oh, for the love.

Remember yesterday's cookies? Not so yummy. In fact, when all was said and done I only ate two. Maybe if you suffer from anorexia then you're thinking two is a lot, but the rest of the stay-at-home mommy world know that two cookies from an entire batch is exercising seriously self-control. Except, there wasn't much to control because those cookies tasted one step up from butt.

Tammy, the other momiva (mom+diva), took pity on my motheticness (mom+patheticness) and brought over the yummiest cookies seen here:

Notice there are only four on the plate. Um, that's because I may or may not have eaten two or quite a bit more. Even without Betty Crocker's assimilated frosting product, they tasted divine.

And then, to top off my evening. I got to shoot me a hunky senior in front of my TRUCK!

Truck, truck, bo buck, banana fana fo TRUCK! I love it. And I love this cute senior boy...who is not nearly as cute as my main man, Mark! (That's alliteration for you babe cause I luv ya. wink)

le dessert craptastico!

I like food. Who doesn't? But I hate it when I'm having a hankering for something sweet, and thanks to some grand idea I had two days ago about getting fit, there's nothing yummy in my house to eat. And to make matters worse, someone like Tammy posts something ridiculously good-looking. Check it out HERE!

Of course I act like any other rational stay-at-home mom toting a muffin like stomach, and working towards slimming up to her 20's again. I dig through my cupboards for every last ingredient on that blasted blog post. And sadly enough, I'm one egg short.
One egg from chocholate goodness that will take all my woes away.
One!

So I do the next best thing. I peruse my cookbooks, scan the internet, and say a prayer in my heart that I can make something similar to Tammy's tempting creation.

Do I?

Um, Yeah. Not so much. But though they aren't gourmet, or even finely crafted, these homemade oreos will please my kids. And given the bizarre aftertaste, my diet is saved too! So I'm happy all around. Chocolate craving cured. Diet saved. Kids happy. I feel like a regular super-mom.

If you feel like making le oreo dessert craptastico, here's the recipe. You can be super-mom too!

One devils food cake mix

2 eggs

1/3 cup cooking oil

1 T. water

Mix all of that together until it forms a wierd sticky dough substance. Then pinch off large marble size pieces and roll into balls. Set on a greased cookie sheet a couple inches apart. Press flat. Bake at 375 for 8-10 minutes.

When cool, no need to get all fancy and make frosting. Just pick up some whipped cream cheese frosting in the tubs and smear between two cookies.

Arrange on a decorative plate, and call yourself a domestic goddess!

Intern: FIRED!

So the other day, Intern says to me, "Erin, I just texted my friend and told her I was at your house since you're my OBFF."

Say what? "Um, what is an OBFF?"

"You know," she says glancing from her most recent text to me. "It means Old Best Friend Forever, because my friends at school are like my BFFs but you're old, so you're an OBFF."

Hello? How old does she think I am? I thought back over our conversations and I realized she referred to me this way quite a few times before. Like when we first started working together and she mentioned her friend's mom was probably around my age. Do I look like I'm old enough to have a 17 year old daughter? Maybe if I got preggers when I was 12. Eww! Gross!

Anyway, I had to set that girl straight. I am not OLD! In fact, with a bit of Photoshop work, I look a lot like her teen BFFs. So there!

All I had to say in response to that was, "FIRED!"

But, apparently she doesn't listen because she's still working for me. So here's a cute shot anyway of Intern with her YBFFs.

let's get to the fat of it.

I'll be honest, I've been a little on the porky side since the wedding season has been full swing and I haven't cared much. That is, until yesterday when my pants didn't fit. Dang it. Don't you hate that feeling? Where has my inner Jillian Michaels been?

Today I decided to STOP IT. (See what I mean here).

So, Mark and I went running this evening. I ran two miles, and died a little. But in the end, the part of me that was left felt a little bit better.

Am I going to pull a Drew Carey? (See what I mean here)

Maybe not. But I'm back in it ya'll. And maybe the next time I see you, I will be wearing my pants. Um, you know what I mean, right?

luv, erin

truckin' it.

