aerobics, pee, and karma.

I started teaching aerobics when I was 18. Which as you might guess, was in the not so distant past

Snort...fine you haters, stop rolling your eyes. It was awhile ago.

On with my story: 
One day during class, a woman complained of all the jumping jacks and jump rope exercises. She asked if we could do less, or none at all.
Being a huge fan of jump rope and it's body toning benefits, I couldn't figure out why she didn't like the activity. Maybe she was just having a lazy day. I've had a few of those. I could sympathize.
I asked her if she was having a hard time breathing. She said breathing wasn't the problem. It was peeing.
"Peeing?" I asked, unsure if I heard her correctly.
She nodded and explained that since having her last baby, jumping made her feel as if she might pee her pants.
Not having kids of my own, I couldn't figure out why having a baby would make you feel like you might pee. I told her we were almost finished and it was probably just a sensation thing. She should try to continue with the class. No pain no gain, right?
Apparently I was wrong. A minute later she bolted from the room leaving a puddle in her wake.

I felt like the most awful teacher ever.

Flash forward a few years after I had three kids of my own. 

After teaching a exceptionally challenging workout routine I decided to stop by the store on the way home. I pushed the cart up and down the aisles, as my toddler swung his legs, kicking me in the stomach.
"Henry," I stopped in my tracks beside the frozen foods. "Stop kicking me. It hurts Mommy."
He looked at my face, then at where he was kicking...then he looked a little lower. (Side Note: I sweat A LOT!) 

"Momma!" He squealed. "You peed your pants. You peed, you peed, you peed. Georgie look, Momma peed."
I tried to shush him, but he wouldn't stop. That kid chose that exact moment to holler like he'd never hollered before. "Momma peed!" he yelled until every adult in a three aisle range was made aware of my body sweat issue.

I decided right then that it was karma because I made that poor lady jump till she peed. I guess in life sometimes things come back to bite you in the butt. That's all.

(Side note: Oh, and if you're thinking my sweatiness was more than sweat, I'll deny it till I die.)

agent stalking.

I go to a handful of conferences every year. Sometimes I get lucky (git yer mind outta the gutter)...I meant sometimes I'm lucky because I get to be the conference photographer. Which is a position that's not without perks. For example:

Perk #1 People hate me. When I turn my big lens on someone they look away or make a face. That makes me feel awesome. I love it when people avoid me at all costs. (Cue Nacho Libre voice) It is the best!

Perk #2 I flash people...and not just with my camera. My camera hangs from a fashionable neck strap that rubs across my side and front when I sling my camera around. It's a common everyday thing that I never think about much. That is, until last year at this conference. I brought a whole new approach to really understanding the genre. (The genre being romance. Think: heaving bosoms and bodice rippers. No, that's not exactly what I like to write...but maybe after what happened last year I should re-think it.) You can read about that here. 

Perk #3  I stalk people. And when I say people, I really mean agents. The thing is, being the photographer is like having an all access pass. Kind of. Usually the conference board that I'm working for wants me to take lots of pics of the VIP guests, like agents and editors. In the event they are not offended by the camera or my style of flashing, I usually get to spend some time talking with them. And when I say talking, I really mean stalking.


Basically it's an ok gig all around.

In October I'm going to attend the Utah Romance Writers of America-Heart of the West Conference. Man, that's a mouth full. The conference is going to be awesome because some pretty amazing agents are coming. Agents that I'll be stalking with my big massive camera and heaving bosoms. Want to come too? If you do, go to this link. Mention that I sent you over and they may waive the late fee! And then if you go you can come and stalk and flash and be hated just like me.

bread butt.

The other day while I was making the typical PB&J lunch for my two youngest kids, I found myself out of bread. Luckily I keep a back-up loaf in the freezer. I pulled it out and thawed the first four pieces. When I started spreading the PB on the butt of the loaf, Teddy said, "I don't want that piece."
That was new. Up until that very moment I thought Teddy loved the end piece. He didn't protest the day before, or the day before that.
"I thought you liked the butt piece," I said.
"Not anymore. I don't like the butt."
I sighed. This new opinion of his had recently outed tomatoes and cucumbers too. I worried for a brief moment that he might become as fickle an eater as one of my friend's kids that will only eat toast and salmon. 
Ruby pulled herself up on the stool beside him and said very matter-of-factly, "I like butt."

And right then all my worries were washed away with laughter. 

procrastination.

I am guilty of procrastinating. Everything. Basically if I have something to do I'll wait until the very last minute to do it. Having said that, you'd think I didn't ever get anything done. Right?
Not so. See I have a theory. It is the theory of over-procrastination equals mass-production.

