The Archives

According to my mother, the next ___ years of my life are going to fly by.  I’m relatively sure I’ve heard it at least once a semester for 8 years now.  If I recall correctly, high school was excruciatingly long and painful. If I felt the same way about college, I might be wishing for May to get here, just as I was four years ago.

The problem now is thinking that everything is the last.  This Christmas break was (hopefully) the last month-long break I’ll have for possibly decades.  These classes are the last classes I’ll ever take for a grade.  This will be the last time I temporarily lose my mind and agree to go to Harpo’s on a Thursday.

What’s worse to me, however, is the idea of losing these memories.  The dozens of memories I have left from high school will soon turn into the handful that I have left from elementary school. The idea of my four years at Mizzou turning into a compilation of “that one guy, what was his name?” and “that building over by the place.. you know.. the place!” seems far scarier than May 15th looming quicker and quicker.

My best friend from home had a fantastic idea to take one picture a day of something that would spark a memory: food, an event, whatever springs to mind.

While most don’t warrant publishing (although six squirrels in one tree fascinates me), I do find it to be putting my mind a bit at ease that there’s some sort of documentation of my last months of schooling.

So an example of today’s archive:

Diva in a House of Dudes.

Think Big Picture.

The credit belongs to those who are actually in the arena, who strive valiantly; who know the great enthusiasms, the great devotions, and spend themselves in a worthy cause; who at the best, know the triumph of high achievement; and who, at the worst, if they fail, fail while daring greatly, so that their place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who know neither victory nor defeat.
– Theodore Roosevelt

And the New Year begins…

As my last semester of being a college student begins, I’m quickly embarking on a fresh start, and a fresh decade. Being the OCD creature that I am, it would’ve befit me to graduate in December so everything could have begun at once, but I’m appreciating the little time I have left. This semester’s classes vary from Professional Writing to Internet Applications, Broadcast to Serigraphy. After seven semesters of failed attempts, I’ve even managed to get into Beginning Photography.

And therein lies my latest adventure…

As the job search continues, I’ve chosen to not only keep my professional blog that details my journalistic endeavors, but maintain Tales of a Fake Redhead (once known as Tampa Baycation). Throughout, I plan to use this as a more personal blog that details my last semester, my current stresses, my photography, and my art. To kick it off, I want to reflect on a year of my favorite photos (as my first anniversary with my Canon Rebel XSi was just celebrated).

10. A Gray Day
Location: Hailsham, England

9. Stubborn Weed
Location: My backyard

8. Ponder
Location: Tampa Aquarium

7. Bruce
Location: Zak’s Apartment

6. Blue.
Location: Colorado Mountains

5. Sad Stranger
Location: Tampa Piers

4. Bread?
Location: Pam and John’s Backyard

3. Wrapped
Location: Forest in Columbia

2. Diva Poser
Location: Red Rocks, Colorado

1. Flight
Location: London, England

And just because I have to brag…
The latest addition to my household:

Tiggy

Don’t be charmed, she can actually be quite a brat:

But, what a face:

Finito.

Finally finished! I might actually keep this one.

Work in Progress…

Apologies for the terrible quality; I’ll post a better one when it’s finished.

The Perfect Light

So there’s a theory that one can see absolute hue in the pitch black, if you had a pure white light shining on one specific area.

And about a week ago, I feel like I came as close to that as possible. It was so much fun to turn in any direction and see a million different things to take pictures of.

Not to mention the Golden Orb spider hanging out in my backyard window.

Favorites:

Do or Die.

I was on my town’s swim team when I was about 6. I’m pretty sure I was reasonable. I remember getting a blue ribbon once, and having no idea why my mom was so much more excited about that one particular race than the others.

What I do distinctly remember is going to swim class for a week in the 4th grade. And flailing madly about midway down the lane. And wondering when I became slow…

So, obviously, the best choice for this semester was to take SCUBA!

I’ve already been warned on three separate occasions about how stressful this class is. In fact, I was slightly chased down by the bookstore guy to tell me just how mentally straining it would be without a mechanical engineer to help me through.

Actually, I found that slightly insulting, and considered pretending that I was a mechanical engineer… until he started talking about valves.