I recently decided that every girl needs a truck. And so I went out and bought me one. This particular 1965 Ford may not look pretty, but then again, neither do I most days. So now that I found me this old clunker (at a yard sale I might add) I no longer have to get my clients to tresspass on other people's vintage property.

Do you like my truck?

Intern: i darn near got a tear in my eye

Today Intern suprised me.

Fifteen minutes before Intern was scheduled to show up at my house, Mark (my main squeeze) called and said his truck died. Let it be known now that I told him I had a similar problem with his ghetto old truck. I suggested that he take the key out, let the car think for a bit, and then put the key back in. He said he'd already done that and it was clear that the battery was completely dead. So I drove out to Orem to rescue the man.

As soon as I got there, I walked over to the truck, and (just for nothing but a little bit a curiousity) I turned the key so the car was completely off. I took the key out of the ignition and let the car think for a half second. Then I put it back in, and guess what...

That POS ghetto truck started up right then and there. Mark was flabbergasted...and I (muah ha ha ha) didn't at all rub it in.

So seeing as I saved the day, I decided it would be ok if Intern had to wait a moment or two for me. I took myself to the HARTS to get me a cool 32oz.

And who do you suppose I found at the Harts buying, not one but, two icy 32oz drinks?

That's right. Intern.

Finally, she's learning a thing or two from my wisdom-ish ways. I could cry right now.

telephone.

"Hello, hello, baby, you called? I can't hear a thing. I have got no service in the club, you see  . . . You're breaking up on me. Sorry I cannot hear you. I'm kinda busy."

"K-kinda busy.

K-kinda busy.

Sorry I cannot hear you

I'm kinda busy."



I'd like to thank Lady GAGA and Beyonce for their genius in music that so accurately captures the essence of my life. I'd like to thank my parents for blessing me with the talent of phone gab. And I'd especially like to thank my hubby for not minding when I never call back.

It's all of you who have made this phone-i-ness possible for me.

(wave at crowd. Exit stage.)

lots to learn.

Tonight my dad and I went to the Pictureline Digitalfest. We sat in a room of 200 other photogs, and listened to an amazing photographer/cinematographer speak about the industry, the changes that are being made, and what's exciting about cameras now. As he spoke, I seriously had a Joey moment where I could hear the words coming out of his mouth, but it just registered as, "blah, blah, blah, camera, blah."

I wasn't bored. I was overwhelmed. Seriously, I-a-stupid-head-overwhelmed. I felt as though I'd never picked up a camera in my life. He was using jargon that I'd never spoke. So, I'm here to officially tell you that I know nothing about photography. Well, maybe a little something. But if photography is an iceberg, than I only know what's on the tip. And that's a big maybe.

Now I feel like:
1. I must run out and buy a newer, fancier, costlier camera.
2. I might vomit.
3. I've seriously overlooked the art of cinematography.
4. I have to move to Cali, enroll in film school, and make me a MOVIE!

Luv, erin

Intern: lessons learned on a Tuesday

1. I heart Harts.
If you live in Pleasant Grove and you don't go to the Hart's at least three times a week to get yourself a big chill, then you're probably the type of person who'd choose a Krispy Kreme over Daylight Doughnuts, or McDonalds over TA (taco amigo). And that, my friend, is a crime. (Or at least it should be.)

There is nothing that gives me more joy on a daily basis than filling up a cold 32 oz at the Harts. Today after a double senior shoot, I took Intern down to the Harts. And, (drum roll please) I shared with her my special drink mix that puts a hop in my step and keeps me feeling alert during my vigorous editing sessions. I explained to Intern that a happy photographer is one that takes a daily trip to Harts.

2. I heart Chocolate.
When one of my favorite printing shops dropped off my prints with two chocolates, I set down my Harts drink. Did I share one with Intern? HECK-A-NO. Why? Because I love chocolate and I'm the one who edited the pictures that the printer dropped off. Thus, I'm the one who earned the chocolate. Me. Me. Me.

