Nosilla Drabbih

Life’s a B..lur

We loaded up into ol’ Ruby headed to a neighboring town to interview for a college internship at a photography studio. We decided to make a road trip out of it and to get a jump start on next semester. It was our summer vacation, after all.. What’s work with no play? No fun, that’s what! The key to happiness is balance. My gal pal and I were attached at the hip: we worked together, had all the same classes, and even carpooled to save some dough! We fit the stereotypical college student roles perfectly: always broke, starving.. I mean, striving artists! We had to be creative to survive in this cruel world.

“Daphne, when ya gonna get your A.C. fixed?! I’m melting,” I complained again while staring out the passenger window.

“♪♫ Shyanne.. I’m working on it.. Ol’ Ruby needs some TLC-eeeee.. she’s an expensive Drama Queeeeeen! Just put your window all the way dowwwwwn ♬,” Daphne sang along with the blaring radio.

I didn’t wanna mess up my hair, but decided since I was already a hot mess, I might as well just let the fresh country air blow away the beads of sweat off my freckled face. I fiddled with the squeaky, manual window crank and with each rotation, felt my arm muscles spasm.

“Add a can of WD-40 to the laundry list for ol’ Ruby,” I stated as both of our butts lifted up out of the maroon front bench seat. “Hey! Take it easy on these hills.. You know I get car sick.. We ain’t hill hoppin’..”

“I can’t help it, I’m going the speed limit,” Daphne stated matter-of-factly.

“Do ya have a litter bag? Just in case?” I pleaded as my stomach gurgled.

“Yeah, in the glove box. Just make sure to slam it.. when you close it.. Ol’ Ruby is temperamental,” Daphne chuckled while patting the dusty dashboard. “Are we heading in the right direction, Miss Navigator?”

“Yeah, just keep West,” I replied with a cough and sneeze. I took a couple deep breaths in and out and closed my eyes. I surprised myself with a quick recovery. All those long road trips with my family semi-prepared me on how to deal with my car sickness. My dad would purposely give it the gas over hills just to churn my stomach. Anything for a laugh.. but I never laughed.

Daphne interrupted my thought, “Did you bring your camera?”

“You know it,” I squealed while unveiling my new digital camera like a Bob Barker Beauty.

“Yay! Let’s document our adventure,” Daphne suggested and wiggled in her seat. “Everything is so green!”

“It sure is,” I exclaimed as I wrapped the camera strap around my wrist and fastened it against my pale skin. I grasped the camera tightly, peered through the viewfinder, and snapped dozens of photos outside the passenger window. I adjusted the angle and zoom to capture a good variety. I tried not to get my reflection in the side mirror in every shot. That would be a totally amateur move!

I put the camera in my lap as I closed my eyes, stretched out my neck to breathe in the crisp country air, and to feel the warm sun upon my rosy cheeks. The radio changed to a commercial and it reverted me back to reality. As I was scrolling through the camera preview screen to see what I had captured, I announced with a frown, “I can’t seem to get a shot in focus or with the correct amount of exposure.” I let out a sigh.

“Well, that’s okay! Even out of focus and overexposed photos can be interesting,” Daphne reassured me. “Post them anyway, tag me of course, and maybe they’ll grow on you. Different always stands out from the crowd,” Daphne gave me a playful wink and smiled at her own advice.

I stuck my tongue out at her and we both giggled like little school girls. Oh, how I admired Daphne’s style; she really did march to the beat of her own drum. Her creativity was contagious and I was itching to be inspired. I had learned a lot from Daphne’s carefree attitude in and outside of the classroom. My OCD forced my artwork to color inside the lines. I relished the fact she could create an unorganized yet interesting piece of art and it still be professional! Such talent at such a young age. Daphne was a couple-ish years my junior, but seemed to be wise beyond her years. We were similar in that way. We both had our shit together: responsible, independent, mature women who loved expressing ourselves in a colorful way, which could be perceived as.. immature.

“Shyanne, I think I took a wrong turn.. I don’t see signs for Broomfield anymore,” Daphne muttered as she frantically read each passing road sign.

“Oh, man.. Okay.. Pull over,” I instructed while examining our Colorado state map. “Alright, we were going West and turned to pass through Westminster, haha.. get it?! West, Westminster.. What a co-inky-dink!”

“Very punny,” Daphne teased.

“Okay, we’re in Thorton; the city, not the gas station! Haha,” I looked up from the map at Daphne and she stifled a laugh. I continued, “Take 25 North, then get off at 128 West, and we should be there in no time!”