Physically, I’m aware it’ll kick my ass. And with ongoing, month-long side pain and less-than-stellar anxiety issues, I’m also relatively cognizant that this could be my GPA’s downfall.

But, I refuse to give up.

I feel like this could be my crux. While half of my friends think I’m insane, and I’m currently causing my mom even more stress than usual, I think this could easily decide my future. Yes, I could take an 18-hour course and get certified. But, if I can survive the treading, the “do or die” exercises, the blackout masks… well, then maybe I can carry the 30 pound cameras through the Amazon and deal with the leeches, and millipedes, and termites.

I can deal with the lions and tigers, but termites really freak me out.

Trials, Tribulations, Tributes, Trips…

So this is it. Here I am… Tupelo, Mississippi…
It’s pretty crazy.. Hell of a Friday night.. I opted out of a Waffle House run. It’s just not the same without having to search for one for two hours with Jamie.

That’s right. Two hours. For Waffle House:

The Drive
After 737 miles today, 11 hours, 2 stops for peeing, 2 stops for pictures (Alabama sunsets are insane), I’ve had plenty of time to think about my perspective on life.

Let me tell you, around hour 7 of myself, I find myself pretty dull.

But, around hour 9, I find out that one of the women I have looked up to since I was 14 years old- someone who taught me, mentored me, saw me grow up, and helped shape my really anal self into a lesser control freak- has breast cancer.

And let me tell you, when it’s that time of the month, and you’re on two caffeine pills, two advil, a Dairy Queen cheeseburger, half a bag of cashews, and 2 packs of Starbursts- that makes you really, really pensive…

My journalism teacher in high school probably saw more of me in the Broadcast room than my own mother did at home. She once yelled at me for trying to write with my toes, told me (more or less) that I had a knack for pissing people off, and she let it slide when I was late almost every day of senior year. While I haven’t been back to visit Marcus in over a year, I always figured she’d be there when I needed that nostalgic visit. And if it weren’t for her, I wouldn’t be doing this:

Because I’d have given up long ago.

Herbst always told us we had to cut our time down, even if we had to cut the good soundbites. We had to “kill the puppies.”

The way I see it, the puppies have just become the cancer cells. She’s got this.

The Nutshell
I said previously that I wasn’t sure if I would continue this particular blog. It seems wrong to change the name. I want it to stay Tampa Baycation. I don’t want it to get lost in the onslaught of future writing. And while no one else would probably know the difference, I would. I have a diary from when I was 6 years old that talks about my ambitions: “When I grow up, I want to be a zoologist/tennis pro/model/ newscaster.” My mom had to write newscaster for me. I couldn’t possibly have something spelled wrong in there. It is the one time I let her look at it.

Sidenote: There’s also a page in there about my sister who “thew up” and that “it was pink.”

I have a Xanga that never got deleted and is still fun to look back on. A Myspace page left simply because there’s writing in there. In fact, the one thing I regret with my writing is throwing away stories from when I was about 14. I would leave them in a drawer, go back a few weeks later, realize how ridiculous they were, and destroy them- hoping the evidence was forever ridden from memory.

Now, I bet I’d think they were fascinating.

Point being: changing the name of this blog and having this whole escapade just seems like this insane chapter of my life would just continue into a novella.

Lets face it, kids. I’m going back to Columbia, Missouri. It’s not going to stay anywhere in the realm of interesting (possibly even scintillating had I included the juicy stuff).

So while I’m not done blogging, I may leave Tampa Baycation where it is. Forever online… Unless these get deleted after too much inactivity. Does that happen?

Tributes
On my second day in Tampa, I was distraught. There was no way I was making friends. I had gone to the beach, and pouted, and no one had approached me asking if I needed a summer best friend. This was hell. This is how it must be after college. This was my worst nightmare. I was going to be friendless forever if I left college, and that’s all there was to it.

And then the third day came…

James

Thanks for taking a chance on me. PS I’ve never waited tables ever. But, I made one hell of a chef salad at that cafe I worked at.

Jamie

My fiance. I’m still waiting on that ring. Square cut, platinum band. Holding you to it.

Jamie

Awwww Hell. There’s not enough time for all that.