3. I heart Bacon.
After a couple minutes I felt bad that I didn't share my chocolate with Intern. I know, I'm such a bleeding heart. So, I offered her some of last night's leftovers instead. YUM! (It was pasta with a tomato bacon sauce. Now you're not feeling so bad for Intern, are you?)

big MAC.

I'm the Mac daddy (um, momma) now that I have my nifty new computer. Say what? That's right. On Saturday I decided my dino-computer that maxes out at 30G of space wasn't enough to edit pictures on. (If you're a photog client, no worries, I also edit images on my desktop. And I can put at least 50G of info on that...ha ha...but really. PC's bite.)

So I ran down to the BYU and purchased the MACbook PRO. I was so excited, my face may or may not have looked like it was ready to explode by the time I handed over my money. (Insert excited squeal.)

Have I used it much since then?

Um, no. Talk about major let down when I got home. Apparently the computer doesn't come with all the programs I'm used to using: Microsoft Word, Photoshop, Excel, Bejeweled...um, wait. I didn't mean that last one.

See, a MAC only comes with weirdo MAC programs that my PC mind doesn't know how to use. I feel as useless as my neutered dog Bubba. Not only did I fork over a ton of money to ride the MAC train, I also have no clue how to use the thing.

I guess what I'm really saying is I'm more of an impotent Mac Daddy (momma). At least for now.

May the MAC be with you.
luv, erin

Intern: hair-ography.

(chuckle, chuckle. I'm so clever. I just love the post title so much I want to say it again, and again, and again.)

Intern and I were editing photos today. A process that can be lengthy, and hm hm, somewhat boring. When I realized I couldn't take it any longer, I turned to Intern and became instantly mesmerized by her hair. See, the thing is, Intern has the most beautiful curly hair in the world. I wish I could snatch it off her body and glue it to my own head. But alas, I would look freaky with curls glued on top my locks of stringiness.

When my staring reached a level of Hey-weirdo-you're-so-staring-at-me, I smiled and then begged her to brush it out. If I had curly hair, I'd brush it out everyday of my life. I would love it. Like I always say, "go big or go home." (Side note: If you know my sister in WA, you would see that she has been blessed with thick luscious curls. I have also offered to brush her hair out. Unfortunately, she lacks the eye of fashion that I have and she hasn't succumb to my way of thinking.)

Intern agreed!

So I brushed. And brushed. And brushed.

And voila! Beatiful-ish-ness.

Isn't it AMAZING?!? I love it so much. So much I want to scream and run around and then brush it again. If you have curly hair and want me to fix it for you, stop by. I'll do it for free and give you a rockin' awesome headshot. (Oh, and if you're wondering why Intern has her face covered, it's only to protect her identity. You know, cause she's young and all that. It's not because she doesn't like the hair do. Nope, not at all. I think she loves it!)

Hope your day is HAIRY. muah ha ha.

luv, erin

friend(wedge)ship.

Today I spoke to my friend (using my new nifty iphone. If you don't have one, get one. It's the bomb diggity...I believe this phrase is having a comeback, and so by using it, I'm riding the cool wave.)


Anyway, me and the aforementioned friend spoke about a particular book. A book that may or may not be the final book of a trilogy and may or may not have a supa' stink ending. Just saying.

My friend said she LOVED said book. What the? Are you for real? I thought, and may have said. Blown away, I was (thanks Yoda). How could we be such good friends and have such different taste. (Mine being excellent reading taste, and her's, well, not so much). I was pushed to anger by her acceptance and satisfaction with the ending. I was almost just as angry with her as I was with the ending. Friends should like what their friends like, right? And hate what their friends hate, right?

Now, I'm not going to end a friendship or anything. I'm not that type of friend. But, agh. You know?

Anyway, that's just my feelings as of right now. Thanks for letting me vent.

p.s. Author S.C. You are partially dead to me (I did love the first two books) because you have driven a wedge between me and my friend(s).
luv, erin