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I feel like I talk about babies at least once a week now.  But seriously folks, everyone around me is having babies.  Three ladies at work (well, one down, two to go).  A gazillion friends.  Those I’m very close with (Like Melanie!!  I can finally tell you because it’s FBO now: Facebook Official.), those I visit with every couple months (ten or so sorority sisters and girlfriends) and those that I don’t see often but am still connected with thanks to Facebook.

Everyone.  Having.  Babies.

It’s all I hear about.  It’s what I’m photographing.  So that’s why I talk about it.  That’s why I’m a broken record.

Boo broken record, boo.

I’m sure some people get a kick out of it.  Like my parents.  Quit praying for triplets, DAd.  It’s unbecoming.

Broken record begins:

So last week I visited my gal pal Jacqueline and her baby, Evangeline.  I’ve told her maybe a thousand times already that the shots we got were great.  But she hasn’t seen them yet because sorting through photos that your giving to someone to frame have to be really, really good and that takes time.  But last night, I narrowed down my selection even more and picked a favorite [but oh so many are favorites].  And I thought you guys might like to see it.

It’s a favorite because of momma’s expression – not much can be seen of le bébé.  But look at her face.  A look of love.  Of happiness.  And amazement.  I Can’t Believe It’s Not Butter.

Natural light makes all the difference.  It makes shooting babies (ha! shooting babies!) and people more fun and just draws on creativity more than I imagined.  I can’t wait to show you some more.  But you have to wait.  So does Jack.

I was at [yet another] baby shower yesterday.  (Big shocker, I know.)  This time, only the guest of honor was expecting because three ladies already popped.  And three babies were in tow.  This little gal was there.  So was little Liam I talked about last week.  And Reece.  A bambino I’ll be photographing later this week.  Me and Reece?  We’re good pals already.  I am apparently snuggly and am perfect for taking naps on.  Of course, I already knew this because the doggins lounge on me as often as they can.  But I’m excited and looking forward to Wednesday.

Gifting photography.  This was such a good idea.

The interweb at work has been down for hours.  And while I’m OK with not being able to check e-mail, it has been a gut-wrenching day.  Only because I didn’t choose to be without the internet.  I was forced.  By some invisible force field.  I felt abandoned.  And alone.  And bugged the hell out of PodMate for at least 2 hours.

So I need a pick-me-up.

And what better answer than Bat Dog.

Nana-nana-nana-nana-nana-nana-nana-nana… BAT DOG!

I work on a stretch of Main Street where some sort of construction has been going on for quite some [forever long] time.  Walking by foot through this stretch of downtown has been like a playing a video game; detouring with certain lengths of the sidewalk being closed, shirking around fences and hoping not to be taken out by a side view mirror, shimmying past construction signs that block the pathway.

It started with the new YUM! arena at the Second Street Bridge.  Then the condemned buildings at Main and First caused barricades to flank the street.  Then Patrick O’Shea’s manifested (but I can’t complain because they worked really fast and they have sweet potato fries).  The BBC liked that idea and started construction on a new bar across from the arena.  And the old green Arctic Ice building is getting a much needed face lift between Brook and Floyd.  And a lot of pavement was ground up for what I’m assuming is for the arena and the ugly condo building going in further west on Main.  All of this is at play (sans O’Shea’s) at this very moment.  But oh no, it wasn’t enough.

Now… now we see that sidewalks are closed so that sidewalks can be ripped up and replaced with prettier sidewalks lined with marble.  (WTF?)  Causing both sides of Main Street to be closed on three blocks.  They’ve kindly put up detour signs so that we know where to walk around, making the trek three times longer.  How nice of them.  It’s a way for us to enjoy this blistering heat and humidity even more than we normally would.  The kicker is they haven’t started on the sidewalks in front of our building.  Yet.  I’m sure when they do, shit will hit the fan because so many people work in these buildings; that many feet make it hard to rip out anything.  Which is why they haven’t started yet.  (Yet.)

I can’t find out why they’re updating the sidewalks.  Me thinks its to make the area look nicer for when the arena is completed.  But I’m not very savvy at using Google or searching through The Courier Journal so I can’t confirm.  Boo Brooke, boo.

But I feel bad for the local businesses that have set up shop on Main Street between Floyd and Third.  Business has had to slow down.  I don’t think we’ve gone to the shop across the street for our PBR tallboys in weeks.  I know I haven’t made my way out to lunch very much.  Well, Jimmy Johns and Subway are easy to navigate to but Queue?  Queue, I love you but I’m not walking my happy ass a block south to trot down Market Street for a turkey ciabatta panini.  Or anywhere on West Main for that fact because it’s out of my way.  To walk a detour.  In the sun that blazes with the heat of a bazillion aim-n-flames.

There was some light at the end of the tunnel though.  A small protest about the limited sidewalks has prompted the city to create a small pedestrian walkway past the condemned buildings.  I’m sure a lot of folks are happy about this.  I know I’d be happy about it if I ever decided to walk west again.