Kate

Who would have thought I’d meet somebody else from Flower Mound, Texas who graduated from Marcus *cough* a few years before me? We showed them just how much chaos a FloMo can cause when out of Suburban Hell.

Patricia

Good luck in Orlando! Thanks for being a fellow planner with me.

Taylor

That smile will get you everywhere and anywhere.

Adam

My fellow dancer…

Andy

My biggest fan! If it weren’t for your enthusiasm, my lowest point wouldn’t have survivable. Thanks for believing!

Charles

Thought I told you not to fall in love with me? I’ll always hold Come What May as an example of mortification and friendship..

Tiffany

I’m glad I’ve got someone to save the world with me. We’ll have even more in common next year in NOLA. It’s happening.

Amy

My favorite 5-foot, cupcake-making, Shakespearean blonde with a sailor’s mouth. Badass doesn’t even come close.

Frisco

Ew.

Amy (and those two others that never came to visit but really came to visit)

Sister- you put up with a lot (This is what you get for not taking a nice photo with me because this is the only picture I took of us all weekend).

Holly

Thanks for trekking down. It needs to be far less than 7 years next time. (Also the only picture I got of you )

And to everyone else whom I don’t have pictures with: Blannie, Mike (B., C., and L.), Chris (C. and E.), Jack, Jon, Shannon, Grady, Jenna, Jenn, Jacob, Esteban, Chef, Crystal, Ekaterina, Stylez, Jeff, Allison, Ally, Craig, Caitlin, Joette, Dave, Lisa, Mr. McClain, Mr. Bunce, Elizabeth, Alanna, and Mr. Wilson-

Thanks for making it one for the record books.

There’s so much more to be said, but right now, I’ve got to prep for another 4 hour drive.

Bucced Out (and on to my new job as bridesmaid),
Aly

PS CONGRATS MR. AND MRS. (future) COVEY

The Beginning Of The End

Hello again, faithful readers. After a strong, inner debate with myself, I’ve decided to tell my other self to shut up and continue with writing here. This post has been wreaking havoc on me for a while. I haven’t decided which route is best, what words are enough, but I guess I’ll just focus on what’s at the forefront of my find currently: my inability to function as a normal human being. Let’s begin!

My junior and senior years of high school, my English teachers worked my nerves to sliced, frantic, temperamental, frayed edges. These women were impossible to please: too short, too long, too descriptive, “why are you being so minimalistic?” It got to the point where I was terrified to turn something in, knowing it would be wrong. Granted, looking back, I was able to not only skip my first two English classes at Mizzou, but grow to love writing in general. And it was only because of my English teacher during freshman year of college that I actually began to relax and get the confidence back.

But, that same panic has set back in. After a kick in the head to remind me just how much of an impact my interconnected, social, fun blog can make, I’m petrified to spill any thoughts people might find interesting. How can one write about certain summer escapades when my mother has bookmarked the page? How do I talk about my 86-year-old estranged grandfather and his 17-year-old child when my family doesn’t want their dirty laundry aired? My grievances, my rants, my own mistakes: they all have an effect, I know. And I could save that for my own personal diary. But, I also read Dooce religiously, and I want to know her secrets because she’s figured out how to do it.

For anyone who doesn’t know, Dooce got fired for talking about her job in a blog when no one even knew what a blog was. Instead, she’s managed to change it into her and her husband’s full-time income by talking about her ex-communication from the Mormon community, her babies, and her post-postpartum depression. The woman just got voted #26 in Forbes’ 50 Most Influential Women. And my guess is that her mother doesn’t enjoy reading about her sex life, but that doesn’t stop her.

I suppose it’s not a big deal. After all, I leave in less than a week. I can choose not to continue this, to keep a blog going where the main audience would be less than happy to be cast members. But, I’ve really enjoyed blogging. And in this day and age, the ability to keep up with a blog as a journalist is just about as important as figuring out what that little thing that you scribble with and blue goo comes out does… What’s that thing again…? Oh right. Pen.

I ran into one of the main investigative reporters at FOX in the bathroom about a week ago, and asked if she had any interesting stories going on. There, by the hand towels, she told me that the day before, she’d just finished a 4-year investigation that ended with freeing a man from a 15-year sentence in prison.