When I have a lot to do and I'm down to the last minute, I usually work faster and more efficiently. I get a lot more done. For example, when I have seven shoots to edit in less than a week, a chapter to write for my writing group, kids' appointments to attend, and a filthy house to clean; I actually end the week with a five of the seven shoots completed, a half-chapter written, an extra book read (because I cracked under the pressure and I de-stress by reading), only one appointment forgotten for the kids, and a semi-clean house.

If I compare that to any other normal non-stress week, I'd say my completed total isn't too shabby. I may have not finished everything I needed, but at least I did more than I usually would.

And so what I'm saying is procrastination creates an environment where you can be more productive than if you were sitting at home doing nothing. Therefore, I deem this the week of procrastinating!

Go Forth and Procrastinate.


...um, am I way off base here, or do you procrastinate too?

egg-actly what i'm talking about.

Did you know that regular store eggs come out brown and are bleached white?

I'm ashamed to admit my ignorance, but I didn't know that until Doug, my step-father-in-law-once-removed, handed me a dozen eggs from his chickens (that live in his back yard) and told me just that. He said, "Did you know they bleach store bought eggs white?" I said, "Really? That's weird. Why don't they just keep them brown."
"I dunno," he said. "Probably because people like the look of it."

Well, I thought about that. Not for too long or anything. It's not like I'm sitting around pondering the color of the almighty egg for days on end. It just struck me as odd. Why can't brown eggs stay brown? I can't say I ever gave it much thought...here I go with the thinking about it all again...and what I came to think about it is this:

I think brown eggs look mighty fine and real purty. Maybe if we all though that then we'd have speckly brown eggs instead of bleached white eggs. There. I done said it. I like brown better than white. Call me an egg-cist.

Holla' ya'll for the brown egg. 

Now don't them eggs look nice?

wishin' and hopin'.

That pretty much sums it all up.
Sure, it would be great if the world was at peace and people gave hugs instead of slugs. But why not throw a little self-love in my wishing too? One day I wish that a literary agent will find my manuscript in his/her email inbox, and after reading through the entire novel in one sitting (because it's so uber-amazing the agent wouldn't be able to rip his eyes away) the agent will then call me on the phone and ask beg to represent my work because of it's complete awesomeness.

And yes, I would like the agent to actually use that term.

Is that so much to wish for?

I don't think so...but I hope the second half of my wish comes sooner than the first half.

huntress.

Once I dated a guy who was a hunter. He sent me a picture of himself sitting on top a deer or a buck (I have no clue about these things really) and the poor deer-buck was dead. Blood and guts and all were exposed. Gag, right? That poor deer-buck animal was a goner. It's wee little offspring were left to wander through the woods alone.

Now that many moons have passed since I dated hunter-boy, I too have gone the way of the huntress.
Well, kind of.
I recently shot an animal. And I have the picture to prove it. No, it's no deer-buck animal. But a Moose!

Yes, ya'll. I done gone and shot me a Moose. 

Now who's the huntress? 

Boo-yah. Ya'll come back y'here.

(Something about shooting wildlife has inspired the hick-lovin', animal-huntin' side of me.)

this is me for real.

I posted this earlier on Facebook, but it makes me laugh so hard I thought I would share it here. My friend Finny caught this true life shot of me at a recent wedding. I'm not sure whether I should be appalled that I'm looking so freakishly blissful, or that some young boy appears to be checking me out. Either way, all I can say is: That's right boys, I still got it.

truth...or something like it

Some days that's truer than others. Of course, I'm still cutting back on my DC habit.

so very cheesy.

I love to take wedding photos...and I love all my cute couples...and I think all their pictures are to die for. Gush, gush, gush. Yeah, I get that I sound like a total sap. Cheesiness to the max. But it's the truth. Well, most of the time. I'll not be speaking of any bride-zillas here so you can go elsewhere if you think this post has anything to do with the bride I encountered last week that nearly ripped my head off because I merely mentioned she might have to wait one minute longer to take a certain picture. Please, like I'm working on her time schedule. When will these brides learn that their wedding day is MY day? Mine, mine, mine. Where I'm the photog rockstar and they're just a momentary blip in my shot. 

 

Uh, did I just say all thought in out-loud cyber space? 

 

Pardon the serious tangent. The truth of the post is this, sometimes I really do love my brides and grooms to death. And sometimes I shed a tear. Like when I snapped this shot:

Sometimes I cry. (Note: should you mention this fact to anyone I'll deny it. I'm no sissy photog.)