When will it end?  I have no flippin’ idea but every morning I dream that something is  gone on the drive into town.  As of right now, my dreams aren’t coming true.  *sad face*  But at least it’s Friday.

When I was kid – or a tween rather – I had a phone book.  It was pink and had little puppies on the cover and was filled with ink the colors that the rainbow hasn’t even seen yet.  But that wasn’t what was important.  The contents were sacred.  As it had phone numbers from almost every human child I had encountered between the ages of eight and fifteen.  I am not making this up.  I had my own tweeny-bop bible of a phone book.  It went to sleepovers with me, people.

But thinking back on this, I have absolutely no idea how I got all those phone numbers.

You see, I didn’t like talking to people I didn’t know; I was kid, I stuck close to my friends and our inside jokes.  So how did I have so many to write down?  I had numbers of girls I was only acquaintances with.  And of other girls that I purposely avoided at school [because the venom in their voices spelled trouble].  And  boys.  Lots and lots of lots of numbers that belonged to boys.  Of course, this means absolutely nothing because boys did not like me.  But I had them.

Of that one boy at the skating rink.  Of the two friends who were both named Chris.  Of half the guys I went to school with even though they had no idea I was alive.  Oh yes.  All scribbled in purple ink inside my puppy infested pink phone book.

OK, so I may have not liked talking to people I didn’t know in person, but on the phone… I was a completely different girl.  I had confidence.  I made jokes.  I’d talk about the Cowboys winning the World Series.  I couldn’t be stopped on the phone.  I loved talking on the phone.  Until I didn’t.

I don’t know what happened.  One day I’m talking to a guy [I was suppose to meet on a group date] and I told him that I had a little deformity, nothing big or alarming, just that my right eye a little lower than my left.  Like, on my cheek lower.  (See… I told you I was funny.  Granted, he didn’t find that humorous whatsoever and completely blew me off.  I met him a year later and ignored his calls by then.  Thank you, Caller ID.)  And in an instant, I’m completely turned off by the idea of having to sweat it out with someone – anyone – over the phone.

I told myself I was getting older and frivolous things like chatting on the phone just weren’t worth my time.  But that’s a big fat lie because frivolous things like playing on the interweb has filled that void.  So then I told myself that I was getting older and human contact just meant that much more to me.  Sure, with my people I like but I still freeze up like a puddle on a December day around strangers.  So maybe it was because I was getting older and just didn’t like talking to people any more.  By golly, I think I hit the nail on the head.

I don’t like talking to people.  Sue me.

It’s awkward.  It’s time consuming.  It’s awkward.  OK, I’m awkward, but please tell me you know what I mean.  I’m in favor of email.  Ditto with the texting.  But a conversation?  With real words?  On the phone?  Really?  I’ll talk to ya if I have to but by george, let’s cut the chase: whadayawant?

One thing definitely hasn’t changed: I’m still a different person on the phone.  I can bargain, wheel and deal, put on my mean person pants and get my way on the phone.  In person… not so much.

Unless maybe there’s beer involved.

Note: I do have frequent and long phone calls with my parents.  But they’re my parents.  And when Big Bro calls, we usually stay on the line for a while too.  But even the hubs keeps it short and sweet… he completes me.

I’ve made a lot of tequila lime chicken lately [PW's recipe here].  Because it’s good.  And because marinating is so frickin easy.  Mix it all up, let it sit over night, toss it on the grill.  Easy peasy lemon squeezy.  And the point of this story is to say that I have a lot of limes on hand.  And tequila.

Here is my fruit:

Oh light box, how I love thee.  I tried several different set ups with my limes and tequila.  I had a salt-rimmed shot glass that I thought would be a sure thing.  I thought wrong.  The bottle of diablo juice seemed to photograph better than the glass .  And that  shot up there took the cake.  The light was nice, the detail in the lime is perfect and there seems to be a glow or haze of some sort.  That could totally be the fumes from the liquor though.

Next week’s challenge is “grass”.  (I thought it was pink… I think I’m getting ahead of myself subconsciously.)  GRASS.  I can’t forget that.  You shouldn’t forget either considering there’s only five weeks left!  And you shouldn’t forget to check out the flickr group; we love comments so bring ‘em.  Good luck battling the heat to get next week’s photo – can’t wait to see them.

I have a new-er pal.  Her name is Navi.  She carpools with dates my friend Alan.  She’s also my current hair-advice-expert.  She does it for a living – it’s all good.  But her expertise does not stop there.  She has a green thumb.  A big honker of a green thumb.

She gardens tomatoes and peppers and potatoes and other veggies.  She keeps fruit bushes along her property line.  And she tends to flowers.  Navi has the most beautiful little spot in her backyard filled with flowers.  And she cut a few to bring to me.  All different kinds in blue and white and  pink and green.  But the sunflowers were my favorite.

Such a bright, inviting flower.  You can’t help but smile in its presence.

