LATRODECTUS

Aloha and good morning from the Hawaiian Islands! I've been a little quiet the past couple months; it has been a great time of transformation for myself and my husband. I would like to announce that we have adopted a beautiful one-year-old pup named Kane from the Honolulu Humane Society and we have delayed outside projects to focus on our growing, furry family. Kane comes into a family of fish, parakeets, guinea pigs, and, of course, us humans--all who have accepted him and love him as much as possible! This wasn't an easy transition and it was certainly hard not to be emotional while bringing Kane into our home. Kane is one of the bravest souls I know and even he knows that those bad times are behind him.

It makes me angry and upset to talk about those bad times. Kane spent his puppyhood in pain, hunger, and sadness; it was the only life he had ever known. Kane is a rescue dog. He was seized by the Humane Society earlier this year from people who abused him and neglected him. He was brought to the shelter and treated--but his abuse was mentally ingrained. Kane didn't respond well to human contact--he shied away from people and cringed under chairs or as far back into his cage he could go. He found comfort in his canine companions, but he was scared senseless of humans.

The rescuers told Ryan and I that he is a Mastiff/American Bulldog mix with the possibility that some Pitbull blood runs in his veins. Because of his lack of proper nutrition and care during his first year, he will most likely never reach the full 150-200lbs he should be; instead Kane is only 63lbs. He had been adopted once already by a family with young kids--the shelter volunteers were hopeful Kane had found his forever home, but a month later the family returned him saying he wasn't "social."

The whole story makes me upset. The whole ordeal this young, innocent puppy had to face is just unimaginable and my eyes burn with tears Kane can't shed.

My husband didn't know his story when he picked Kane to come home with us. We arrived at Petsmart an hour before the Humane Society arrived for the dog adoptions. Ryan had been looking at puppies online the night before and he made arrangements see some black Labrador retriever puppies after we saw the dogs at the adoption event--I don't think he was expecting to fall in love with Kane.

My husband has a soft spot for animals. He adopted our UGLY guinea pig, Ri Ri (his name is actually Beast, but Ryan insisted on calling him 'Retarded'). This little rodent is a hairless guinea pig with red eyes and little, scraggly tufts of fur. We originally went to the pet store to buy our guinea girl, Beauty, but Ryan wouldn't leave the shop without Ri. He later told me he wanted to adopt the ugly guinea pig because no one wanted him and he believed every animal deserved a chance-- turns out Ri is one cool animal. Within a week he was healthier, happier, and even running around his cage pop-corning; I'll admit it... he grows on you once you get over the whole hairless part ;)

So it was no surprise that when the Humane Society showed up, he bugged the poor rescue worker until she let him see some of the dogs. The very first he laid eyes on was Kane. I saw Ryan from inside Petsmart; he was hunched over and had his hand inside the big cage, his blue eyes already shining.

Here we go, I thought. Ryan is already in love!

The lady had Ryan back up as she pulled an absolutely gorgeous brindle and white dog out of the back of the truck. He had his tail tucked so far in between his legs that it looked like he didn't have one at first. He didn't even want to make eye contact with anyone and he crouched down on the sidewalk, shaking. Ryan sat down next to him and offered his hand. The dog ignored it at first, but after a few minutes he gave Ryan a sniff before turning his head away. He had the most beautiful brown eyes I've ever seen. They were big and sad--the kind that pulls your heart strings and I knew he was the dog we were taking home. Ryan and I walked Kane around outside as far as we could around Petsmart. He was so scared, buy Ryan kept telling the dog,

"Don't worry, Kane-- we won't hurt you. You'll come home with us and have a good life."

We adopted him on the spot. We filled out the forms, dotted our i's, crossed our t's, and Kane was ours. He was so scared and I was afraid for him during the car ride home. He needed some coaxing to get into the house and we let him explore. After an hour or two, he had become comfortable enough to jump up and take Ryan's spot on the couch. I let him outside and threw a rawhide around--to my surprise he wagged his tail and started to chase after it--I felt like a proud mommy when her baby takes their first steps. The real reward came around dinner time when Kane gave Ryan and I both a kiss. We went back to Petsmart to get Kane another bed for upstairs when we ran into the lady who helped us earlier at the adoption event.