So when my close friend's little sister gets married to an awesome guy, and then she shares a tear-jerking dance with her father...sometimes I get a little misty-eyed. Or a lot. 

And it's those times I realize that I love photography even if sometimes I get stressed; sometimes I feel as if I don't have time to pee; sometimes I wish I was writing instead of shooting; sometimes I want to just turn my ringer off and spend two hours taking a hot bath. 

Sometimes it's so worth it to be a photographer. And one of those times would be when the awesome father of the bride (pictured above) includes a little bonus on top of my wedding fee. A bonus that's not at all too cheesy for me and my queen of cheese. 

When the bonus is a can of COUGAR GOLD, then I say it's pretty darn great being a wedding photographer! 

wedding day nightmare.

Did your wedding day go off without a hitch? Was it everything you ever dreamed of? Or did something disastrous happen? Because if the latter is the case, believe me, I completely understand...I'm not saying my own wedding day was an absolute debacle, but I've been to enough weddings to tell you that sometimes...a lot of the time...things don't go as planned.

As in this case:
Monday I arrived at the designated location at 3:30 pm to shoot my lovely bride and handsome groom. Because they didn't have a bridal session, we shot their bridal type images before their ceremony which was to start at 4:00 pm.
First, let me say that it usually takes a few minutes to start shooting. The bride needs to be prepped and then placed in the perfect location that will enhance her loveliness. So basically when I say that we didn't start shooting until 3:45, I'm really saying that it's not because I'm slow. I am not slow! (Sorry, personal issues.)
The shoot continued for 10 or so minutes before I realized my lovely bride didn't have her ring on.
I said, "Hey do you want your ring in these shots?"
"Yes," she said.
And off her sister went to fetch the rings.

5 minutes later:

I glanced over my shoulder and saw my lovely bride's sweet sister with a look of pure petrification on her face.
"Um, Matilda (this is a fake name...but totally cool, right?) what's wrong?" I asked.
"If I tell you, you are going to freak," she said, voice shaking as much as her hands.
Um. Like that statement didn't just freak the bejeezus out of me. Sure.
"No worries. I won't freak," I said. Total lie. "What's up?"

INSERT: As I spoke the wind blew through the field tossing around weeds and wild flowers. Yes, we were standing in a field full of tangled weeds. Awesome...but not ideal for that day's shoot. You'll see.

"Well," she began after much coaxing. She pulled the ring pillow out from behind her back. "The rings are gone. They were on the pillow in the car, but after I walked across this field and jumped over that ditch there, they disappeared."
Holy freaking Moly! You've got to be kidding me, right? Right!?! No. It was the truth. My eyes grew to the size of saucers and I immediately rushed to her side, dropped down to my knees and started searching the field. My bride, bless her sweet soul, kept her composure as her fiance helped me dig through weeds. She even stayed calm after I called in the Calvary to help me search. Friends and family members of the bride came down and dug through the field.

45 minutes later:
I found the bride's ring. I wanted to cry, shout, jump for joy...at least be rewarded with some type of Hart's drink (this didn't happen). We kept searching for the grooms ring.

Alas, we never found it.

The wedding went on as planned, aside from the huge bump. But now I think, as I look fondly on that day, how bad can your wedding day really get? I suppose there's a lot more worse things that could happen than losing rings. But for your sake, I hope not.

luv, erin

food glorious food...and other conference pictures

In January I stopped eating sugar and drinking caffine. Well, mostly. Alright, so it was a little hard when we went on vacation to California, and then even harder when Harts (my city's beloved gas station) has free drink day, but the hardest when I went to a writing conference last week and EVERYBODY was drinking and eating what I wanted.

So yeah, I broke down. I drank the Diet Coke and ate the M&Ms. I swear I wasn't thinking about food and soda the whole time, but when I look back at the pictures I took, I wonder if maybe I was just fooling myself.

You decide.

 That's a snickers.

 Yeah, and a Reeses Peanut Butter Cup. Yum.

 An apple. So I was trying to stay healthy...at least in thought.

 Soda!!!

 Food, glorious Food!

 Yes a gummy worm. And sadly, if she offered it to me I would have eaten it from her nose.

These may be the unfortunates that didn't win a Whitney at the 2011 Whitney Awards,

but I just see them as Cheesecake lovers.

Yes, I'm guilty of being a food lover.

Sigh.

luv, erin

two loves.

