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Bye Bye META

I deleted my Facebook last week, and my only regret is that I had not done it sooner. I have known for awhile that Mark Zuckerburg is not a good person, but after reading Careless People, I realized how evil that Zuck really is. I want no part in enriching this billionaire man child who has truly made this country significantly worse.

A December 23, 2022 BBC article reported that settled the Cambridge Analytica scandal for $725 million. The Cambridge Analytic scandal involved a now-defunct consulting firm that worked for Trump’s 2016 presidential campaign, and they used personal information from millions of accounts for the purposes of voter profiling and targeting. The Guardian reported on March 17, 2018 that they “exploited Facebook to harvest millions of people’s profiles. And built models to exploit what we knew about them and target their inner demons. That was the basis the entire company was built on.”

Back when this happened, I felt cynical about the whole scandal. Of course, they are tracking me and doing weird shit with my data. Every app is doing this.

Not my most principled stance.

On September 29, 2022, PBS reported that Amnesty International released a new report that detailed how Meta’s algorithms “proactively amplified and promoted content” on Facebook, inciting “violent hatred” against the Rohingya in Myanmar from early 2012 to 2017. According to the article, “despite years of warnings . . . [Facebook] not only failed to remove violent hate speech and disinformation against the Rohingya, it actively spread and amplified it until it culminated in the 2017 massacre.”

According to an August 25, 2023 report, Amnesty International detailed the following:

Beginning in August 2017, the Myanmar security forces undertook a brutal campaign of ethnic cleansing against Rohingya Muslims in Myanmar’s Rakhine State. They unlawfully killed thousands of Rohingya, including young children; raped and committed other sexual violence against Rohingya women and girls; tortured Rohingya men and boys in detention sites; and burned down hundreds of Rohingya villages. The violence pushed over 700,000 Rohingya — more than half the Rohingya population living in northern Rakhine State at the beginning of the crisis — into neighbouring Bangladesh. 

I honestly did not know the extent of Facebook’s role in this, but ignorance is no excuse.

Trump 2.0

Trump’s re-election was the final nail in the coffin for me when it came to Meta. Zuck went full Maga, along with all the other billionaires. You’d think with all that money that these billionaires could afford the best lawyers money could buy who could fight against the Trump admin and any unlawful requests. Turns out, the billionaires in this capitalist hellscape country quickly and willingly showed their soft bellies to the Trump admin without much of a fight.

For Trump’s 2024 re-election, Zuck donated $1 million to Trump’s inauguration fund after he went to Mar A Largo in November to kiss his ring, the BBC reported on December 12, 2024. Not long after, NPR reported on January 6, 2025 that Dana White, UFC president and staunch Trump supporter, joined the board of Facebook and Instagram parent company Meta. The same Dana White that spoke at the Republican National Convention who appeared in Trump’s first TikTok video and joined Trump on stage at his victory party.

IDIOCRACY WAS NOT SUPPOSED TO BE A TRUE STORY. Sorry, the internal screaming in my head oftentimes escapes.

In more recent news, Meta caved to pressure from the Trump admin and removed an ICE-tracking Facebook page in Chicago at the request of the Justice Department, according to an October 15, 2025 CBS News article. Meta said in a statement that the group “was removed for violating our policies against coordinated harm.”

Mmmkay, Zuck. I’m sure that’s really the reason, and not that all the tech giants have fully capitulated to the Trump admin. Sure, buddy.

Social media, in general, jumped the shark a long time ago. All of them can tweak their algorithms to manipulate their users by the propaganda they push. Now with AI, it’s just slop in all of our feeds and bots in the comment sections. I cannot tolerate watching people keep falling for obviously fake photos and videos. Plus, a majority of people rely on AI, ChatGPT, whatever, to think for them, and nobody knows how to properly research anything anymore.

It’s like we are all getting dumber and dumber, and I want off this sinking ship.

My goals now:

  • Less social media, more social interactions with actual humans.
  • Reading books, not comment sections.
  • Less fighting dumb people online, more blocking.

I cannot change others but I can change myself. One step at a time.

