The wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald

So I had coffee this morn with Theresa and some ladies to celebrate Theresa's blanky-blankth birthday. And let me tell you, she is one hot mama for blanky-blank. I met some new and interesting girls and inevitably started thinking about my own upcoming birthday. (Can we say narcissist?) This year I'm turning...hold on, I'm choking...30. Mostly I think it's funny to wallow at the thought of lost youth because, really, I'm OK with it, partly because of Theresa. She reiterated to me that 30 is a powerful time in a woman's life and I, god dangit, am going to embrace it. I'm going to climb a mountain in Africa...wait, no that's what Trish did...I'm going to surround myself with good friends and good beer and dance until I feel like I'll never catch my breath again. I hope we go somewhere where dancing is already going on because otherwise I might need some good whiskey, too. There was a book floating around the coffee clatch today loaned by a friend (her name escapes me, but her blog is www.subarcticmama.wordpress.com) which featured a detailed chronicle of each day of the year and traits one may possess if born on that day. Does that make sense? For example, my day, July 5 (write it down), says that I am a show-woman who's interesting and exciting and erratic. It goes on and nearly all the descriptions were bang-on. It was so right on that it was creepy. It also said I shouldn't get depressed when I don't get recognition. I need instant feedback and wonder what I did wrong when I don't get that feedback. Then I looked up Sam: Methodical thinker, kind, gentle...I was amazed.
Anyway, back to Theresa. Happy Birthday, sister. You are truly one of the nicest, most generous people I have ever met and no, I can't imagine not knowing you.
Ok, back to me.
A pregnant friend at the Moaner asked if I would take nude photos of her and her glorious baby bump. Of course I accepted and am really looking forward to it. I think, well, all women, but pregnant women especially are so beautiful and when photographed tastefully, it can be a great experience for all involved. Think Demi Moore with an actual personality.
I'm photographing a state track meet Friday and Saturday plus my regular night shift at the paper, then it's the annual Bob-o-Que Sunday and off to Portland Monday morning for the NPPA conference. (I also have two articles due in the next three hours yet here I sit cyber-blathering away.)
We did in fact paddle the Upper Chena River on Sunday with Mark and JJ. It was a beautiful day and, thanks to Mark, every bend in the river was 'beer corner' so we'd stop and drink beer and I'd collect rocks. (I glued them to a table and called it art...it actually looks like shit, but hey, 'art' is subjective, right?)
After Ruffles' tangle with the law on Monday, I went and got inscribed tags for all the dogs with their names and my number on it. Dogs with bling. When we're gone, I'll take the naughty ones (Sneaky Pete and Parker) up north to a friend's kennel and leave the rest here with an experienced (and expensive) dog-sitter/poop scooper who will come over twice daily to feed and care for the rest of the motley crew. This will be the first time we leave the dogs in someone else's care. Think positive.
Peace.