"Wow," she said. "He looks like a totally different dog!! I'm so happy for him!!"

This one furry animal has totally and completely changed our lives and the love we have shared with him and the bond we created has totally changed his. He wags his tail so fast now and so often, we have bruises covering the middle of our lower legs. I wake up every morning to Kane pressing his wet nose against my hand, nuzzling me to get up and play. Every night before bed, he grabs his favorite stuffed pig and tucks it right beside him for sleep. He gives us kisses and he even gives our guinea pigs a good lick or two! He is extremely obi dent and listens to us; he respects us when we tell him no and is enthused when he tell him yes. He is still shy around people, but he is much better than before. I look at his story, where he came from, and I'm filled with such emotion and joy that we were able to take his innocent animal and show him the compassion and love he deserves.

I try to imagine what he looked like when the rescuers saved him from his abusers, but then I think: Why? Why imagine that? Kane's moved on. He's learned to love and trust again; be mad about what happened to him, then move on to the happiness he has found. I love my dog more than anything because of his spirit, his ability to love unconditionally, and his enthusiasm to LIVE.

I cannot stress enough to people out there looking for a furry addition to the family--please, thing adoption first! There are so many shelter dogs who DESERVE a second chance (this was Kane's third!). It really does save lives.

On October 6th, 2013, Ryan and I will be participating in the Hawaiian Humane Society's annual PetWalk in Honolulu. In lieu of a registration fee, the HHS has asked for walkers to make teams; teams can then ask sponsors to donate and help the shelter continue taking care of rescued animals. It costs $250 PER ANIMAL to receive vet care and basic necessities. Ryan and I have set a goal for $250 to give at least one animal a better quality of life before going on to their forever home. I know that someone's donation helped Kane receive the care he desperately needing during his time at HHS and now we want to give back. Hopefully, we can raise more to help other animals, but every dime, every dollar, counts. Here is the link to our page and feel free to donate or just swing by to visit!! Our animals really are our families and here is just one small way we can give back!  

Have you ever met someone and you just wondered and pondered who sucked the humor right out of their bones? You know, the dry people who don’t seem to laugh at anything? Being someone who’s constantly joking around, whether it be a coping mechanism to get through an awkward moment, or just spending time with hilarious people, I can’t understand how anyone would hate to joke around, to have a laugh. I’ve met a few in my lifetime, and I was thinking about this a lot lately: I don’t know how to be friends with someone who lacks a sense of humor. My whole basis of life is based on having fun. Maybe that’s the “Sagittarius trait,” if you believe in that sort of thing, but I literally can’t go through a day without cracking a joke, teasing someone (harmlessly, of course), or indulging in some humor based media. My friends can attest to this, I’m pretty much always making jokes, even when they aren’t always funny.  

  I’ve also never understood how someone who had such a big sense of humor could be romantically involved with someone who had no sense of humor. And I get it, that whole “opposites attract” thing works for some people, but that’s never worked for me. If you have no humor, you can’t take a joke, you can’t take being casually teased, or handle me making a dirty joke, for that matter, need not apply. Dry does not work for me.

  The worst is watching a friend with someone who doesn’t appreciate their humor. I’ve had countless friends who’ve gone into relationships/situations with someone who doesn’t appreciate their jokes. Who constantly gets offended by teasing. The ones that really fly off the handle and start an argument based on a simple jest. And after a while, after all of the negative dry behavior, it sucks the fun out of them. There’s no rule that says as we grow up we have to get rid of our sense of humor. Sure, it can be a judgmental quality if you laugh at something, like say, for example, your speedometer on your car because it looks like it says “boobs” on it, but in the end, you’ll find friends and a lover who appreciates that. I’m sure they are out there.

  No matter how difficult things get, or no matter how cool or mature you need to behave, don’t lose your sense of humor. Ever. Find the laughter, spread it. After all, a really good laugh fit is a good ab workout, right?