First, Happy Mother's Day to all the wonderful mother's out there. I can't say enough good things about my own mother and the many women in my life that have raised and supported me throughout the years. I'm truly blessed by their influence, and grateful for all that these wonderful women do for me.

Second, because it's Mother's Day, which essentially means MY DAY, then I figured there could be no better way to celebrate today than by posting about ME ME ME ME ME ME ME!

Yeah, you get the pic. I'm slightly self-centered.

Regardless, I want to share with you what I did this last weekend. I went to the 2011 LDS Storymaker's Writing Conference. And I attended as the "Official Photographer." No joke. That was my title. You know, I dab in photography now and then.

Besides hearing amazing speakers like (prepare for unbelievable name drops): Janette Rallison, Agent Sara Crowe, Agent Sara Megibow, Agent Becca Stumph, Josi Kilpack, Tristi Pinkston, Elana Johnson, Larry Brooks, James Dashner, Sarah Eden, Clint, Tyler, Brothers: Rob and Dan...notice how I'm dropping to a first name basis like we're total besties. Yeah, we pretty much are.

Ok, don't go asking them or anything. They might be modest and act as though we've never really met. But trust me, we have met and we are BFF'S.

The point of my endless self-enduldged monologue is that while I was there I shot lots of people's pictures. Basically I was in a semi-heaven with the combination of my two hobby loves in life: writing and shooting. Learning to write (because apparently I haven't figured this one out yet) and shooting lots of name-droppable people made me feel happy and warm inside. I don't have time to share much, but here are some pics I nabbed of two of my favorite ladies.

Happy Mother's Day!
luv, erin

The famous Tristi Pinkston:

The amazing Shari Bird:

best album ever. oh, and a contest.

I was recently reading a friend's post in which she asked, "what's your favorite road trip song ever?"
Well, my first thought was:
Of course, I'm Moving On by Rascal Flatts
That song is a given for all road trips. If you haven't sung your guts out with the Rascal Flatts boys to the smooth harmonies of I'm Moving On while driving down the I-15, then you haven't road tripped. Just hearing the song on the radio puts an itch in my step to jump in my mini (van, that is) and head North or South to my sister's homes.
But before I could type my answer, a buried memory clawed it's way out of my cobwebbed brain, and I thought of another road trip I took years ago. During a short-lived summer job in New York City, I accompanied my boss to her summer home in the Adirondacks. We drove for a few hours at most, but what I remember was bonding over a particular album that we both loved:

U2 - Joshua Tree

Favorite song:
Where the Steets Have No Name

Um, pretty much. Best. Song. Ever.

The songs in Joshua Tree were like my personal anthem for that summer, and many more after. In recent years, I lost the album and sadly forgot about how much I loved playing it over and over again. That is, until Ally's post. And if you want, you can go and enter her contest:

HERE

And now that I have that memory back, the Summerills are going to be enjoying the musical stylings of Bono and the U2 gang once again. 

What's your all time favorite album?

cupcake.

As if I didn't need another reason to break Lent. Brekke, an amazing photographer and friend, showed up on my doorstep today with a lovely box of these goodies (see images below). Believe me when I say they smell as good as they look. So here's the new motto of my little ghetto blog:

If You Bring It, I Will Shoot It.

Do you think it's too Kevin Costner? Nah, I didn't think so either.

So, if you perchance happen to make something mouth-watering and ridiculously good-looking, don't hesistate to stop by my house. I take a couple shots, more than a couple bites, and we'll call it good.

luv, erin

And in case you were wondering, the cupcakes on the left are blueberry cream cheese, and the ones on the right are peanut butter chocolate. Terrible, right? Ugh. Talk about kill my Lent with a fiery vengence.

rules.

I've spent the last few days at LTUE, learning how to turn my craptastic novel writing into something spectacularly un-crappy. In order to do this, I first must follow the rules. Guidelines, if you will, that will mold and shape my writing, and self image into something that's marketable, manageable, malleable. Hoops to jump through. Feats to accomplish.
Honestly, (because my novel writing isn't the best) it's amazing how much I need to do.
Ugh (insert whiney groan because at heart, I'm truly a lazy arse).
But, because I'm determined to one day shake hands with MR. PUBLISHER, and grin like a wildcat (Go Troy Bolton!) when he passes over my first royalty check, I'm going to follow the rules.

So in the meantime...while I'm attending this science fiction and fantasy writing conference, I've decided to take the liberty to write some of my own rules. Why? You ask. Because as I've gone throughout the day and shared space with hundreds of other hopeful writers (believe me, the classes have been packed and that's not necessarily a good thing), a few things have become clear to me.
Undeniably clear.