2024, so far

I haven’t updated my blog since I had to put down my beloved Boomer dog. It’s not that nothing of significance has happened since then. Just the opposite. So much has happened this year so far that I’ve been overwhelmed for a large majority of this time.

In February, my beloved niece Emma died. On the one-month anniversary of Boomer’s passing, my eldest brother called me, which he never does. My first thought when I saw that he was calling was, “Oh God, who died?” I am so glad that I didn’t ask that when I answered the phone because someone actually did.

Before my brother’s phone call, I honestly thought to myself that nothing would be more painful than losing my soul dog. I was wrong. Boomer lived a long life, especially for a large breed dog. It was her time. Emma’s death was 100 times more painful (if not more) because her life was only just beginning. Boomer’s death broke my heart, but Emma’s death just ripped it out and stomped on it.

I have often thought to myself that if I am this sad and heartbroken, I could not even imagine the pain that my brother and sister-in-law must feel. I have never been a parent, so it would be insulting to them and Emma’s memory to even act like I could understand their pain. Instead, I just try to be a good sister and aunt to Emma’s siblings. I could write more about my feelings after both their deaths, but I’m afraid I’ll start crying and won’t be able to stop.

While dealing with the grief and depression of losing Emma and my dog, I finally had my kitchen remodeled, which is stressful in a much different way. I had been dreaming of remodeling the god awful kitchen for more than a decade. Knowing I had to pay a crap-ton of money just stressed me out in a different way. I don’t regret getting the kitchen renovation done because it absolutely needed to be done. The stressful part came a month later when the sewer backed up in my basement, and I had to drain my savings account to get the basement floor jackhammered and a new floor drain installed.

Losing my emergency savings sent me into a bit of a spiral. Am I ever going to be able to take some bucket list trips? I have been taking on some photography jobs this year to dig myself out of this financial hole, which is helping a lot. My other dog, Mal, needs to have dental surgery soon so I’ve been saving aggressively for that too. It’s been one thing after the freaking other.

This year hasn’t been all doom and gloom though. My boyfriend, T, moved in with me during the summer. Having him here has been so wonderful and has taken a lot of stress away from me. He and I are settling in and becoming the boring old couple, living a quiet boring life. My cancer is enough drama for me. He and I have dinner and watch Wheel of Fortune together. I love it.

I also re-joined a running-walking group in an effort to get back into shape. It’s been nice to regroup with old friends. I am obviously never going to be the runner I was before my stage 4 diagnosis, but it’s good for me to still keep moving forward, no matter the pace.

Boomer TheDog Huffman (2010 – 2024)

It is with a heavy heart that I announce the passing of the most beloved dog, Boomer TheDog Huffman (aka Boomer T Dog, Boomie, Boomerlicious, Boom Boom). Boomer is survived by her heart-broken mother, Lara, and her sister, Mal, who is probably happy that she is now an only dog. Her mom, however, is devastated, and will forever have a Boomer-shaped hole in her heart.

Boomer enjoyed de-squeaking and de-fluffing toys, playing keep-away because nothing made her happier than having a toy she thought YOU wanted, modeling for her photographer Mom, patrolling her backyard with her sister, and making sure nobody had fun without her present (aka the Fun Police).

Boomer wasn’t just any ordinary dog. She was a life saver. Boomer was a Christmas gift to her Mom from her now Ex. Boomer arrived in her Mom’s life when she was going through treatment for Stage 1 breast cancer and thyroid cancer. She kept her Mom company during chemotherapy, radiation, and multiple surgeries. There were many naps together.

After treatment ended for Stage 1 breast cancer, her Mom ended up suffering from debilitating depression. Boomer was her Mom’s anchor when life seemed hopeless and void of any happiness. When her Mom finally sought help, a therapist asked her what’s kept her from making a plan, the response was: “Boomer. I have to stick around for Boomer.” When nothing in life seemed worth living, her Mom had Boomer. 