“Whew! I’m glad you’re the navigator,” Daphne admitted as she checked to rejoin traffic.

“You just gotta know how to read a map! My mom taught me,” I gloated while folding the map carefully.

“And.. you know how to correctly fold a map! I mean.. you’re a freak of nature,” Daphne joked. “You sure you’re not an alien from outer space?!”

“Ya caught me!” I confessed as I put up both hands. “We’re headed to a spaceship where me and my alien comrades are gonna beam you up to our lab and probe you!”

“Okay, but don’t give me too much laughing gas because I’ll cry laugh and I’m an ugly crier,” Daphne pleaded with her big hazel puppy dog eyes.

We finally looked at each other and just lost it. We had a non-stop giggle fit for a solid minute. “Fun fact,” I giggled in between words, “Area 51.. is in.. Lincoln County.. Nevada.. which is like.. 10 hours away.. hope you.. got enough gas.. to get.. ol’ Ruby there!” I pulled out a US map to examine for comedic effect.

Daphne poked the map into my nose. “Girl, you are something else! I’m getting kinda hungry, you wanna stop off somewhere?”

“Do you really have to ask?! Oh! There’s a Mickey D’s!”

“Why isn’t there an Unhappy Meal for adults?” Daphne asked with a straight face.

“If there was, what would the toy be?”

“A mini bottle of alcohol! Duh!”

“Oh. My. God. Yeesss! Let’s pitch them this idea and we’ll be bazillionaires!”

“After we pay off all of our student loans, we’ll have just enough money leftover to buy.. an Unhappy Meal!”

We lost it again. Our giggle fest continued. We heard one of our favorite songs on the radio from a band we just bought concert tickets to see in the fall, so we just had to stay in ol’ Ruby to rock out until the very end of the song. I played air guitar while Daphne drummed on the steering wheel. We dramatically serenaded one another while holding hands during the last verse.

“We should cut a record!” Daphne exclaimed as we were walking across the parking lot. She glanced to me for approval, but I shook my head. “We could sing back up!” We both shook our heads and continued walking. “I got it!” She stopped, so I stopped.. and we glared at one another. She paused for dramatic effect.. “We could be hype girls!”

“Yeeeeeesssss!” We danced all the way into the restaurant and stood in a long line to order.

“Shyanne, check it! There’s a vending machine over there! Wanna get a temporary tattoo?!”

“Oohh! Well, I mean.. we gotta look our best for the interview!”

We scrounged up just enough change. “On the count of three, let’s open ’em together,” Daphne whispered.

We counted together, “1.. 2.. 3..”

“I gotta flaming guitar! What’d you get?!” Daphne asked.

“I gotta spider in its web! Where should we put them?” I asked.

“Hmm.. I don’t know.. Oh! I know!.. On our necks! We gotta show ’em off! We’re hype girls! We gotta look the part..”

“Risky. Wild. Daring. I like it. Let’s do it! After we eat..”

“Duh!”

We found a booth near a window facing a quaint little court yard. Daphne went over to save our seats while I went to fill up our cups at the soda machine.

“What do you want to drink?” I asked over my shoulder.

“Hi-C with a little ice!” Daphne excitedly replied.

“You got it!” I skipped across the dining area and sang what I was doing, “♪♫ Fill this cup with a little ice. Yeaahhh.. Pour some Hi-C. Oohh.. Overflooooooooow ♬”

“You gotta nice voice,” a police officer commented as he grabbed a handful of napkins.

“Uhhh.. thank you,” I muttered as my cheeks turned beet red. Oh, how I blushed! I quickly cleaned up my mess from the spilt soda on the counter and hurried over to join Daphne, “That copper just complimented my singing,” I whispered. “I was just being silly.. Guess I sound better than I thought..”

“Girl, I’ll sing backup for ya,” Daphne blurted out.. a little louder than she intended. She instantly noticed the other diners glaring at us.

I giggled quietly, “You gotta audition first.” We both dipped our french fries into the same ranch dressing container. “Hey, I like your nails, where do you get them done at?!”

“Oh, I do ’em myself!” Daphne shoved her perfectly manicured hand in my face. “I just slap on the polish and let the paint fall off my fingers when I get a shower the next day..”

“Sounds like a foolproof process right there,” I declared in awe. “I’ll have to try that sometime. What color is that by the way?” I stuffed half a dozen fries in my mouth at once.

“Burgundy Sunset Bliss,” she dramatically quoted with a wave.