And so, you see, I've come up with a list of my own. 

Rules for attending a Sci-Fi/Fantasy Writing Conference: 

1. Shower.
I hate to say it, but when you pack a few hundred people into a room that has the body capacity for 50, it gets warm and stinky pretty fast. Take a look at the type of conference I'm attending. Believe me, ode of greasy head isn't what I want to bathe in for hours each day. So please Sci-Fi and Fantasy friends, shower.

2. Turn off your D*%# cell phone.
I don't care who you are, it's rude when your cell phone screams a creepy 'howler' ring smack dab in the middle of a NYT bestselling author's explanation of the revision process.

3. Use shampoo. 
I realize that I've already cautioned those attending this type of Con to shower. But it's come to my attention due to close proximity of another that perhaps all sci-fi/fantasy loving, fantastically long-haired males don't understand that proper showering includes a good scrubbing with shampoo that will cleanse the scalp of greasy clumping oils. Please, use shampoo, lest the sweet gal beside you pass out from overdose of head stink.

4. No crying.
I know Brandon Sanderson and Jessica Day George make you swoon just by walking in the room, but for the love of all things holy, don't bawl like a baby in front of them. It's just not cool. And again, I know it's a Sci-Fi writing conference, but you have to draw the line somewhere.

5. Keep your D&D where it belongs.
This is a writing conference. Not a boys gaming quest. Please no more D&D questions, and how it applies to Lord of the Rings. Please...I'm dying here.

And last, but certainly not least:

6. Just don't do it.
When one of the class options for the hour is "Bella as Mother Savior..." just walk away. Don't attend. Pretend it's an ink stain on the list of possible Con classes to take. A grave mistake that you don't have to be a part of.

So, follow these simple rules, and you too can make it through a Sci-Fi Writing Conference without passing out, offending others, dropping your dignity off the empire state building of self-worth, or permanently scarring your brain.

how much would you pay.

These shoes retail for $1500.00. Seriously.
And, yes, I have a picture of them because I know someone (who's totally awesomesauce) that bought them.

Recently I purchased a pair of sweater Uggs--something I said I'd never ever buy.
More than $100 on a pair of shoes is ridiculous. Right?
Well, after trying them on (a weakness in my part for stopping at the Nordstroms for too long) I resisted...for all of one week before I found them at another store and plunked down $150 for the Aussie boots.

Why, you ask, would I ever spend so much on shoes? Because they're worth it. They form to your feet in a cozy warmth that can't be matched. Believe me, I know. I'm a connoisseur of shoes, having purchased and tried hundreds of different brands and types. Now that I own the Uggs, I wear them almost daily. They're replaced 90% of what I used to wear. And to be honest, if my sweet hubby wouldn't give me the crazy eye for trying to wear them to church, I'd be wearing them %100 of the time.

So before my Uggs, my limit for shoes stopped somewhere around $80. But now that I've joined the dark side, I can't say I know what my limit is.

How much would you pay for an awesome pair of shoes? 

What is too expensive? 

The name drop of ALL name drops...

Guess who came by my house today?

That's right. Jesus.

Holla! Who's the holiest now?

That's right ya'll. 

Me!

Ok, on a not so blasphemous side note, when Clint (the real name of the above mentioned) came over, Teddy, my ever-curious four-year-old, asked him if he could walk on water, "because the real Jesus can walk on water." 

Clint said, "No." 

So Teddy proceeded to tell Clint all about Jesus. 

I just stood back and smiled bigger than I had in a long time. I love my little guys!

today=crash and burn

Today I should be:

EDITING 5 family sessions, 1 wedding, 1 senior, and a workshop. WRITING 5,000 words for NanoWrimo. PROGRAMMING the new blog for our lil' frame company. CREATING a pamphlet for said frame company. CLEANING the sticky post-Halloween guck left by 40 kid-sized fingers all over my house. SHOWERING me. EATING.

But, instead of doing all that, I'm staring at my Lame-A, bugged out, crashed, piece of $#%@ COMPUTER, wondering why, oh why, it choose today of all days to upload a virus that would send my life spiraling into a stressful oblivion of burning failure.

Son of a motherless goat!

Oh, so you snarky few out there might be wondering how I'm even posting this...I'm using my MAC laptop...the one computer that doesn't have the start of my new book on it, or the many sessions I need to edit, or the Photoshop docs that I need for the lil' frame company.

So today, I will be vegging out in front of the TV and catching up on 5 years of missed All My Children episodes.

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?