  (Donald O’Connor, Singin’ In The Rain, “Make ‘Em Laugh – YouTube Clip)

It’s terribly shitty, but I have to say it. I cannot stand skinny blondes. That’s probably stereotypical, but I can’t help it. It’s the truth. And even though some of my friends may be skinny and/or blonde and I can make allowances for them, it’s the brainless blondes, with the long ass hair, sometimes even with a color streak that BOIL. MY. BLOOD. It’s that girl you see on the beach or walking down the street with the shorts up her ass and her little playboy bunny decal that used negative space to create that little fufu hopping on her hipbone. It’s the ones that have cherries hanging from their belly button ring. Layered hair and highlights, showing off their midsection in their boosted up boobs in sort of corset tops, with their pink sparkled iPhone case. The ones that smack their gum, or wear their bikini tops in public, taking tons of Instagram pictures of themselves bending seductively over in an unnatural fashion. Every time I see a girl like this, I can’t help but think she’s trash.

  I’ve never been one to behave that way. I’m a sexual being, and I’m completely okay with that, but it’s not for every living soul to see. I’ve never been skinny, even with 7 days a week at the gym. So sure, it partially is probably a jealousy problem. I’m not ugly, by any means. I am actually really beautiful. And I do know that, in my own way. But because I am not flat stomached, I loathe these girls. That’s where my power is driven from. Where I get so disgusted with what I see the media portray. That skinny is the only way I’m gonna get a man. And you know what the worst part is? It seems true. If I’m golden brown and blonde, and have this rockin’ body, that I, too, will get the attention I want. You see guys fawning all over it, dreaming about them. Posting pictures of them or saying THIS is sexy. She’s always a blonde, with the perfect rack, maybe some hip piercings even. Her thighs don’t touch and she looks like she’s never worried about a damn thing in her life. And that’s what they want. And I hate it, because it’s everything I’m not.  

A few years ago, I started my first freshman English class. My teacher, the hard ass of the English department, began the class with us saying our names, along with a “funny memory.” This ass wipe, someone I’d gone to school with since I was in first grade, began with talking about his funny memory: the time his dad pretended to hand some money to a homeless man near the 8 Mile junction to Detroit, and then jerked it back when he reached, laughed at him, and drove away. I was so infuriated and disgusted. Some students laughed, and I began a public debate on it. He and I went back and forth, and he said, “If someone’s on the street, they deserve it. Stupid bums. Go get a job.” After a few choice words flying from my freshman mouth, I left the classroom, dismissing myself to the counselors office to switch my class. The student I argued with never got reprimanded, and I landed a better teacher in the trade off.  Fast forward to now. I’m on the cusp of 25, and I’m standing in my co-workers cube. He’s up north for the weekend, and someone planted a sign in his cube. We work near gas stations, so chances are this sign was on the corner, and it was picked up and delivered on the way back from one of the techs. 

One of the admins had walked me into one of the field guy's cube to show me, thinking it was funny. I stood there, sort of mouth gaped at it, and she’s laughing. I can’t help but feel sad that someone would even have to make a sign like this, if it is even true. Then the other co-worker in the next cube over says, “Yeah, nice sign huh? Pretty funny. What if they came back for the sign? Now he’s poor and they stole his sign.” He chuckles.  Now mind you, as a normal, non-malice filled human being from the outer edges of suburbia close to Detroit, homeless people don’t particularly phase me. I’m used to seeing them here and there. I also have had many encounters, from the days I smoked cigarettes outside venues waiting for concerts, “bums looking for a bum,” to the gentleman who told me to follow my dream that washed my windows.  I know that sometimes people aren’t homeless when they stand outside either. My mom’s boyfriend of 9 or so years used to buy food at the grocery store and bring it to the people at this 8 Mile freeway junction, that way if they were trying to just score cash, they wouldn’t profit in that fashion. Most of the time though, it was a mom with children, who maybe wasn’t entirely homeless, but definitely was in need. I’ve seen people huddling under the overpasses, people with no homes in wheelchairs. Some notations from Charlie LeDuff’s book “Detroit: An American Autopsy” talking about men encased in ice for months long dead, and men who had no home, but in their heart and with friends they never considered themselves homeless. Just recently, two men, James Van Horn and another known as Dreadlock Mike were involved in a hit and run, and were killed. Van Horn was known as the “Eat ‘Em Up Tigers” guy, and has and will be an unofficial symbol of the Tigers baseball spirit. Dreadlock Mike was also well known, mostly by his look of being an amputee in a wheelchair, spending time in local areas with high volumes of people. The sad part is, even though there was a public outcry of affection for these men, not much has been done since. 

