Put the camera down, and no one gets hurt...

Ever since college, I've become a photophiliac. I'm addicted to pictures. I know that if I take about 50 a night, then I will have 3 that I love. For the past month however, my camera charger has been missing. I realize I had been missing some real moments while capturing posed ones.

Fortunately! My friends take pictures. Here's what's been up.

<-- An outfit that I truly enjoyed,

<-- An activity that I had forgotten I love,

And a word my mother used

to use "cashola"

(not to mention nice orange shoes)

That Moment

I always come to a point in any relationship- not necessarily romantic- where I consider laying it all on the line. It usually comes when I'm tired of fighting, or when I don't think there's much else to lose. Alternately, it might be when I feel most open or optimistic with someone. If things are going so well, I might as well tell them everything and see how it goes. I think to myself, why not? I should just tell them everything. Every motivation, every detail, every secret.

I never do.

I should. I should say, 'I really didn't want to be your friend, I just didn't have anyone else to turn to, and now things have gone sour, so let's just walk away.' I should say, 'I've just been seeing how long this dating thing would work out, but I really haven't invested any emotions since the beginning.' Or 'I'm totally fucked up in the head, please forgive that and love me even when I have no mascara on.'

I'm not sure what I'm waiting for.

Is this awesome or awful?

Someone wise once told me, sometimes when life hands you shit, it's just compost in disguise. You never know if the moment that feels horrible is going to turn around and create something wonderful for you. So many times I felt like a bomb just went off in my life- break ups, getting fired from babysitting, failing my AP History exam- but when the dust settles, things look so much better than before. If there hadn't been break ups with a million jerks, I wouldn't still be available for Mr. Right. If I hadn't gotten fired from babysitting, I wouldn't have started working at Santiago's where I learned Spanish. If I had

passed my History exam, I wouldn't have needed to take Sociology 101, which put me where I am today.

The school that I was going back and forth about signing a contract for a full time position with next year in Mexico just made it a lot easier to choose. They offered me 6 hours a week (which is up from my 3 now but still part time); I would be sharing with the non-English speaking current teacher. They loved my teaching, I excelled in all areas, gave about 100 90 percent when it came to after hour meetings, plays, fairs, fundraisers, protests, recycle clean up, recess duty, substitution... the list goes on. Maybe it's because they don't want to fire another teacher to give me a full time spot. Maybe I didn't seem interested in a full time position. Maybe they want people that don't speak English to teach English!

I know I could make an incredibly convincing argument for the full time, well paid position that I know I should have. I could go in, 3 tiered argument blazing, email the head of the school, and might get exactly what I'm asking for. But in the end, I feel bad fighting for a better position that I don't even know if I want. I suppose I'll leave it be for now. Who knows, this pseudo- snub might actually be a blessing in disguise. The richest compost often comes in the form of pure B.S.

Foto fabulous

Just a little sample of things that have been going on in my neck of the woods.

Just keep swimming, just keep swimming...

When I was young, my family and I went on a white water rafting trip. Our guide was a talented, tanned, young woman who could probably could have bench pressed my father. There was a moment when we were all floating outside of the boat except my dad, and the raft started to drift in the wrong direction. The guide had to swim upstream to help him steer, and the image of her doing the butterfly stroke against the strongest current I'd ever felt is an image that will stay with me for the rest of my life. She was so strong! I tried to turn and swim, and I wasn't even staying in one place. She managed to beat the current, return to the boat and save the day.

In a nutshell, she is my hero. I want to be able to beat that current. I want to be that strong.

Unfortunately, I'm not. My life is the current, and I can barely stay afloat.

This boy I'm seeing, I know how bad he is for me. All my women's studies training is screaming in my ear to leave, but I keep trying to fix him. I keep thinking if I just give enough, he'll stop needing. I give him my most powerful butterfly stroke (a rose at the airport when he arrives, little surprises at work...) and yet all I'm able to do is stay still. The moment I stop swimming, I'm rushed downstream. The first slip in affection, and he turns back into the insecure ball of lint from before.

I'm swimming towards the goal of a life of travel. I'm so close, sometimes I'll catch a good upstroke like Nicaragua, and yet, I'm still not there. What are the types of jobs that will let me move to a new place every six months, pay the bills and get me work visas? Hotel management for a large firm? Pilot? Mail order bride?

I swim towards happiness. Some elusive elation is in my raft and I know if I just swim hard enough, if I just master my efforts, I can get there. Either that, or I should just let go and enjoy the lazy river of life. How bad could the rapids ahead be? Hmm. They could be really bad. If I stop trying, I might end up living in my dad's basement in the same town I grew up in, working for the same pizza place as I did in college. In the end, I just keep swimming- I'll get there.