Navi shrugs off my amazement of her gardening ability.  “It’s nothing, really.”  I guess she doesn’t realize she’s talking to a gal that’s killed a hosta.  And a violet. I’ve managed to do well in the summer months with my potted flowers (begonias are stellar for people that might forget to water for a day… yes sirree, a hearty plant) but for the most part, I suck at gardening.  Vegetables and flowers alike.  I’d like to change this.  But then I realize that I really don’t care enough to.  Because it’s hot outside.

But these sunflowers.  Oh how I love them.  And I thought it was extremely sweet of Navi to share with me her garden.  On second thought, she might have already known about the hosta.  My reputation may proceed me.

With so many friends expecting [and being invited to so many baby showers], my wallet started sweating bullets.  I decided to go out on a limb and give them something completely different.  Something that couldn’t be rubbed on a baby butt and hopefully would never be spit up on [but you never know with babies].  My wallet might be a bit skinny but I have time.  And since I have time  – and a camera – I gifted my photography.

One baby has already been photographed.  Little Liam.  But this afternoon I’m heading to another friend’s house to fulfill my gift to her and meet her baby girl, Evangeline  I’m quite excited to meet la niña (who we could easily call Evita) (which happens to be my favorite from Andrew Lloyd Webber) and stick my kahuna in her face.  But for a little inspiration, I’ve flipped through Liam’s photos a few times already this morning.  And I thought you might like to see how darn cute he is too.

I could not get over how much hair this bambino has.  And boy does he have a set of lungs on him.  But the most exciting part though was seeing my pals with their new baby.  How they fawned over him and shared with me little pieces of his personality.  All while smiling.  The kisses that baby got in an hour outnumbered his fingers and toes.  And I got to see my friends transform into parents.

He’s quite the tyke.  I can’t wait to see what this kid does with a football.  Well, we’ll let him tackle rolling over first.

I had a post all planned out about some flowers.  But things can change quickly in these here parts.  The flowers have to wait.

I don’t have any pictures from our Fourth of July party we had this week.  I was busy hosting and making sure everyone had a cold drink in their hand.  I have no idea what the hubs was doing.  But the day after the party, I took some video with Paco.  And thanks to flickr, you get to see it.

The BDD.  She is special.  Very very very very special.

As you know, she is deaf.  She can’t hear lickety split.  She can’t hear the birds sing or the bees buzz [however that does not keep her from trying to catch them].  She can’t hear her masters say her name or call for her or the doorbell ring when her boyfriend comes to visit.  And she can’t hear how bad she sounds.  Lucky duck.

You also know that she doesn’t get out much.  Because she screams with delight about her new found freedom and it’s embarrassing.  Taking a walk on the sidewalk in front of the house sends the neighbors out wondering what in the heck that noise is.  And car rides?  Unbearable.  She’s so damn happy to be along for the ride that she can’t stop barking, yelling, screaming in that tone-deaf doggin voice of hers.  “LOOK THERE’S A TREE!”  “LOOK THERE’S ANOTHER TREE!!”  “A CAR! WITH PEOPLE IN IT!!”  “OMGOMGOMGOMG!!!”

Needless to say, it’s annoying.

So on Monday, the hubs and I went to pick up our doggins from his parents house (large number of people in our house and our dogs don’t mix; they jump in laps and steal food and I don’t have time for that).  Of course, Chevy went ape-shit in my Honda on the three mile ride home.  Thank goodness it’s only three miles.  If it were four, I’d be slipping Benadryl in her puppy chow beforehand.

This, Internet, is only a taste of what we experience in the confined space of the car.  This video is not as loud as she is in real life.  As your eardrums probably won’t vibrate from the sheer pitch of her glee.  But this… this is the BDD in all her glory.  And Chase shaking in her boots [while sitting in my lap].

You’re welcome.

So if you’ve been hanging out with le blog for about a year now, you’re aware that the hubs is fixing up our basement.  He’s tackling it himself, with help from friends when he asks or they’re bored.  It’s been a slow process.  Too slow for me.  I thought the main room would be done this weekend.  I thought wrong.  But it’s starting to shape up.

Drywall is up and painted.  Trim work has been laid.  The floor is down.  Columns have been custom crafted to hide the plumbing we need access to.  The movie stuff is set up and ready for my viewing.

So what’s the hold up, you ask?  That’d be the bar.

The hubs has made this bar himself.  Built it from scratch.  I helped him rip the boards.  I also whined and screamed and whined some more when I helped him.  (I don’t like power tools.  I hate saws.)  It’s a nice bar.  But there’s about five more rounds of staining and the rail needs to be installed.  I can’t wait for my house to smell like the inside of a chemical plant again.  Because it’s totally awesome [and the whole family becomes glass-eyed].

Eventually.  It will be finished some time down the road.  My fingers are crossed that it’s by December.  Because I know he isn’t going to work on the broken shower in the master bathroom until he finishes this.  And I’d kind of like to have my bathroom back in the morning.