I hear it all the time. “Don’t give that guy money, he’s probably just going to use it for drugs.” “ Homeless people scare me, you never know how they are going to react. They might rob you.” I’ve seen homeless people curled up on the street next to a warm vent. But does that make them less of a person? Because they don’t have a home to go back to? A roof over their head. It’s probably very humbling, having to cuddle up to a sewer. Pretty humbling to ask for money from strangers, too. But I bet they do what they have to. Sure, there’s soup kitchens. Maybe even a place to squat every so often. Can you imagine though? Those people going “go get a job, ya bum.” Try getting the city grime off of your skin after months, let alone years, being homeless. If you showed up to work and you had not showered, had not washed your clothes, you’d get sent home, right? And with the fast food industry hoping that they can strike for a liveable wage, anyone without enough education is not going to get enough to buy a place to live.  The worst is the men who hand out the flags, the ones with signs that say “disabled veteran, homeless.” Whether it’s true or not, and many people would beg to differ that some of these people are even homeless, but they are still people. Put yourself in their shoes for a minute and try to think how you would feel. 

To me, if I would have to stand on a corner, multiple corners, didn’t have a home to go to, and didn’t have much of anything, I’d be pretty humble and feel pretty small. I guess my point here is covered by Dr. Seuss. “A person is a person, no matter how small.” The next time you see someone homeless, try and do one thing: Don’t judge. You don’t know their situation, you don’t know their struggles, and even though you may have a job, a nice car, and might just think you’re better than them because of all that you have, the thing you lack by snickering at someone less fortunate than yourself makes you a poor person. 

We change. As people, we grow. Our personalities twist, our character configures, even our morals and values sometimes turn a complete 180 (sometimes even a complete 360 depending on what the value is and the length of the time frame). Sometimes, we don't even see the changes until we reflect on the days gone by, and on the other hand at times we can feel the change as it happens. Sometimes we make choices that we know will force change, or they are choices caused by change.

I have embodied all of these changes. In the last two years alone I have evolved (and de-evolved, un-evolved?) so much. I planned the change. I mean I didn't sit there with a calendar and pencil in what dates I would accomplish what, but I knew with a serious of very calculated (yea, not really calculated at all) choices I would be forcing change. Oh how I needed it. The journey was a steep climb, a steep climb with several pitfalls between each step, but I have to say that I love the person I've become, and I regret nothing that has happened in between. I moved on whim. The glass floor that was holding up my life shattered beneath my feet and I ran. I chose a place that I thought could support my rebirth based on the fact that if I got too scared I could take a 4 hour bus home and be fine, I chose Chicago. It was close to home and it came with what I thought was a support system. I was wrong about the latter but each person has to go through their own journey, sometimes parts of the journey on their own. Moving here was the best choice I think I'll ever make.

My first year out here I lived the only way I though I knew how, I partied too much, hung out with some questionable people, did some very questionable things, but in that first year I made some of the best friends I've ever had. I was able to be anyone I wanted to be with these new people, and I was everyone. I was the other woman, I was the girl with the iron liver, I was the chick who'd walk into a bar with my trusty sidekick and leave a few hours later accompanied by a hipster boy, or two. I was on top of the world, but I was also the girl who had finally learned to cry, I was also the girl who would go days on end without anything to eat but for a fifth of jameson and some greasy bar food, I'd wake up each morning (or afternoon) feeling empty, sometimes ashamed of how I had acted. I felt the consequences and the repercussions of my actions like I never had before, I was "living the dream" but also reaping the nightmarish rewards. Then shortly before my one year anniversary in my new home my seemingly perfect glass life shattered around me again, and the situation I found myself in propelled my next series of changes, and with good reason. It finally hit me that I had to stand on my own and start facing the music. I was hiding behind all the negativity and angst that I had been feeling for years. I was making excuses for my behavior by saying I was owed something. I was wrong. 