Boomer’s greatest love was people. She absolutely loved everybody and everyone. Boomer had many honorary aunties who loved her fiercely. She never met another human being that she didn’t immediately love. Not once was she ever scared of going to the vet because all the vets and vet techs were her BFFs.

Her Mom is going to miss her dog shadow and canine garbage disposal when she cooked. Boomer loved cucumbers, bell peppers, bananas, everything. She was part lab, after all. She was the Goodest girl, the best. The fact that a large breed dog like Boomer made it to 13 is amazing and for that, her Mom will always be grateful but still believe there should have been more time.

If you feel inclined to honor Boomer, please make a donation to Senior Pet and Animal Rescue, a local non-profit in Pittsburgh dedicated to helping senior pets.

Until we meet again, Boomer. I will be running full speed toward you and Mom when it’s my time. My heart is broken.

Life as an Agnostic

If you know me, then you know that I have never considered myself a religious person. I was raised Catholic, but as soon as my dad told me that I was an adult in the Catholic Church’s eyes and no longer had to go, I peaced out so hard. After that, I would only attend church on Christmas and Easter for my dad, but I would never willingly attend church by myself on days that weren’t religious holidays.

After my dad retired at 65 and moved down to Florida, I stopped going all together.

My connection to the Catholic Church was only through my dad, and when he was removed from the equation, I had zero connection to the church. If I ever spend a Christmas or Easter with him, I’m sure I’ll probably attend church with him but other than weddings or funerals, I will not go.

While I do not considerer myself Catholic or religious, I wouldn’t consider myself an atheist. I have been identifying as an agnostic for two decades now. I feel absolutely nothing whenever I’m in a mass and a priest or pastor is talking about the word of God. My main issue is that I just cannot separate organized religion from the harm it has caused in the world.

A friend of mine shared this spot-on quote with me:

The greatest single cause of atheism in the world today is Christians who acknowledge Jesus with their lips, then walk out the door and deny him by their lifestyle. That is what an unbelieving world simply finds unbelievable.

Brennan Manning

I cannot and will not separate the Catholic church from all of the the documented abuse and coverup. Story, after story, after story, after story, after story, after story, after story, after story, after story, after story. I could keep going when it comes to abuse in the Catholic church. It’s not specific to the Catholic Church. In 2022, news broke about abuse in the the Southern Baptist church. The LDS church has not been immune from this either.

I understand that it’s not all Catholics, Baptists or LDS members. I have loved ones who are members of these churches, and they are fantastic, loving people. My issue is primarily with the institutions itself, as well as the individual members who want to use their religion to be hateful toward marginalized groups. Regardless, my neuro-spicy brain cannot reconcile the disconnect between these religious institutions screaming about “protecting the children” when it comes to LGBTQ people while ignoring the actual child abuse within their own places of worship.

Some of the worst people I’ve come across claim to be a child of Christ but then say or do the most absolute hateful things to people. You know the ones. The people who actually seem gleeful when they condemn others to pain and suffering in hell. Who does that? Who feels satisfaction and joy at the idea of other people suffering for eternity? That’s sadistic and pretty sure that’s the opposite of Christ like. These people use their religion as a license to just be hateful to others.

When I walk past Church members on the street picketing an abortion clinic, I wonder how many of them actually care about all those babies once they are born. Did they vote for the candidate advocating for subsidized childcare, free lunches for kids at school, common sense gun legislation so kids don’t get shot up in school, or paid medical leave for parents?

I would not be opposed to attending a place of worship if I thought it was a good fit. I just would not associate myself with any religion that spends more time oppressing marginalized communities or screaming at women than actually helping communities. I do not understand those who are more focused on what might happen when we die than focusing on what is going on while we are still alive.

However, if I ever get married, I would never get married in the Catholic church. The idea of going through marriage classes with a priest sounds like absolute hell on earth for me. As much as I love my dad, I draw the line at lying to priests about my beliefs or lack thereof.

Whenever I do die, I absolutely do not want a Catholic priest for my memorial service or even have there be a Catholic mass. That’s the last thing I would want. If my family wants to do that for themselves, I can’t stop them but I hope they understand that the mass would be for them and not a way to honor me. I do feel the presence of God whenever I’m walking in a trail and surrounded by nature.

