This is from an engagement shoot I did a while back. The happy couple, who were downright adorable in their willingness to play on film, both worked at this bar in Chapel Hill with a balcony dining area. We went up there, and got this incredibly bright idea to climb up on the roof via a rusty, straight-vertical fire escape ladder, and shoot back down at them from up there. Of course I had on sandals, because as you know, there is no point to wearing anything else down here, because it's hot. HOT. So me and my sweaty feet (sweaty from both the HOT and the panic about the ladder) climbed slooooowly up and slooooowly back down. And it was pretty fun, honestly.
This is Charla, immediately after her bridal portrait session last week. Remember how I talked about the HOT? And remember, those of you who have been in this particular getup, how much hotter it is underneath a wedding dress? Then you will understand why my girl ditched the shoes and hit the bench by the Duke Gardens fountain.
Having now conjured the image of your wedding dress in your heads (and if you haven't, bear with me here and imagine eight layers of material, HEAVY material, that you have to burrow through before it can be buttoned up your back) now remember how that burrowing felt, and you will understand Christina's wedding preparation, and how it took long enough for me to get this picture:
Good thing she had some cuteness to follow the wrestling of the dress - here's her ringbearer/new stepson and one of the ushers, who was almost unbearably adorable. I'm fairly sure she said he was gay, though, so my lust only went as far as "ooo, someone to hang out with while he tells me I have good hair."
So then I stopped with the weddings and the brides and whatnot, and I moved over to the dark side of school photography. These are my favorite two - Jay:
They were awesome kids, but neither they nor the wedding nor the bridals nor the engagements nor ANY OF NORAH'S ADORABLE BABYISMS could make up for this:
Glasses! Damn it!
You see, friends, I used to be an irresponsible contact lens wearer. I slept in 'em, wore 'em way longer than the requisite two weeks, and pretty much assed around. In retrospect, WHAT THE HELL WAS I DOING? At my annual "oh man, I'm still blind!" visit to the optometrist last week, I learned that I have neovascularization (and oh my God do not look at this GIS), which is basically what happens when you leave your old, disgusting contacts in your eyes for too long, and tiny blood vessels begin to form on your cornea, a la poison ivy vining across the windows of an abandoned house.
But I have learned my lesson, oh yes, because now I'm not allowed to wear contacts for weeks, if ever again. My reaction to the high-oxygen kind was not good (children with pinkeye were laughing at me) so assuming I want to save whatever vision I have left (not much) I'm stuck in specs. Let my lesson be your lesson: take them out! Let the blessed air caress your eyeballs like a lover! SAVE THE CORNEA, SAVE THE WORLD!