what will you be?

This past weekend Mark and I went to a halloween party. I was dressed as a TWITCH (trendy witch) and Mark a box of Wheaties.

We so totally go together, huh?

Hey, can you see my little bear cub in the back of this pic? He's a Power Ranger!

And here's my lady bug!

Now, I know our costumes are so totally inspiring, but I'm just wondering, what are you going to be?

french onion soup.

My favorite. I love, drool over, crave and must have this soup at least once during the fall and once in the winter. It's an annual tradition for my family once the weather turns cold. If you live in Utah, you know it was beastly cold yesterday, so of course I made FRENCH ONION SOUP!

I'll tell you now, this recipe is unlike any you'll ever have. My mom snagged the recipe off a burly pup owner in England years ago. FYI, did you know I was actually born there? I know, the accent gives it away.

Anyhow, it's delish. I hope you enjoy.

1. Cut the onions. And bawl like a friggin' baby. Holy cow, I had mascara streaking down my face like I was next in line to star in a KISS show.

2. Then make the onion goodness:

French Onion Soup



3-4 lbs of sweet onions, sliced thin

1/2 cup butter

4-5 Tbl. flour

6 cups chicken broth

4-5 Tbl. rice vinegar or mild vinegar 

1 loaf of sour dough bread, chopped into bite size pieces

1 pound of Swiss cheese

1. Saute onions in butter until tender, not brown.

2. Stir in flour until the aroma smells divine! (Your mixture will look light brown.)

3. Whisk in chicken broth, and then add vinegar to taste.

4. Scoop soup mixture into oven safe bowls.

5. Top with handfuls of bread cubes, and Swiss cheese.

6. Cook at 500 degrees until cheese is melted and lightly browned.

Then eat and enjoy, and think of me!

a product I cannot live without...

Tune in later to this very blog for a recipe made with PBF!

Sigh.

If I could do it all over again, I'd do it just like this...

Style. Sophistication. Simplicity.

Isn't she stunning?

What would you change about your wedding day?

another story in which I make an excellent candidate for mother of the year.

Remember the time I totally got my days confused and sort of, kind of, well almost, in all honesty I basically forgot my son's birthday? You can check out that story here. Awesome, right?

It would seem, based on the events in the last week, that I have a talent for the aforementioned birthday forgetting.

Case in Point: Teddy the Bear's birthday.

Week in Review:

Monday: Edited Photos
Tuesday: Edited Photos

*son of a...
Late Tuesday night I had the singular thought, Something's going on tomorrow that I've forgotton about. What could that be? Well, duh. Teddy's birthday. As in, the celebratory day in which I apparently forgot to buy a cake mix, candles, balloons, and presents. Pretty much, I had a whole lot of nothing planned.
At ten in the evening I made a few phone calls and begged my sweet good neighbors with young kids to bring their kiddos to my house the next day for a FABULOUS party (one of which I had not planned).

Wednesday: Rush to Target. Buy everything that resembles Halloween party supplies. Rush home. Clean house. Make cupcakes. Con good friend into helping me make salsa. Turn all photography business over to Intern. Cross fingers that kids show up.

And did they? Thank the Good Lord, YES!

So last minute, I threw the best 4-year-old Halloween party that a slack-A Mom could pull together in less than a day. We decorated pumpkins and played freeze dance to Michael Jackson's THRILLER.
All in all, it was a perfect party. And now my little guy is four. It's hard to believe how fast he's growing up. Here's a shot I made the kids take just hours before the party.

name dropping and clothes busting.

Where the devil have you been? Oh, wait a sec. Yeah, I mean where the heck have I been?

URWA

Say what? You don't know that that means. It stands for Utah Romance Writers of America. And last week I was the 'esteemed' photographer of honor. (Alright, so maybe I wasn't the esteemed guest...whatev! But I was the photographer.)
Authors, agents, editors and publishers came to the conference. I shot all day long, and learned a thing or two about writing. Mostly it was awesome. Especially when I got to see the amazing Karen Hoover, and Candace Salima, and Laurie Mclean, and Amy Moore-Benson, and Victoria Dahl, and Bree Despain, and Jessica Day George (who, I personally believe, should just go by JDG. It sounds supa' cool).

Whoa, breathe. That was one heck of a name drop. Am I cooler now? Am I? (Fingers crossed you'll say yes, but if you say no that's ok too because the rest of this post is for you... I am SO. NOT. COOL! Read on, and you'll see why.)

THE MOMENT YOU'VE ALL BEEN WAITING FOR:

Remember a paragraph and a half back when I said "mostly" awesome? Here's the small, miniscule, nothing to worry about part of the conference that was definitely NOT awesome. At. All.

While shooting headshots of all the amazing conference attendees, I met an older gentleman who was sporting quite the manly goatee. I asked him what he wrote. (That's what non-published-aspiring-writers mostly talk about) The goatee-wearing man said, "I write erotica."

My jaw dropped to the floor. "Um, yes, well. That's nice, and lovely. And I'm sure it's very interesting." And then I put the camera in front of my face and started shooting. There was nothing coherent left to say.

That evening, at the conference dinner I wore the new blouse I purchased earlier in the day at JCREW. (So maybe I wasn't shooting the entire time of the conference.) While I was looking for my seat, the goatee-gentleman waved me over. When I reached where he was sitting, I placed my hand on his table and leaned over to talk to him.

SNAP is what I should've heard. But I didn't. Those top three devil buttons on my blouse came undone on their own without so much of a warning noise. In front of Erotica-writing goatee-gentleman, my top three buttons popped open to expose my hot pink brazier. (The white one was dirty.)

He looked at me, then looked at, um...you know. And he said, "Looks like you're coming undone."

In that moment, I wanted to DIE.

Did I? Of course not. That's why I'm writing this extremely long post on why I am so, so, so not cool. I'm just a person who as of late is not published and happens to expose fluorescent undergarments at Erotica-writing, goatee-sporting gentleman.

Intern: total sicko

Intern called texted in that she was sick today. And you know what that made me think of? These darn kids and all their texting.

Back in my day, which might I add wasn't too long ago, kids didn't text. Heck, most kids didn't even have a cell phone. That could be because they were the size of a brick and weighed close to the same, but whatev. In fact, since I started working with youngun's like Intern, my texting has increased. I used to have the 200 text plan, and now I'm going to have to bump it.

This is a grief I'd planned on laying on Intern. Now that she's not here, I have no one to complain to. My home is too quiet. And my hair is too thin. Where is Intern with her thick, lucious locks?

Not here, that's where.

Get better soon Intern, lest I spend all my money on hair extensions so I have something to brush out and take pictures of.

rain and kissing.

The thunder boomed so loudly in the sky that it shook my entire house, and my tv screen flashed on and off. Creepy! And wee bit romantic. I do love me a good thunder storm, and thanks to the Good Lord, this summer has been full of them.

On days like this, I drawn into making autumn inspired food...even if it is just a spice cake mix, an egg and a can of pumpkin, and a mass load of chocolate chips. (Seriously though, try it. Cook these pumpkin cookies at 375 for 15 min.)

But there was no cooking today because I had a lot of editing to do. I know, what's new, right? Blah, blah, blah. I'm sure by now you want to gouge your eyes out when I talk about photography. I hope to end all that soon. See, one day I plan to never take another picture again, and spend my time as a pop-culture information specialist employing my days in front of the television as way of research.

However, until then...

Photography it is. Here's a rain shot that makes up for the no cooking day. I love kissing in the rain. Even when I'm not the one doing it. Sigh.

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