“Really?”

“Hell if I know. Sounds like a color to me.”

“You should submit that to Pantone!”

“I just might,” Daphne mumbled through a mouthful of her double cheeseburger.

We made a couple pit-stops along the way as we walked down the street to the photography studio for Daphne’s interview. We captured some Kodak moments: Daphne posed in front of a white picket fence with her Mickey D’s cup o’ Hi-C. I posed leaning against a brick wall in an alley because my alter ego grew up in The Outsiders.

This story doesn’t have a traditional beginning, middle, and end. It just abruptly stops.. because unfortunately.. my friend’s life abruptly stopped. I decided to highlight the good times we had together while she was a part of my life. Life’s a B..lur. The world is moving at such a high speed.. that every once and awhile.. I just gotta stop.. and enjoy it.. and appreciate it for what it is.. before it’s too late.

I enjoyed traveling down memory lane, thumbing through my ol’ photo albums, and sharing an inspired by my true experience with y’all this week (an excerpt, if you will). I hope the next time you feel your head spinning and your life becomes a b..lur; that you’ll take a second to slow down to savor each and every precious moment, and cherish them while you can. I guarantee you’ll feel better about whatever life throws at ya. Please share any merry-go-round moments you’ve had in the comments. I can’t wait to hear about them.

Six by Eight

The inspiration behind this week’s blog post came about when I least expected it.. Per usual! I tend to mentally backtrack, analyze the chain of events and ask myself: “Why did I do that? Had I seen something similar before and subconsciously wanted to see more like it?” It’s a general question, but in this particular case, I asked myself this when I was reminiscing about a tour my S.O. and I took in San Francisco to.. Alcatraz! I was instantly enthralled by its size, history and architecture; so much in fact that it prompted our most recent tour to the Ohio State Reformatory. I highly recommend both tours by the way!

So, there I was.. racking my brain as to why I scheduled these tours.. then.. finally, it came to me! ‘Twas most likely when I first toured a jail! Ten-ish years ago, I volunteered my graphic design services to a small marketing agency located in one of the business suites in Butler County’s old Municipal Building. During one lunch break, my boss decided to take me on a private tour of the abandoned jail on the top floor, which I didn’t even know was there! I remember taking a school field trip of my hometown; which included the old Municipal Building! I only recall seeing the 911 Dispatch Center in the basement and the Fire Station on the northside of the building, which is now a brewery (also, highly recommend). Luckily, I was able to go back up to the jail and take photos! This week, I decided to change it up and write a story from an inmate’s perspective. Something you might read in their journal or hear from their interview in a documentary.

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the blogger’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

I’ve been sentenced and fined; it’ll be a three months stay, I’ll pay a fortune to Uncle Sam, plus probation. Two plump Police Officers escorted me from the municipal courtroom into a freshly polished gray marble hallway where we waited for the elevator operator to accompany us inside a cramped lift. The operator hovered above a little stool in the corner. He latched a squeaky metal gate, pulled a stiff lever, and an outer door folded to a close like an accordion. We shimmied our way up a couple flights. I could barely make out the weathered plaque above the operator’s head. I managed to finally read it without my glasses: “Maximum weight limit: 400 pounds.” Oh, yeah, we’re not gonna make it, there’s four of us and we each weigh at least a hundred pounds! I just hope it’ll be a swift and painless death as we plummet to the bottom of the elevator shaft into a large steaming meat pie to feed the other pigs.

As the operator unveiled my new dwelling, the air felt different; stale and humid. I winced with disgust and shook my head as I could already smell the sweaty inmates. It was just my luck to get stuck in the clink on the hottest day of 1959. The judge reassured me that this was a temporary stay until they made room in the overcrowded Butler County jail. My double shackles rattled as I shuffled out onto a dirty concrete floor. I could feel the flames lick me as I walked into a beam of sunlight past a chain linked door, which I noticed had two sets of stairs behind it; one up and one down. I’m sure I’d find out where they each lead to later. I noticed another ray of sunlight coming from a window at the end of the hallway. That surprised me because I envisioned jail to be a windowless dungeon where they locked you up and threw away the key.

The salt and pepper haired Police Officer rhythmically rapped upon a massive vault-like steel door. This sort of door belonged in a bank protecting money; not a jail, protecting society from criminals. He slowly opened a latch to look through a miniature window to visually verify our arrival to the inside guard. I squinted to make out a faint etching on the plate glass that read:
“Let me out.”
I finally admitted to myself that I was petrified. What will I have to endure here for.. who-knows-how-long?! I distinctly heard tin cups clanging across jail cell bars. I thought that only happened in the movies.. The massive door opened in slow motion.

