Seven Week Old Dachshund

AKA-- Baby Barrett,

Once upon a time:

Fire Starter, Thanksgiving 2006

This picture was remembered after reading this blog. Not that at the time of our picture we wanted to make a baby. This is just one of the first pictures of us together and I wanted to remember for a little bit, so I decided to post it.
When I reached my little arm out and clicked the shutter button on my compact Olympus camera (that was later left in a bathroom [by me] and stolen [by someone with no respect]) Joshua and I had been together approximately a two months. This month we will have been together nine months. Time is an amusing character-- in the same moment that it feels we have been together our whole lives it also feels that our time together has flown by. I guess that is what time does when you are having fun. And let me tell you, we are having a lot of fun.

I don't know why she's spoiled.

This is the week of midterm break. This is the week that I slowly, steadily, and surely slip into a coma of lethargy. Josh called me this morning around 11:30am to tell me he wouldn't be home at the usual time for lunch. He asked me how my day was going and I said, "Fine." He asked what I'd been doing and I said, "Nothing." He asked why not and I said, "Because I was asleep." After I got off the phone with him I had every intention in the world of getting up but alas, I did not. I did, however, pry myself out of bed when he got home for lunch at 12:15. I mean, it was the least I could do.
The two previous days (Monday and Tuesday) I had Josh all to myself. He took off work those two days. They were glorious days. The mattress revisited us on the living room floor. We have welcomed it with open arms-- enjoying its company with nightly snuggles while watching movies. We have slept in on that mattress, waking to leisurely get ready for a day of driving around the local countryside taking pictures and listening to music.
On Monday we ventured to Edina and the surrounding area, finding our way to the trainbridge at dusk. We saw three trains. I took a few pictures, but mostly let their air whoosh me away. On Monday Delilah went with us. She was rather a pain in the ass, whining practically the whole time. She was only fine when Josh appeased her by hiking her up on his arms to she could both lay down and see out the window.

Later that evening, when we were at the trainbridge she was shivering so we put her sweater on her. That did not suit. She then began accompaning her quakes with whimpers so Josh zipped her up in his jacket. My sweetest ones:

Tuesday we drove Northwest of town down a road I totally don't know the name of. It was such a nice road. There we found the oldest church in Adair county, another church that had been refurbished (its clean white sparkly look was lost on us, we like detritus), and yet another church we found by following signs on gravel roads. Out of those three churches we were able to get into two of them (and by we I mean me and Josh followed). They were gorgeous in their delapidation. I say, if I were ever to get married and it had to be in a church it would be one of those churches. That evening we went to shoot at the trainbridge again only for some reason we couldn't find it. As fate would have it we did find a beautiful shell of a building that we stopped and shot at. We then came home to a delicious pot of chili and had rented the movie Borat. So we ate and then cuddled on our magic mattress while watching the completely politically incorrect Sacha Baron Cohen. I laughed. Really hard. I'm sorry.
All the shooting I've done over the past couple days has been with film and therefore I have nothing to showcase since the darkroom is closed for midterm break. After I get in there and get to work I'll have something to put up here hopefully.

Almost makes it worth it.

This morning as I drove out of the driveway of Josh's apartment, cursing under my breath because my car was still not getting very good traction on the ice clad, snow covered streets, I practically choked on my profanity due to this stunning view:

There was something about the way the morning sun hit the ice laden trees. It almost took my breath away. I felt I had to have some kind of record of it, so I rolled my window down and stuck my little digital camera outside and snapped the above photo. I am suprised I did not have a wreck on the way home, because I kept craning my neck to gawk at all the pretty sparkles. It made the zero degree temperature almost bearable. Like glass falling from the sky:

On turtles and stuff.

All right, so here is the deal people. I am at work during a nice little Missouri ice storm and I am bored so I decided to write a little something. I have been rummaging through my photobucket.com account, feeling a little nostalgic, and have come across a few gems that I would like to narrate. I plan on doing this while listening to my customized LAUNCHcast radio station. Which, hopefully, won't suck tonight.
In other news, I have been indulging tonight, as I just listened the wonderful pop-punk stylings of Fall Out Boy-- This Ain't a Scene, Its an Arms Race. You are correct, I am a whore. This is explicated all the more by the fact that I just devoured a very large piece of chocolate cake.
AT. THE. GYM.
I was all like, "Haha Suckers, have fun working your asses off on those ellipticals and free weights, look at me enjoy my chocolate layer cake, with chocolate icing."
Anyway, pictures: This beauty is brought to you by Maurine, me, and our acquaintance Chuck the Turtle. Maurine and I met Chuck the Turtle while trespassing on private property. We were making our way to an abandon ski lodge that lays just outside of Kirksville. As we were walking we noticed Chuck, and I, being familiar with turtles, picked him up. We proceeded to slap a sticker on his back and take pictures of him and us. We are palz for life, Chuck and us. The sticker was propaganda for Chuck Palahniuk's Haunted. Hence, Chuck the Turtle. It only seemed right.
Chuck the Turtle reminds me of another anecdote I could share. One day, while I still lived in the metropolis of Greentop, MO. Maurine and I were driving out to my apartment when, much to my dismay, I saw an innocent box turtle trying to cross the highway. I, being the kind hearted person that I am, whipped around and pulled along side the road. Maurine probably muttered something like, "What the fuck are you doing," and then I probably pointed out the turtle, and well, she probably understood, but there is no guarantees on that one. Enduring much honking from on coming traffic I made my way to the turtle and brought him safely into the car with Maurine and I. We decided he needed a name and well, Maurine, being the genius she is was all like, "Fitty." And I looked at her, eyes gleaming with adoration, and replied, "That is perfect." Actually I probably squealed because small, defenseless animals tend to do that to me. Anyway, It was perfect because at that particular moment in our lives we were listening to 50 cent. And like, what a perfect name for a turtle. And all be damned if there wasn't a picture of Fitty in my photobucket.com account as well. Ya'll are lucky tonight:

He was in a cooler, because that was all we could find to put him in. And this photo was taken ghetto style with my camera phone, so its not high quality, but damn that turtle was high class.
Well, I think this is about enough reminiscent excitement for the time being (and the radio is sort of starting to play sucky stuff). I think I'm going to wander out doors and see how bad this shit is getting.