I just wrapped up with my second year in the city, and its been amazing. Better than I could ever have hoped for. The first few months were rocky, I cut back on my partying, cleaned up my act, and even started dating. I could be found at home at night instead of the bar, I suddenly had money again instead of always being broke, I had roommates that I felt comfortable being around, that didn't add to my self destructive criticisms and negative self worth. Then, I met Nathan. To love, and be loved. That really is the greatest gift of all. Through this love I have felt and been shown a world I previously could not imagine. A world of Christmas eve dinners on the floor in front of a (albeit fake, thank you netflix) fireplace. A world of daily adventures in my big beautiful city. Most importantly? A world where suddenly I've started to plan for the future again.

“Did you listen to Em’s new jam?” As a Detroiter, I see a lot of “We’re airing Eminem’s new song at (X) time! Check it out!” I was going to try and catch it on the radio, but I got up too late for one of 89x’s designated times.  So, after being reminded at 11am, I pulled it up.

  Thoughts:

1. Right away, you can tell this is a Rick Rubin track. The beginning has awkward reminiscence of “Paul Revere” from Beastie Boys. The beginning rap has the same strange flow.

2. Whether Shady was attempting to do a throwback track or not, the song is a little cluttered. There’s a lot of background noise between classic rock tracks in the background in the chorus that makes it a little hard to follow/understand.

3. Em’s accents are all over the place. Not exactly sure what he was trying to accomplish, but it floats between a Beastie to something that sounds like him trying to imitate Snoop Dogg.

4. He’s never been one to try and make a party track. So this is sort of interesting, because it echoes things like “let your hair down,” and getting the party started.

5. The sad realization that there’s someone with a deep voice looped in the background that’s supposed to sound similar to Nate Dogg. Rest in Peace.

6. Despite the cussing here and there, this will most likely end up in promos for NFL season.

  Needless to say, with the few things, it’s still a decent track, as far as music has been lately. I’m a little disappointed, just because Recovery, Em’s last CD was a lot more of what we expected from the rap caliber he is – but maybe that’s the point. Not what you expected is probably what he was going for. Why? Eminem doesn’t give a fuck.

To check out the track, click here to be routed to YouTube for "Berzerk"

  Your thoughts? Hit us up on our Facebook page to discuss!

My personal Instagram bio says "caffeine addict." And I am. I wrote a piece about caffeine before, I think I've mentioned it, a speech I did in college about my addiction problem. Recently, I had decreased my caffeine intake so I wasn't dependent on it. It got to the point I was having terrible sleeping patterns, and was dependent on it for every day life. Now, I haven't had legitimate espresso in quite some time, and if I absolutely want and need coffee, I do half decaf and half regular so I don't overdo it.

  This past weekend I was the main photographer at a wedding. I needed to be up north by 9am so I began driving at 6AM - with a normal regular cup of coffee. I stopped at 7-11 and bought a four pack of Red Bull because I knew good and well there was no way I was going to make it till midnight without doping. I did not have any issues, and drank 3 out of 4 of the Red Bulls and finished my coffee in the course of that time span. Yes, I know this is bad for me. But I survived. Now, it's been a week. I had one half caffeine/decaf coffee and that's it - until this morning I gave in and got a Red Bull.

  I've made jokes before and I have been my own test subject over multiple time gaps but I've determined a solid fact: Red Bull gives you RAGE. Even on coffee, and months go by and then I have some, and I find myself to be irritable and irate. Things set me off way more than usual while drinking this stuff. I don't know if it's a matter of energy not being expelled fast enough, but just a few minutes ago, I sent out a very firm but pissed e-mail to our corporate office about one of our subcontractors. As I'm writing this now, my body is sort of antsy and jittering. Almost SHAKING.

  This may not be important to anyone else - but there's something to be said about a simple soft drink being able to alter the behavior of a person. Sure, I'm normally sarcastic and a little blunt most of the time, but this stuff makes me MEAN. Actually somewhat sinister. That can't be good for anyone. Being that it's happened multiple times, I thought I would share it - don't want anyone mistaking rage for wings.