There were eight cells; each were equipped with two bunks, a toilet and a sink. That’s it. Parcopresis quickly set in. How am I gonna drop a deuce without feeling like I’m on display for these perverts to gawk at?! I counted fifteen inmates; some greeted me with their hoarse catcalls, pocket mirrors, and/or tin cups. The other inmates were laying motionless in their bunks. I was lucky number sixteen. We officially became a full house. I stepped over a carved-in-concrete checkerboard in front of my cell. This gave me hope that we had some freedom outside our six by eight cells. I’m a whiz at games. That is what ultimately landed me in here. I ran an illegal gambling ring out of my loft downtown and.. it got raided. I managed to weasel my way out of doing hard time upstate thanks to my hotshot brother-in-law lawyer, Peter. I really owe him. Big. Might as well start by conning these poor schmucks’ out of their commissary items to purchase something fancy for him. Least I could do. He’d prefer I not reoffend though. My mother has openly admitted she’d rather have Peter as her son than the washed up criminal she biologically spawned.

The rookie guard had difficulty releasing me from my restraints because he couldn’t get a firm grip on the key with his sweaty hands. The other guard slammed the cell door closed and lingered nearby. I ignored my cellmate as I quietly settled in to the bottom bunk. A metal spring from my paper thin mattress poked me in the shoulder blade as I laid down to catch my breath. The metal spring propped me toward a window; I discovered the cell bars perfectly framed the Butler County Courthouse across the street. This view reminded me that I could’ve been tried there and received a harsher punishment of three to five years instead of three months. Just gotta hang on for three months. This thought was interrupted by the sound of my cellmate taking a piss.. in the sink. Ugh, I can tell we’re not gonna get along. First impressions are everything. Wonder what his first impression of me was? The strong silent type? Retarded? I quickly dismissed this thought as he aggressively shook his dick.. and moaned loudly. Oh, my God.. He’s jerking off! Disgusting. I rolled over to face the wall and pulled my pillow around my ears to muffle the noise. I finally opened my eyes to see a row of tally marks scratched into the paint. I counted seven. Wonder how long this guy’s sentence was? I bet he died of heat stroke in this oven before he was transferred to county. I forced this thought out of my head. I will make it. I had to. My cellmate might not make it though. I may just smother him in his sleep.

I must’ve nodded off because I was startled awake by a guard barking orders to line up for Recreation. Whatever that meant. I instinctively sat up and busted my head on the bottom of the top bunk with a loud thunk. I spit out, “Fuck,” and rubbed my forehead. I cautiously inspected my wet hand. It wasn’t blood. I looked down to see a body outline of sweat left on my mattress. I felt like crying. I was so uncomfortably hot. I’m sure my tears would’ve been masked by the sweat pouring down my face. I dizzily stood up, stretched with a yawn and accidentally punched my cellmate in the shoulder. I forgot I wasn’t alone. Our eyes finally met.

“Oh, ‘cuse me,” I muttered.
I extended my hand, “Patrick O’Reilly.”
My cellmate chuckled, “Eugene Schwartz.”

We exchanged glances and shook hands. I immediately regretted shaking Eugene’s hand. Bet he didn’t even wash his hands after he pissed and.. came. Yuck. I wiped my right hand on my black and white striped jumpsuit and shoved both hands into my pockets. Each pocket had a pinky size hole in it.

The guard barked again to line up. We faced forward and waited for our cell door to open. I caught a glimpse of something above our heads. I reared my head back to get a better look. The sun shone through a line of cutouts. My eyes adjusted to make out the shapes. They were shamrocks. I bowed my head, crossed myself, and quietly said a prayer to Saint Christopher to protect me during my journey ahead.

We exited our cells, the guard counted us, and the other guard confirmed the head count on his clipboard. We marched single file out of the cell block and into the hallway; one guard was playing follow-the-leader while the other guard rode caboose. We went through the chain linked door and proceeded upstairs. With each step we climbed, I could feel the temperature rise ten degrees. Sweat just poured down from my brow onto my jumpsuit. I wiped my forehead with my already wet sleeve. While we pivoted on a platform, I used this time to check how much further til we reached our “Recreational” destination: another set of stairs to go. I noticed the ceiling and walls were deteriorating. Pieces of plaster sprinkled my face so I instinctively averted my gaze, shook my head and marched ahead.