When I’m gone, I want to be cremated and spread out throughout as many forests possible. That way, there would be no grave marker for me but my loved ones could visit me whenever they step foot on any trail.

From ashes to ashes, dust to dust.

Hugging

If I had to describe myself, I could easily think of a long list of flattering, and perhaps some not-so flattering, nouns and adjectives. For example, I am a writer, a runner, a photographer, weirdo, a proud aunt, an awkward goofball, so on. One word you will never see on that list: a hugger. I am just not much of a hugger, and if given the opportunity between a hug and an enthusiastic there-there pat on your shoulder, I’m choosing the latter.

When someone hugs me, my social awkwardness immediately takes center stage. My body stiffens up, and I automatically start counting the seconds until I am free to move my body again.

My ambivalence, and sometimes active avoidance of hugs, did not develop over time as I have gotten older. Even as a young kid, I was not a fan of hugging. My dad would ask me, “Can I have a hug, Lara?” My response was always a firm “no,” and now and then, it would be an emphatic, “NO.” God bless my dad, he always respected my response and never forced me to hug him. He taught me an important lesson at a very young age, and I am grateful to him for that.

He, however, would tease me about my No Hugs policy, by saying, “When you get older, I am going to tell your future boyfriends that you don’t like to hug.” Joke was on him, though – due to my non-existent self-esteem and sometimes crippling anxiety, I did not date anyone in high school or college. Can’t tease me in front of someone who doesn’t exist!

While growing up, my one brother would now and then trap me in a bear hug for way longer than what’s socially acceptable. He recently asked if that was why I don’t like hugging as an adult. I assured him that it was not. Whenever he did that, it never felt like he showing me affection, and it was more like he was either establishing dominance over, just trying to annoy me., or a combination of both

I did have a moment in middle school where an unwanted hug made me wish the floor would open up and swallow me whole. My middle school hired a substitute teacher who used to teach at the Catholic school where I previously attended. In fact, this teacher was one of my brother’s teacher the year that my mother died.

Mrs. K was not a woman who could blend into any background. She was fairly tall, loud, and had a body type similar to Robin Williams’ character in Mrs. Doubtfire, which had come out that year. Since middle schoolers are assholes, myself included, that is what we called her behind her back.

She spotted me in a semi-crowded hallway and called out: “Lara?!? Is that you?”

My heart sank. I had hoped that she did not recognize me since it had been a couple of years since I attended Catholic school. Mrs. K enveloped me into a tight embrace, smooshing my face against her giant chest. As I heard my classmates snickering around me, I never wanted to disappear so much, and I went into my defense mechanism: playing possum.

Dead arms, stiff posture, and wide eyes, darting back and forth, looking for an exit.

Looking back, I understand that she was showing affectionate to a kid whose mother died not that long ago. However, as a 13-year-old child who had been bullied for years, the last thing I ever wanted was any attention being focused on me.

There are, of course, exceptions to my No Hugs policy. I hug my boyfriend, and basically do everything I can to invade his personal space when we’re hanging out. I love hugging him and can never get enough of his hugs.

 My other exception is that I will ask my nieces, nephews, or my friends’ kids if they want to give me a hug. Will it ever be one of those smooshy hugs that cause one or both parties to go “OOMPH” in joy, not a chance. Although my heart can sometimes be icy cold, I would never imprint my feelings about hugs to any kids. If a kid is a hugger and wants to show me affection, I am not that dead inside where I’d go, “Back off, kiddo.”

My youngest niece does not like to hug. Last time I saw her, I asked if she would give me a hug and she turned me down. I said, “That’s okay. Can I get a fist bump?” She turned that down! Whaaaat. Not going to lie, my pride took a hit on that one; however, I will always respect her wishes, like my father respected mine.

Fast forward to my double mastectomy in 2012, which left me with no feeling in my own chest. If I hug someone, I experience no feeling or sensation in the chest, and as a result, my neurosis related to hugging quadrupled. Am I hugging too tight? Do my implants feel like two squishy water balloons? Make it stop. Oh lord, when can this fresh hell end?