(Originally posted on A.C00P Photo&Design's Tumblr)

A buddy of mine and fellow photographer posted an article from PetaPixel in regards to Weddings and Pintrest – in the light of how it ruins the creative process of the shooter. Let me start by saying I HAVE NO PROBLEM WITH PINTREST. [For those who don’t know, Pintrest is a site that has pictures and links for many things from nerdage, to photography, to travel tips, and many more creative and informational tips. You can “Pin” these ideas to a thing called a “Pintrest Board” to group them together.] I know some photographers will behave in the “I think I’m way more artistic than you and ‘Pintrest Photographers’ make my blood boil” fashion and will disagree with that statement and call me a fool, but when it comes to WEDDINGS, I find a Wedding Photography Pintrest board to be an asset. The article, entitled “How Pinterest Can Discourage the Creative Process for Photographers” starts to cite the usefulness of the tools, mainly that it helps the bride create the mental image of the wedding on all avenues, from color scheme to venues. It gives great ideas, and it does help narrow down what they wish to see, especially in the avenue of photos. Then it takes a turn and starts referencing the frustration that comes with a person wanting to replicate images and that it emotionally damages the ideas the photographer, and also makes them feel insecure about their final product. I find this to be pretty bogus. The only identifiable problem I have seen is when a Bride models her photography off of other previously shot photos by different studios, when the bride receives their photos, sometimes they are not identical, and they get frustrated or feel unsatisfied. Reason being, every photographer is different (for one) and for two, all the factors going into the shot are not always the same. This is completely understandable (and also unavoidable if you play your cards right) – but just for elaboration’s sake, here’s why:

Settings:

Say for example, you’re in the countryside. You have a lot of background to work with. Say there’s water, and trees, and fields and beaches, and old & rustic barn doors. The sun is shining with just enough cloud cover that solar flares at a minimum and still creating a gorgeous glow. That’s going to lay a beautiful back drop for what you’re going to be working with. Now, in contrast, say you’re in the suburbs. It’s a gray day, maybe even sprinkly rain is in the mixture. The church is in a less than flattering area where there’s not much nature, nor is there any industrial back drop to make it look at least sort-of cool and intentional. You don’t have much time to go on a long adventure with your bride and groom, and if you’ve got to head more than fifteen minutes away from the site of the reception to get the shots you want, you’re going to run into time restriction issues. In contrast to that picturesque countryside, you’re going to end up with VERY different pictures. When establishing what kind of photography they would like for their wedding, make sure the Bride and Groom take that into consideration way ahead of time. Ethics: 

Say your Bride comes to you and says “this is what I want.” As a photographer, you’re supposed to try your very best to make that happen with the tools and locations you have. Key point: WITH THE TOOLS AND LOCATONS YOU HAVE. If you’re given strict assignments, like for example “You have an hour and a half for photos after the ceremony. You must take photos of X amount of people, within that time frame, and leave aside more time for the Bride and Groom to get pictures together in another designated location.” You abide by that as best as you can. If you’re not given ample amount of time, you work with what you have. Tip for future photogs – sit down with your bride and say “how much time do I have to work with?” This is going to save a lot of time and heartache later – and make sure that they know that catastrophes such as prolonged start times for the ceremony itself will not be your fault if it cuts into your photo time. You must work with what you have, and meet deadlines set by their schedule. Also, I very much insist you get a list of who’s being photographed and use it during the time to check them off piece by piece, so you don’t forget anyone and you have your bases covered. You are there to work with what you have, so make sure you have MORE than you need. 

Taking these two things into consideration, Pintrest can be a gift and a curse. 

