Happens at Ron Toms

So, I'm sure you've all been at Ron Toms (600 East Burnside) at some point or another. It's a pretty great bar. I'm not going to say it's my favorite but it provides a reliable mix of random people, decent music, strong drinks, and weird interactions. You can play ping pong there. They have a patio. You hear it all there. Guys in little beanies ramble on about the healing powers of fixed gear bicycles on bad knees (yeah right), people from the Northwest apparently don't get sarcasm (okay smug guy from New York with your gold chain), random really drunk girl tells me, "I'm wearing my slut shirt", adults in nice clothes from the outer ring (Beaverton, Hillsboro, Lake Oswego) come into town to get drunk and drive home, men come in wearing suits, cool kids come in wearing costumes on days that are not Halloween, it's pretty much a free-for-all. It's loud and seating and flow and the line-up for the bar always feel kind of haphazard but that's okay. I feel like it's a good place to take someone from out of town if the Sandy Hut would bum them out. Not that I actually associate with people like that.

I was digging around in my photos today. I never post photos directly after the fact, but I'm working on it. These photos are from last fall a few days before Kale and Rachael got married in September. We braided Kale's hair in french braids and drank shots of tequila and celebrated celebration.

Celebration, kind of. There is one really sad face in this collective.

Jocelyn and I demonstrating our french braiding skills

Kale is notoriously bad at smiling for photos. I'm not sure what happens.

That guy in the leather jacket is not someone anyone knows. First he was the photographer, then we made him join in. Ron Toms is a great place for picking up people for group photos so it looks like you have more friends than you actually do. I like this photo because of Kale's joyful smile.

Resolutions

Here is the first sunset of 2011. 

I have never really liked the whole New Year thing. I often find it depressing, or I make poor choices, or I end up doing something disappointing while it seems that everyone everywhere else in the world is wearing cool sequined dresses at awesome parties where they take flattering photos of each other and throw confetti  and kiss in a carefree it's the new year way and have the best time of their lives while I'm standing in some linoleum-floor kitchen looking at a digital microwave clock with a large drink in my hand.

Anyway, I had a great adventure this year involving a car trip up to Bellingham with Sam, the Lion's Inn Motel, Mt. Baker, cherry bombs, sparklers, creepy alleyways, timed photos in front of City Hall, champagne, Dick Clark and donuts.

It wasn't all family-oriented fun however. There were two distinct challenges:

1. I started driving up I-5 and my snowboard rack popped open and I pulled onto the shoulder just in time to watch my brand-new board slide down my windshield. That was nice. But we fixed the rack and continued on. Round 2.

2. Mt. Baker was bullet-proof. It is a gorgeous, steep, awesome looking mountain but that sort of thing just isn't fun for me unless there's fresh snow. Which there wasn't. And after ragdolling down a sketchy line through the trees, I didn't want to snowboard anymore. So it was kind of a short day. But we are totally prepared for next time.

Rest assured, none of this ruined the fun. Not when you're having an adventure. I found my childhood home in Burlington. We drove by it and I would have taken a picture to show you but someone was peeping out from behind the curtains, most likely preparing to call 911, so we left. I also took Sam through Seattle, showed him Pike Place Market and posed with a Justin Bieber cardboard cutout. The things you do for love.

Anyway, my new year's resolution may have been to be a nicer girlfriend but I think I immediately blew it by mocking him for spilling cold coffee all over himself (it still makes me laugh thinking about it), so I think I should move on from that resolution and find a new one. Maybe to floss every day. Did you make a resolution? I feel like the whole thing is kind of lame, and they never work (my goal last year was to be a nicer, more positive person and I think everyone saw that failure in action), but I still like the idea in theory and I like to hear about the futile resolutions other people come up with.

Happy 2011.

Beauty Bar!

So, Shola already gave her report, but now you are going to get it from my perspective. I biked over the Burnside Bridge, extremely pleased to escape the torrential downpours that had plagued the rest of the day, and encountered this sad state of affairs on the way. RIP Made in Oregon sign. I have to admit, it's kind of exciting to cross the bridge and see all the lights of the city and the reflections in the river. You really feel like you're doing something.