Thanks a lot, cancer!

Now, when someone goes in for a hug, I immediately go on the defense and angle my body so that all they get is a side hug. If I am feeling particularly affectionate, I will throw in a couple of pats on the shoulder.

Just a word of advice to the huggers of the world out there: if you’re going in for a hug and the intended target of your hug says, “I really don’t like to hug,” PLEASE DO NOT REPLY “Oh that’s okay” and go in for the hug anyway. This has happened to me so many times that one day, I’m just going to turn around and start running away to avoid the hug.  I am not playing hard to get- I seriously do not want to be hugged.

One time, one of my runner friends said to me, “I felt bad the one time I hugged you before I remembered you don’t like hugs. You looked a little terrified.”

“I probably was.”

As a non-hugger, I am a little hesitant about re-entering society because I know there are so many huggers out there, jonesing for a hug, looking for that sweet sweet physical connection. Between the fear of the coronavirus and my desire to not be hugged, I am going to be ducking and weaving any incoming hugs like a punt returner running back for a touchdown.

“Lara! It’s so nice to see you! Come here!”

Stutter step! Pivot!

“Lara, I have missed you!”

Juke!

Maybe in this coronavirus world, society will back away from hugs and revert back to bowing and curtsies. A girl can dream…

Let it Go

When I was younger, I used to hold onto friendships for longer than I should have. (This also applies to romantic relationships but that’s a whole other blog post.) In my 20s, I felt like I should be grateful to even have people wanting to be my friend due to some serious self esteem issues.

I held onto a few relationships even when some of these friends turned into acquaintances and then ultimately into drags where I felt like I was being anchored down. I felt some weird sense of loyalty even though I felt like their therapist or mother figure, not their friend. What happened was I grew to resent them, but I didn’t have the emotional capacity to talk to them, plus an overwhelming fear of confrontation. I just stopped talking to them.

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There are several people in my life who I am no longer friends with, and it has made my life absolute better and I do not regret it whatsoever. What I regret is hanging around for as long as I did when I realized that the person made me feel like I’m suffocating. I felt guilty at first. “Oh, so and so is going through a hard time. Be there for them.” But when something serious comes up for me, that person is trying to one-up my hardship or illness, like it’s some sick contest.

Nope – I’m out. Never ever will I be friends with anyone who wants to “compete” with me for who has it worse health wise. How sick and self centered do you have to be to hear someone’s cancer diagnosis, who you supposedly call your friend, and then try to turn the conversation around about your possible illness? Believe me, I don’t want to be someone who gets sick a lot and has lost count how many surgeries I have had. I’d love to not have [redacted] and not have to worry about a lifetime of illness and surgeries.

Friendships should be about quality, not quantity.

Hell, I have been on the other side of this and I know this. There are people who I was friends with who have suddenly or slowly stopped being part of my life. You know what I don’t do? I certainly don’t keep calling or texting people who have shown little to no interest in my life, and why should I? The people who I want to be in my life and who are in my life are fantastic.

The sudden friend breakup I had with my Twin (from another mother and father) broke my heart and still hurts to this day. What I won’t do is follow his or his wife’s blog or social media accounts and keep getting reminded of a friendship I no longer have. Friend breakups hurt but you have to move on, and accept it.

If I am not in your life, please know that it is deliberate. Please leave me alone and let it go. If I haven’t talked to you in years, there is a reason – I don’t want you in my life. I don’t owe anyone my friendship.

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Yes, exactly this.

Gray Hair… I Kinda Care

So once again, I have made the decision to stop dying my hair, even though my vanity is begging me to reconsider. I have several reasons why I decided to stop. First one being, my scalp stopped tolerating the dye. After each dye job, my scalp would feel itchy for days. My hair would also feel greasy.  I would just feel uncomfortable for days, weeks, like my scalp was being taken over by vindictive, invisible bugs.