Good grief.

And she was so modest about it! Here I was, getting prickly hairs on the back of my neck, and she was completely composed about her life-changing accomplishment. Literally, she just saved somebody’s life… with journalism. How AWESOME is that? And when I asked what’s next, she just joked, “I don’t know. Have another kid? Get a hobby? After this, it’s just like- what else is there?”

So, Aly, what have you done today?

While I haven’t proven anyone innocent this summer, I’m still in awe of all the opportunities I have been given. I have 3 days left at FOX, and I plan to make the most of them.

My last shift at Rawbar, however, was last night. In one of my beginning posts, I talked about being disgruntled that 2 days in, I hadn’t met any lifelong friends to share Christmas cards with. By the third day in Tampa, I had. I just didn’t know it yet. They’re even willing to go out with me at Midnight on Wednesday to celebrate my 21st.

Let’s just hope I survive.

And while, according to my initial Bucket List from the beginning of summer, I haven’t accomplished much of any of the goals (i.e. gaining a tolerance, getting in shape, finding a way to relax) I did accomplish one of the goals.

I sang karaoke.

And not once. Not twice. Not three times.

Four times. Two separate occasions. I have not ONE valid excuse for mortifying myself. On separate occasions. In front of different groups of people.

For the record, I cannot sing Come What May like Nicole. I am not Sheryl Crow. I cannot work it like Carrie Underwood. And I should have taken a note out of Ashlee Simpson’s book and just lip-synced to her song like she does.

But, damnit. I can cross it off the Bucket List.

In the meantime, I have 4 days left here and a beach and coworkers/ Jamie that are calling my name.

Buccaneering my Paducah off,
Aly

Flood.

You know those weeks that just fly by, and you’re just not entirely sure what happened or when? That’s about where I’m at. I’ll start with last Sunday:

The Shoot
I’d met a photographer at an Aveda shoot a couple of weeks ago who told me he’d be willing to do ’shoot for trade’. Basically, he’d get to use photos for his portfolio and I’d get free pictures. Well, although it seemed a little sketch, we exchanged e-mails and agreed to meet up on a Sunday, and, after he said his assistant would help with lighting, I decided to go ahead with the plan.

It ended up being so much fun. Not only did I get to hear about his recent ventures to Chernobyl and see pictures of a model he recently shot, I got invited to be a model for a Chernobyl shoot (since I’m the only stupid enough person to agree to go to the equivalent of the Russian radioactive projects) and he also told me he was shooting the model next week and I could help with that one. Whether it actually happens or not, I currently have 800 new pictures and a bunch of proofs coming next week.

The Blondes
Definition of mortifying? The table that made me cry at Rawbar when they didn’t like the food. That’s right. Cry. I am not a crier. And I’m certainly not one in public. That was just… mortifying. Yes, I could go into detail. But, I’d definitely rather not.

The Visit
Luckily, this week had more ups than downs, and taking a couple of days off the internship was definitely what I needed. When my best friend from Texas decided to visit, I asked for the days off from Rawbar and went down to Orlando for a couple of days to go to Disneyworld! I haven’t been in about a decade, and made up for lost time by hitting all 4 parks in 4 days. While the general reaction was “you realize that place is for little kids, right?”, I had a blast. Between the Mickey ears and matching t-shirts with Frisco, there’s no way I’m too old for Disney.

Random
I know there’s so much more of an update, but between cutting down the 800 pictures for the last 5 hours, and getting limited sleep all week, I just can’t write anything interesting. My life is such a whirlwind right now, and I love it. But, I know so much is going to change in the next 6 weeks or so, and it’s making it a lot harder to focus on the present. Caitlin gets married 3 weeks from today. I’ll be reunited with all of my loves by 4 weeks. I visit home for the first time in 5 months in 5 weeks. And I’m back for my senior year in 6 weeks. I’m really quite upset to leave these people I’ve met here this summer. I’m just trying not to think about it for the next few weeks and enjoy my last few days here.

In the meantime, some of my favorites from the shoot:

Chris Chapman Photography

Until Further News Ensues,
Aly