We finally reached the top of the stairs to a door exiting out onto the roof. I peered through a metal handrail and thought I saw someone waving. They weren’t waving. It was a statue on top of the Hamilton memorial monument across the street. I can’t remember the official name of it. A burst of dank air expelled when the door to the roof opened. My thinning hair tickled my face as I blinked into the afternoon sun. I mentally added a pair of sunglasses to my list of needed commissary items. The guard barked, “Enjoy your two hours of playtime, kiddies!” The other guard snorted at his co-worker’s childish announcement. The inmates segregated themselves: whites on the left, colored to the right, and beaners down the middle. I didn’t join any group. I just paced alongside the ledge and admired the Great Miami River. I just wanted to jump in and cool off. I’ve always been a loner. Content with my own company. Sometimes, I did long for more. I don’t mind admitting that I have regularly paid for company with a lady of the night.

Recreation time had come and gone already. “Time’s up! Line up,” the guard’s booming voice sent a scared pigeon fluttering toward me. I covered my face with both arms and crouched down. I casually dusted myself off and joined the line. During head count, I noticed there was not a single guardrail, fence, or barbed wire to keep anybody from falling off the five story building to their death; whether accidental, suicidal, or homicidal. There wasn’t anything recreational about this “Recreational Roof” at all. No weights. No basketball hoop. Nothing. How I longed for a book to get lost into. Anything to distract me from this cruel reality. I mentally added some books to my list of needed commissary items. I’d read a telephone book, a dictionary, a Bible. Anything. Maybe I’d write a book. Hell, I got the time. Eighty-nine days to go. In a six by eight jail cell.

[end scene]

Did you enjoy the story? I hope you did! I really enjoyed writing it! I definitely pushed myself out of my comfort zone with this one. I’m open to hear any constructive critiques you may have to help improve my storytelling. Feel free to drop a comment below!

I hope the next time you find yourself mentally backtracking how/why you decided to do something, especially something uncharacteristic; that you’ll be inquisitive to take a moment to examine the chain of events that lead you there. I guarantee you’ll learn something new about yourself! Please share any groundbreaking revelations you’ve discovered about yourself in the comments! I’d love to hear about them! I’m sure the other readers would too!

Alleys by Allie

For years, I’ve been taking photos of alleys wherever I go; especially throughout my travels because I find them fascinating! Alleys tend to be overlooked because they’re purposely hidden and thus becoming “a needle in a haystack” of all the sights to see as a tourist. We are too focused on the architectural skyline, the landscape, and/or every tourist’s favorite.. people watching! We are visually overloaded therefore the details become distorted and mostly discarded.

According to Google: an alley or alleyway is a narrow lane, path, or passageway, often reserved for pedestrians, which usually runs between, behind, or within buildings in the older parts of towns and cities. It is also a rear access or service road (back lane), or a path, walk, or avenue (French allée) in a park or garden. The origin of the word alley is late Middle English. From aler “go,” from Latin: ambulare “to walk.” A covered alley or passageway, often with shops, may be called an arcade. Synonyms for alley include: passage, back alley, backstreet, pathway, walk; corridor, aisle; ginnel, snicket, twitten; twitchel; vennel; wynd; gully. In the 19th century, American cities used alleys to hide the more utilitarian, less attractive functions of urban life including service and servant access, barns for horses and carriages, and even small shops and areas for children to play. Nowadays, alleys are used for garages, to store/set out garbage cans, where transformers, electric meters, and telephone equipment are installed. The ownership of the land that is platted as a street or alley is actually statutorily presumed to be owned by the abutting property owners. The platted public street and alleys are available for public use for public purposes as long as they are platted.

FUN FACT:
According to Urban Dictionary, an alley cat has multiple definitions:
1. a stray cat, a homeless cat.
2. a sexually promiscuous person, usually a woman.*
3. a type of race that bike messengers partake in for fun that simulates the average messenger’s work day.

*Fun fact within a fun fact (it’s like dream within a dream = Inception): I’m going to feel awkward the next time my family calls me “Allie Cat” because now I know this definition and I’ll question which term they meant to call me. A stray cat or a promiscuous woman? I hope a stray cat! MEOW!

You’re in for a treat this week! Yep yep yep! Settle in and get comfy because not only do I have a photo of an alley to share, but I have three! HIGH-FIVE! Alright.. Toppin’ it all off with some more fun facts and miscellaneous stuff.