Until I recently reconnected with favorite hair dresser in the world, I was going to a salon in the mall every 6 or 7 weeks and paying $120 for a cut and color. For a brief time after I reconnected with my hair dresser, I was paying half of that every 6 or 7 weeks. The cost added up, but before the bad side effects happened, the cost used to be worth it to me.

Now, it’s not worth it. Nothing is worth me itching my scalp and feeling physically uncomfortable for large stretches of time. If I could, I would still dye my hair for another solid 10 or so years. It breaks my heart (okay, pride) because I love how I look with dark hair, and felt super cute and confident.

Seeing these white/grey hairs slowly take over my scalp has been a mind fuck, and making me feel strangely emotional. On one hand, I understand that being able to grow old is not a luxury afforded to all. I have known so many amazing young women who have died from metastatic breast cancer in the previous year. They would have given anything to be able to grow older.

But I’m not working with this abundance of self esteem to be barreling toward 40 (a little over 2 years from now, ahhh) and seeing an “old” lady looking back at me in the mirror. I see my hair and I feel old, defeated. I don’t know how to reconcile with what’s going on the top of my head with how I really feel.

Why is getting older so hard to accept? I used to think I was going to be dead by the time I was 40, just like my mother. I was certain that breast cancer was going to kill me, too. Now, I’m only a couple of years away from the my mother was when she died, and frankly, y’all, I’m starting to look more like her. In my mind, I’m lookin’ like a woman who’s been dead for 30 years.

Also, why is it so hard for me to accept the fact that people are going to stop thinking I’m not in my 20s or heck, even in my early 30s? I simultaneously don’t believe people when they say I look 10 years younger than my actual age, but  I love it. Not going to lie. I know that’s going to stop when more of my white hair comes in.

I know it’s okay to accept that my pride and vanity are taking a beating. I’m not a bad person for seeing my white hair coming in and wish that this wasn’t happening for another 10 or 20 years. There is nothing wrong with wanting to look good and taking pride in my appearance.

I think this will take time to accept, and I will just adapt with however this turns out. I know what I look like with red hair, blonde hair, black hair, and dark brown hair. Now, I am just going to find out what I look like with a combination of white hair and dishwater blonde hair.

Well, at least my glasses and wardrobe is going to be fly AF.

Resolutions

Since the beginning of the new year, I’ve started keeping an excel spreadsheet tracking my expenses. Nine days into the new year, this simple act is completely changing how I am view money and my relationship with money. I am well past the age I should be and not have a great handle on money.

I never ever ever ever want to find myself in a position like I did with the Ex where I become financially dependent on someone. He and I should have ended things several years before it did, and I was hesitant to pull the trigger because I’d have been financially wrecked without him.  In fact, I even told him this on several occasions.

The Ex rarely complained about getting me anything I wanted, and he was generous with his money during our relationship. Hell, he has been generous even afterwards. I am simultaneously grateful for his generosity but mad at myself for letting myself get comfortable and complacent. Maybe, if I had been more diligent about finances and making wise decisions, maybe I wouldn’t have spent those last years in a relationship with someone who had no desire to be with me.

I know when you live with someone, you are supposed to share bills and responsibilities. In the six years we lived together, we didn’t approach household finances as a team, and always as two people who happen to share a house. Yeah… that should have been a sign. It’s certainly something I never want to repeat ever again.

My relationship with him ended a year and a half ago, and I’m still in the process of learning how to fully get my shit together. I slip up a lot, and I fall into bad financial habits (Starbucks, I missssss you).

Things are going great with my Amor, but I never want to feel financially dependent on him or make him feel like he has to take care of me. (Granted, if I get sick again, then that is different, but the focus here is on healthy, able-bodied Lara.) If/when he and I combine our lives together, I want to have my shit together and be my absolute best. I want to get back to the Lara in her mid and late 20s who was making piddly squat, but saved like a champion.

This excel spreadsheet is a great start, and I definitely have additional steps I need to take to walk confidently into middle age with my head held high and my stress level not at a “Call my therapist” level.  Now and then, I want to check in here for accountability and to ensure I’m living solely within my means.