Gifts – Some fabulous shots taken by other photographers can give another photographer inspiration/help them create something they haven’t before:

As you all know, I’m a small operation. Small operation being me, my camera, and my equipment. I don’t have assistants. I don’t have accountants. I don’t have a million other things factoring into what I do. I just do it, and enjoy doing it. So if my Bride comes to me and says “Hey, I really like this shot, can we try this?” I will attempt it to the best of my ability, along with not being insulted (Photographer egos are another post I’d like to do at another time, as I feel this article I read was an emotional problem more than a legitimate one). Be sure though, that your Bride knows the facts: Sometimes the shot can’t be identical. You can attempt it, and do your very best, but sometimes it doesn’t always work. In my particular case, sometimes it does. Below is an example of my Pintrest experience with my most recent Bride & Groom for their engagement photos. The Bride told me about her Pintrest board (we’re also friends in real life) and she said “I’d like to attempt some of these.” She kept an open mind, and with a bit of creativity (and a lot of snow in our boots) here we are (First Shot Pintrest, Second Shot A.C00P):

Side note: ours was better, eat your… heart…. out :) 

Curses – If a Bride comes to you with a full on print out of her entire wedding Pintrest board and says “I want every single shot, identical on here.”: Now, that’s insane, and probably sounds pretty Bridezilla-ish, right? Chances are, it’ happened to someone. But the bottom line? You, as a photographer need to communicate with your Bride. “This can be taken into consideration but is not a realistic request to replicate every photo and here’s why.” They hired you initially because they like YOUR work. They need to remember that, and you need to be as tactful and kind as possible to remind them of that and not radiate any cocky behavior (egos again!). Your “creativity and judgment is not being insulted” by their request to copy the board, but remind them that you have your own style and ideas and you will do your best to make their wedding what they want it to be, as best as you possibly can, with using your talent, AND some ideas they like. Remember, it is their day, not yours. And in turn, your client will need to remember the reality of the situation: They only have so much time with you – and in a chaotic moment such as a “messy suite while getting ready” isn’t going to create the same image as the “made bed, crisp sheets, done up Bride in a calm state holding a bouquet with full makeup and gorgeous hair.” (See photo in article).

The thing I took from this article, though (despite its emotional undertones) is something important. Being that it is the “Bride and Groom’s Day” – they need to remember one simple thing: be them. Do you want to re-create a photo identically from someone else’s wedding? Or would you like to build your own ideas based on the things you’ve seen and make the photo your own? Make it special, make it unique, and most of all, make it you. There’s nothing worse than getting back your photos and realizing they don’t depict you as a couple.

Recently a few women that I care a great deal about have shared some things with me that, while I’m so grateful that they shared at all, has broken my heart and simultaneously made my skin crawl. 

There is nothing more heinous in this world to me than rape.

I’m sure many people will second me on that, but what really gets me is just how much rape varies. It isn’t always a strange man in an alley with a knife in his coat pocket. It can be a friend, a boyfriend, a husband. It can be once or repeating. It can be intentional or oblivious. Some women hold onto their secret for thirty years, others need an outsider to help them realize exactly what just happened. Either way, the result is the same: a woman had sex against her will and she is forever changed because of it.

If you know me at all, you know I’m a self-proclaimed feminist. For me, feminism isn’t about women having power over men. I think that viewpoint is just as harmful to society as men having power over women. What I try to advocate is gender equality…and sometimes that’s interpreted as a girl power, pro she-male, domination-of-all-with-penises kind of mentality. It sucks that my opinions have been skewed, even mocked at times, but it’s worth it. When a friend comes to me saying she should have done more to stop him, I can tell her with every fiber of my being, she did.

It’s never the victim’s fault. Never.

I’ve heard women inadvertently defend their attacker. They say, “I was wearing a really short skirt…,” or, “We’ve always been kinda flirty with each other...”

Well, you’re wrong. Plain and simple: if you had sex against your will, you were raped and you did nothing to deserve it. People talk complete and utter bullshit about what women wear and the type of “message” they’re projecting. Really? What about the message she projects with her voice? To me, that’s probably a bit more important.

Guys, it’s pretty easy to tell if a girl wants to have sex with you. One sure fire way to know is to ask. Ask her if what you’re doing is okay and if she starts crying during sex, stop what you’re doing – even if she doesn’t tell you to stop. This is part of being a respectful human being and has very little to do with the act of sex. And if she does tell you to stop, well then stopping would be a good idea. It doesn’t matter if you’ve slept together in the past, every time is a new time with a new emotion and a new consequence. If you can’t handle that concept then for the love of god, please stop having sex.