I took the photo (right) while driving through my hometown at the corner of C & Main as I waited for the traffic light to change. The overgrown weeds is what caught my eye first! Man, oh, man.. The condition of this alley screamed that it hadn’t been maintained well, recently or if at all. The blue spray painted curb is a little reminder that my hometown has become infamous for constantly being under construction. No one had been passing through this alley, safely, that’s for sure because I noticed the rusted lock and three faint lines of rusty barbed wire at the top of the chain link fenced gate. Ouch! We interrupt your regularly scheduled blog to bring you this important message: Are you up to date on your tetanus shot? Yes? Good for you! No? Well, you better skedaddle to your nearest pharmacist! I’ll wait.. Sike! Moving on (play @ 48 second mark)..

I captured the above picture during an evening stroll through Hollywood, California while on spring break. If you look closely, you can see this alley is in between two residential buildings that’s scattered with litter, a discarded shopping cart, a folding chair, unknown spilt liquid (some of which is pink), a city sign, and four tied pieces of tape that spells “CUIDADO” which I translated from Spanish to English; it means “taken care of” or “watch out.” The city of LA has an interesting definition of “taken care of” if that’s the term they intended for this unsightly scene! In this instance, I’m sure they meant the latter. The little green and pink floral patch neatly frames the composition, which just goes to show that even in a whirlwind of a mess; there’s a silver lining to be grateful for and admire.

A group of friends and I were exploring Pittsburgh’s Historic Strip District when I came across this quaint hole in the wall alleyway. I combined two photos into one per Android’s collage feature so I could capture every detail. The Strip District is what the kids nowadays call.. Hipster. It’s an eclectic urban street market sprinkled with multicultural influences. I immediately felt the flower power as I stepped into this peaceful realm. Each stop seemed to be some type of organic business: mom and pop shop restaurants, fresh from the farm produce stands, hand-stitched clothing stores (I saw a pair of slippers made from alpaca fleece), homemade soaps and candles, used bookstores, etc. This alley gate has “Enrico” advertised on it which is an entrance and/or exit of an Italian cafe named The Enrico Biscotti Company. Immediately, I could tell this was a functional passageway because of how clean it was with the aligned tables and chairs under the brightly colored canopy, the string of lights, the stacks of signs, the brick wall scribbles in either chalk or spray paint, and a vintage freestanding mixer.

I hope the next time you’re out and about, especially when exploring new territory, that you’ll be inspired to take a moment to examine the details.. such as alleys! Who knows? Maybe you’ll start your own alley photo collection. If you do, please follow me on Instagram or send me a Facebook friend request and share them on my page! I’d love to see them! I’m sure the other readers would too! And I’d be more than happy to give you my two ¢ents.

Here comes the miscellaneous stuff!
There were a few things I didn’t mention about my blog on my first post last week because I secretly hoped that everyone noticed them and/or explored this blog page on their own, if not.. that’s okay! You may be new to blogs.. I know I am! I’m here to help ya out and of course.. overthink things! haha.. Okay, so, if you’re interested in being notified via email every week of each new blog I post, please feel free to enter your email address and click the “Follow” button on the left navigation panel of this page (you’ll only be able to see the “Follow” hyperlink button if you’re reading this on a laptop or desktop computer). You may not see a left navigation panel if you’re reading this on a tablet or cell phone. For tablets and cell phones: there’s a three horizontal line icon (that looks like the image I’ve included above for your reference). If you scroll up to the upper right of this page and click the featured icon, it’ll expand to showcase more information of my blog. The more information includes my:

Blog Theme
Blog Stats
- how many times my blog has been viewed
- 63 hits this past week!
- thank you all!
Clickable hyperlinks to follow me elsewhere
- on Facebook, Instagram, my portfolio website
Search bar
About Blogger
- a little biography on me
- includes a music video that is my new self-proclaimed anthem
Fun Fact
- this will change every week to spread knowledge!
- Watch out now.. it’s addicting!

Oh! When you see an underlined word within my blog text, it’s a clickable hyperlink! Please click them as you read, it’ll be fun! I promise.. or your money back! I don’t make a profit on this blog.. not yet anyway.. Haha.. When you click a hyperlink, it’ll open a new tab to a video or page for some extra entertainment or reference. These clickable hyperlinks help move the story along. They also provide some context as to my intended tone so you can get a feel for my sense of humor. You may have already noticed.. I love pop culture! Fun fact: I always thought the “pop” in pop culture meant.. like soda pop or bubble gum popping. Nope, it’s short for “popular.” Who knew?! Show of hands! 1.. 2.. 3.. Okay, you can put your hand down, people are staring at you! Haha.. Hope you come back to visit next week!

