I had a very long day, but in a good way. I shot a birthday party for a ninety-year-old little lady and her family; I do hope they'll let me post the pickies at some point... Photogenic ensemble, very down to earth, very Real world. It's not surprising really, that they were very nice to me. I've been to weddings and parties where they treated me like shit, I had to borrow money to pay for my own food and coffee and they'd just call me 'girl' or talk down on photography... It's okay, I don't mind it, I don't really listen. But when they are nice, it makes a nine-hour shoot a lot sweeter. I am awful, I know, because my first instinct is that they are mocking or scamming me. But not really. Some are respectful, intimidated or impressed by a professional photographer. Others are flirty. Most are just happy to be there and hopeful they look nice enough. The food was really good. I was tempted to drink coffee after five or six hours, but the problem with coffee is that it hits hard and makes you all good, until it drops you down and you're keeling over at the eight' hour. Water, and sugar. In many, many forms.
When it got uneventful, just after the main sitting and two hours away from the last dish (cake), I entertained myself by imagining I'm at a German command dinner party in occupied France, in 1943 or '44. Then I wrote an newspaper expose on it. Two hours go by like swoosh when you're writing a Nazi party expose, complete with photos. I got so needy about female conversationalist I started talking to Eva Brown about the weather.

*(BY NO MEANS DOES THIS REFLECT THE COMPANY I WAS IN, IT'S JUST THE BOOK I'M WRITING AND WHAT I DO TO KEEP SHARP. It could have been anything. It could have been puppies.)

Thank all Gods for my imagination.
And Plants Vs. Zombies.
Those also make time fly.
But then all the kids come swarming over and nag about wanting to play, too.

Was gonna buy a super cute leather iPad purse, but the General made me tell him about it and then confiscated all my fee money. Darn it. I really have to learn how to keep things from him. It's not like I have a stack of unpaid bills or anything. Or is it under a big pile of half written poems and candy wrappers somewhere? Could be.