Beauty Bar was very, very quiet, which was extremely nice. I may have a theory about frequenters of the west side but so I'm going to save it until I can truly present an informed argument. The lack of patrons made photography of the decor especially easy. You know, no random people in the shots. Anyway. Shola and Emily had arrived early to Beauty Bar and signed us up. We waited for about twenty minutes and had a drink. Then we went upstairs and a very lovely girl painted my nails. You will recall my concern regarding drinking ability? Rest assured. It all works out. While she painted my left hand I lifted my drink with my right hand and visa versa. Absolutely no problem. After our nails were done we moved to a dark corner filled with 50s hairdryers and vinyl couch-things. Why were the 50's so much more awesome and space-agey? Until this visit I had  never sat under a hair dryer that looks like an alien brain dismemberment device. We sat under them and we shared our opinions on various things and talked about weddings and boys and sign language. You know, the typical stuff girls talk about it. And then we did the photobooth to document the fun and went home. It was a perfect ladies' weekday evening.

So. Here's the run-down: Beauty Bar is located on 111 SW Ash Street. The manicures start at five. You have to sign up and it can get busy, though it wasn't busy last week. A measly $10 will get you a set of newly painted fingernails and a good drink. The service was great, the decor is all pink and sparkly and 50s, aaaaand they have bowls of matchbooks on the counter. I love a good free matchbook.

You are a Tiger

I'm not above some psuedo-artsy photos now and again. It harks back to the days of my black and white photography class in which I did a human roadkill project and made my friend Killian lie in the street with raw hamburger coming out of his head. Because it's Nostalgic Photo Week, I'm posting a few photos of my favorite subjects, Liz and Alexa. They are always willing to pose for me, even if it means being infected with  bedbugs or lying on a thistle. I direct them in the manner of a coked-out fashion photographer and they do the modeling. This how a good friendship works.  

From Top:

You are dying in the desert and the only water is alkaline and tastes like Pabst.
You are a vagrant with really good shoes hanging out in your sidewalk living room.
You are a raptor.

Try Not to Drown

Now that the rain is really starting in earnest (I'm not even sad because I know that it's snowing in the mountains), I really have to say goodbye to swimming in the sun until next summer. I'm not sure there is anything better than jumping into water, cold or not, on a hot day when you have nothing else to do. It's a way to measure good times. It adds pomp and circumstance to otherwise typical events.

Once, when visiting Gisborne, my friends Elizabeth, Belinda, Tyler, and I went to a bar and drank beer and danced to the Clash and on our way home we decided to jump off the bridge in the center of town. We left our clothing in little bundles under some trees near the water's edge, and ran out on the bridge in the dark in our underwear. Cars honked at us. We stood on the concrete railing, giggling. Elizabeth jumped first, before the countdown had ended, and we followed blindly into black water. An otherwise typical night transformed.

From top: Lake Crescent on the Olympic Peninsula, Shi Shi Beach, Siouxon Creek

Shi Shi II

It's time for a photo essay. I'm not great with prompt uploading of photos but I recently went through my Shi Shi photos the other day and it's about time I share a few. For some reason I love the idea of annual events. Planning has never been my strong suit, but as I get older I've found it more natural. I'm also easily disappointed (impossibly high expectations for everything) and find the anticipation of an event to be almost as important as the event itself. For these reasons, the annual event provides a particular joy for me. You can look forward to it for an entire year. You can make next year better. Shi Shi I was all about spontaneity. Shi Shi II was all about food. Each person brought a meal and we all waited with anticipation to see what delicious surprise we would be eating next. We also got a full day of magical sun, a rare occurrence at Shi Shi. We explored down the coast and ended up having to wade back at high tide in waist-deep water. So much adventure. I'm already looking forward to Shi Shi III.

Shi Shi

The weather's been brutal and I am getting increasingly antsy for summer. Besides the usual suspects: sunbathing, popsicles and swimming on the Washougal, I am looking forward to the second annual Shi Shi backpacking trip. Shi Shi Beach is out on the west coast of the Olympic Peninsula and it's beautiful and remote and you need a bear bucket for food storage (note: you absolutely have to have a bear bucket. Not because of all the bears. We didn't see any bears. But if you don't have one the rangers will make you walk back to trail head and ride with them to town to purchase a bear bucket). Highlights included: ferry rides, fat-kid food, gourmet pasta dinner flavored by hiking hunger, urine water, beach combing, solo misty morning exploration, and lots of laughter around the campfire. I'm hoping to expand our expedition team this year and perhaps stay another day. We did not get the requisite amount of exploring in last year but it was a good start.