Once Upon a Blog

I received a random message early in the morning from my college professor that prompted the creation of this blog:

“Allison, I remember you as being a creative witty person with a wry sense of humor. Have you ever thought that you might be a good writer? Even part-time. With the right amount of perseverance and patience I believe you could be very successful. You have a unique view of things and you are able to express it well. Just saw a recent post from you and it “triggered” fond memories, especially your graduation speech which was brilliant! Do you keep a journal? Maybe you could write a blog? One of my sons has a friend who writes a sports blog and he is making considerable cash. Take a look back through your journals and you may find a theme that reflects your spirit, your wit, your attitude toward life. You’ve been through a lot and here you are, wiser, stronger and still you! Don’t know what got me on this this morning, but it’s good to touch base! Talk to you later!”

I let this marinate for a couple weeks. I tried not to force any ideas because I wanted my blog theme to be organic and somewhat.. original.

There I was.. driving into my hometown and peacefully enjoying the view of a beautiful green field (I decided to take the rural scenic route). No sign of civilization for as far as the eye could see. Just nature thriving.

Where Millville Ave and Walnut Street meet

I thought to myself: “Wow! Now, that is a picture worth a thousand..ish words. I could put a frame around this and have quite a bit to say about it. Wonder if anybody would read it?”

Out of nowhere.. BOOM!!! Inspiration struck! I had found my theme.. or rather my theme found me! I think this theme will reflect the attributes my college professor recommended that I highlight very well. This theme will incorporate my love of photography, graphic design, and creative writing!

I first fell in love with writing in elementary school. My English teacher wrote a journal entry prompt on the board every morning for us to start our day off right; by exercising our most important muscle.. Our brain! Such journal entry prompts were a simple or philsophical question, random scenario, or abrupt storyline that needed to be finished, etc. I enjoyed the freedom of being able to create with the written word, reading it back, watching my teacher and classmates hearing me read it aloud (whenever I felt confident enough, haha). I quickly learned that reading and writing go hand in hand, therefore this fueled my interest in reading and dedication to improve my vocabulary.

My English teacher took notice of my obsession with learning and the sudden anxiety that struck my core when the school year was about to come to an end. In the years previous, I would “play school” all summer! I was fully equipped with a retired student desk, outdated/donated textbooks from my mom’s teacher friend. I would role-play as the teacher, take attendance, assign seats, create syllabuses, hand out assignments, grade them, and give out homework. My English teacher kindly communicated her concern with my parents and the school decided to award me a free “scholarship” to summer school so I could keep my structured scholastic schedule all year round throughout my entire elementary career.

I saw Nickelodeon’s Harriet the Spy summer blockbuster movie with my dad, which electrified my interest in writing! I bought a Composition notebook, just like Harriet’s, to record all my “secrets.” I turned out to be a horrible spy though (haha..) so I just kept with the writing part. Oh! I even bought similar shoes as Harriet’s. Tried to find her orange pants to no avail. The setting of the movie is not exactly clear, however with a little research I discovered the book of the same title was originally published in 1964 by Louise Fitzhugh, therefore it explains the vintage fashion style, absence of technology, and classic vehicles throughout the film. In hindsight, Nickelodeon and Paramount were smart to stay true to the era in which Harriet grew up in in the book. I found it to be charming because they kept it simple with no outside distractions. Just good old-fashioned spy-work and back to basics writing.

In high school, I took a Creative Writing elective class with another one of my influential English teachers. His freestyle teaching motto was: let it flow and see what happens. We were assigned to write various styles such as: poetry, short stories, songs, etc. I leaned towards more of the shorter writings because I had to be honest with my-high-school-teenage-self: I didn’t have the time, attention span, or motivation to write an elaborate beginning, middle, and climatic end. I accepted it and stuck with what I felt comfortable with. With the urging of my English teacher, I entered a couple poetry contests. I placed and was published in a book called Impressions of Youth, along with all the other placed and winning entries (I have a copy but couldn’t find it anywhere online to share with y’all). The teacher realized there were a fair share of us that were shy about reading our pieces out loud with the class, so he allowed us to select a brave classmate to read our pieces on our behalf. In hindsight, that was very cool and kind of him. Oh! We could bring in snacks, some kids brought in coffee, and it felt very much like an open mic night at a local cafe. We even snapped our fingers instead of clapping after each piece was read.