To Kill or to Chill?

First thing's first- salsa dancing is hard. Zuma is like salsa on meth. Therefore, Zuma class followed by a night of salsa dancing is a bad plan, but a great work out- just a little FYI.

Moving on, I've been wondering all morning, what's the difference between being a doormat and being easy going? I think it might have something to do with letting things go that you can't change (thanks serenity prayer) but I'm having trouble walking the line between the two options.

My inquiry is sparked by two things. First, I'm in line for a new contract at the school I work at. I know what I want: to be English coordinator for the middle school and I have a certain number in mind for my salary. With these two things, I will sign a contract to stay for next year. If not, I'm going to have to seriously think about it. But do I go to them and say- 'this is what I want'? Or do I wait for them to offer and then counter with what I'm looking for? Who knows, they might have a way higher number in mind... or way lower. So do I sit back and wait or actively push my own agenda?

Secondly, I'm currently in a relationship. The ex of the guy keeps popping into the picture. They have a good relationship, and I'm all for being friends with ex's. I'm putting on the "chill girlfriend" front, repressing any jealousy or urges to scream, "If she calls you again, I'll shank a

hoe!", because, you know, that would not be very chill. So last night he gets a call from her at 5 am. I hear her tell him she's outside and ask if he's busy... (this is the part where I am trying my hardest not to grab the phone or better yet, walk outside) Like a good boy, he tells her he's happily asleep with the girlfriend he loves and she hangs up. The whole thing seems very sketchy. So what is my plan of action here readers? Is it a doormat move to let him handle it? Would it look bad for me to politely ask her to stop such tomfoolery? (Ask her with my fists? I mean....)

I know I'm in charge of my own life, making my own destiny. But at what point should I bulldoze my way to my own goals and when should I allow life to offer me what it has to give? Hmm.

A Little Masochism in the Morning!

I have a bad habit. Two actually, but it's the same habit in different forms. I love punishment. Like all problems, it's best to blame the mother. When I was little, probably old enough to understand she was joking (mostly), my mother would brush my hair- hard. She didn't have time to gingerly work around the knots. When I would yelp, she would "lovingly" smack me on the top of the head with the back of the brush and tell me it's the price of beauty. Ahh, the ways the rabbit hole twists. I'm sure there are more origins of my slightly masochistic ways, but the end result is- I get some satisfaction from suffering. The two main ways I self inflict this punishment is with shoes and men.

We'll start with the former. I love shoes, I love the way they look lined up in my closet, I love the way they feel when I slip them on, I love everything about them. Specifically, I adore high heels. The higher the better. Which means I love heels that hurt. My hands down favorite pair of heels are my gold glitter ones. The first time I wore them, my feet bled from the glitter rubbing the sensitive part under my ankle bone. I have scars from that night. Do you think I stopped wearing them? No. I keep them for special nights; the logic being that, it's not a special night unless I'm in pain. Wow, that came out a little more twisted than I had hoped. This is what blogging is about right? Uncovering things about yourself? Anybody? (crickets squeaking) Back to shoes! The weird part is, when I'm buying shoes, I don't think about how comfortable they are. I worry about how they look, what I will match them with, if I have some like them, everything that should come second to whether or not they will hurt me. Pain is not a factor. The similarities between this questionable habit and my choice of men are bountiful.

Ahh, boys. Sigh. When I think back on the "important" romantic relationships of my life, I realize they were all incredibly... painful, for lack of a softer word. Ups, downs, fights, break ups- the works. Admittedly, they were also full of intense love. Heartbreaking love, painful love, love that makes you ache. Does this sound healthy? Not so much. If everything was peaches and cream, butterflies and shit, the relationship doesn't register with me as one of the Big Ones. I actively look for boys that I will conflict with. Again, did I really just say that? I look for interesting men, confidant men, opinionated and strong. Put me in the mix, and you have fireworks.

I love boys and shoes that don't quite fit. I keep thinking if I just break them in, work on it long enough, I will be more comfortable. This plan never works. I start off the night, or the

relationship, happy and comfy. I look great, I feel beautiful, compliments flow freely. The moment some dancing starts, some challenge, I feel a tinge of pain. I ignore it, I deny its existence, until finally the pain is unbearable, and I toss them aside. The next day, I swear I will be better. I wear clogs, I date nice boys, but sooner or later, I feel the itch for something a little dangerous, a little painful....

(I hope I didn't get your hopes up for stories of whips and chains; maybe next post.)