I first fell in love with photography in high school when I took a couple Darkroom Photography elective classes. I found it fascinating that in order to capture an ideal shot, you need light; whether it be natural or artificial; however, the initial preparation process and development end process needs complete darkness! Yin and Yang process. Every step has to be precise, delicate, and balanced:

Cut the film and roll it into the canister in complete darkness
- Take photos
Extract the full canister without exposing it to any light
Whilst in the darkroom: cut the film again to place it onto the mechanism to shine light through it onto the photo paper below
- Duration could vary, depending upon the exposure type of photograph you’re trying to achieve
- Double exposure photographs are fun and trippy!
- Could add a stencil to frame images such as stars, hearts, etc
Soak the photo paper in chemicals
- First bin was a specific time
- Second bin was a different, specific time
- Third bin was a different, specific time
Hang to dry

Before high school graduation, I distinctly remember a speaker (of some kind) came to explain the three avenues, one of which we were destined to take: College, Workforce, or Military. I had no clue what I wanted to do with my life. I didn’t even know if my folks could afford college because all my siblings went straight into the workforce after high school; therefore, I presumed I’d do the same. A Brown Mackie College Admissions Recruiter came to speak to my English class. Their pitch went the same as all the rest of other college admission recruiters, however their class structure was different because instead of taking multiple classes at once over a period of multiple semesters during a school year; this school offered one class course at a time for an entire month. She explained it as: “Easing yourself into the college life.” My-high-school-teenage-self thought: “Hey! Now, that’s a good way to decide if college’s right for me. One class for one month at a time? Sure. Didn’t sound like too much of a commitment!” So, I decided to check the box on the comment card that I was interested in learning more about the college, but I couldn’t bring myself to check any of the listed majors because I wasn’t interested in Accounting, Economics, or Paralegal.

Soon after, I had a meeting with a different Admissions Recruiter, they gave my mom and I the grand tour of the campus, explained each and every major they offered, but I was hesitant because I still wasn’t interested in any major yet. My mom suggested I bring my darkroom photography and creative writings to show the Admissions Recruiter and see if that could help determine which major could incorporate both of my interests. They immediately spit out: “Oh! You’re an artist! Let me introduce you to our new neighbor, The Art Institute of Ohio – Cincinnati, and their Admissions. I think their Graphic Design major would be a great fit for you!” The more I learned about graphic design, the more I felt like this was something I could see myself doing every day. Being creative. I learned as a graphic designer, you have to wear many hats: writer, photographer, typographer, etc. I’m a variety type of person so this fits me perfectly because I don’t like doing the same thing every day.

The rest is history! I graduated top of my class, was on the Dean’s List with a 3.5 Grade Point Average, I was voted Graduation Class Student Speaker, was Awarded Best in Show at the Graduation Portfolio Show, and was a Regional Finalist for the Art Institutes’ National Portfolio. I felt on top of the world! The famous reporter question to any winning athlete is: “You have just won the [insert tournament name here], what are going to do next?!” Yep, you guessed it.. I went to Disney World! I went for a paid college internship, whilst there I took a Creativity and Innovation Class at their College of Knowledge. I even received my Ducktorate! Haha.. I proudly showcase my Ducktorate at every interview. It always gets a good laugh! Interviews can be awkward because they’re forced interactions so it helps ease the tension.

My first out-of-college-adult-job was at a small commercial photography studio as a Production Assistant, which was a creative, multi-tasking position where I directed the photographer, took photos in their absence, pre-edited the photos, edited the photos in post, took inventory of photography equipment in the studio and warehouse, etc. I worked there for a couple years until I was recruited for another job, which paid more. Hey! Money talks.

For the past five years, I’ve been desperately craving a creative outlet because my day job, while it has great benefits and flexibility, is at an IT company that I find monotonous; however provides me the luxury of ample spare time to express myself outside of the cookie cutter IT world.

I had privately protested photography for the past decade-ish because everyone became instantly equipped with a camera in their cell phone, which mass produced an unforeseen amount of self-proclaimed “photographers.” I quickly became uninterested and unmotivated in photography because it seemed to dull the originality and creativity for me. Took me awhile to realize that I shouldn’t worry about what other people are doing and that I should do what makes me happy; regardless of what is #trendy. With my mentor’s and my significant other’s encouragement, I have decided to reignite my love for photography, design, and writing! A thousand-ish words and countless scrolls later.. my blog is born.. TA-DA!

Thank you Duff and thank you Jaimie, for I dedicate this post to you both.