The Good in People

Two days ago, I was walking with a manager from one building to another for a 12:30 meeting. We were only a block or so away from Firstside, and well, I tripped over a crappy piece of sidewalk and face planted. I was carrying my laptop bag and purse, and just tripped and my face met the sidewalk.

It was surreal. I started gushing blood from my face immediately, and I am pretty sure I went into shock. I mean, that’s what happens when you bloody your face, right? I just lied there for a second, marveling at the blood coming out of my face.  I was trying to keep the blood from spilling onto my pants and feet, but came up unsuccessful. (RIP navy blue dress pants.)

My manager came to my aid and you know who else did? A bunch of complete strangers also came to my assistance as I laid bleeding on the Boulevard of the Allies.  Someone handed me a couple of napkins, which did absolutely nothing but I appreciated the sentiment.

A man and a woman came up to my manager and me and told me to hold my nose together in an effort to stop the bleeding. Another woman, a middle aged woman, actually went running to a firehouse a couple of blocks away to get help for me. A complete stranger ran to get help for me, and she came back minutes later with towels.

These strangers stayed with me and my manager as my mouth kept bleeding. They kept me absolutely calm (or maybe, that was the shock). Honest to dog, it warmed my icy cold heart that these strangers stopped to help a thirty-something woman who face-planted onto a sidewalk.

Pittsburgh is definitely a small big city, and the day of my accident showed me just how much.  I am forever grateful to these strangers for helping me, and for my coworkers keeping calm as my upper lip would not stop bleeding.

Also, for the record, I wanted to share that I DID NOT CRY. Once. Not after I fell or when the adrenaline wore off.  I ended up with a broken nose and busted chin and lip. I’m bruised and cut up on my right knee and elbow. The bright side – my glasses didn’t shatter (although one lens got scratched up) , and I still have all of my teeth. I’m pretty sure my guardian angel (what up mom) did her job on Thursday.

Now I know what it feels like to be beat up, and frankly, not a fan. I hope I never have to experience that again. Fingers crossed!

 

Do as I say, not as I do…?

Three years ago, I wrote a blog imploring parents to not fade away from the pictures. I had a strong emotional reaction to the realization that there are only four pictures of me and my mom. Four. She hated having her picture taken, and most pictures taken of her, well, she’s not smiling.  If my mom is smiling in the picture, then there’s a good chance alcohol was involved.

My blog resonated with a lot of folks who saw themselves in my mom. I have had friends tell me that my blog woke something up in them, and now, they get in the pictures with their kids. I am so proud of that, really and truly.  I am glad I was able to reach out to parents and convince them that years from now, their children will only see them, not any of their so-called flaws.

I have a confession to make: I am just like my mother, really and truly.  I look like her, walk like her, and have the absolute same disdain for being photographed… like her.

I made a gallows humor joke to my friends that if I die, my loved ones will find it hard to find decent photographs of me. Instead, they’ll have to make due with all the fantastic photographs I have taken of others. To be honest, it was a joke, but after I said it, I might be okay with this idea anyway.

I hate having my picture taken, and I honestly believe it’s why I started taking pictures in the first place. I didn’t want to be in them. It is definitely why, whenever I’m photographing an event, I am sympathetic toward people like me who hate having their picture taken.  If it’s unflattering, I’ll delete it or take a new photograph.

When I see pictures of myself, I cringe at my uneven skin or never perfect hair. I just see flaws. I view these pictures as a photographer and someone who doesn’t necessarily always like what she sees.

In recent years, I have tried to be better about being in the pictures, especially when my nieces and nephews are around. I take silly selfies with them. I act weird in photos with my dad. I think the last photograph I took with my dad really sums up our relationship:

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There are very few pictures of me and my ex, which used to bother me but now, hell that isn’t a bad thing, LOL. I’m a-okay with how that turned out.  I don’t want the same thing to happen with my boyfriend.  He makes me so happy I feel like I radiate smiley faces and heart emojis from my very core.

I don’t want to disappear from the pictures, just like my mom did. I’m a damned good photographer but I’m not photogenic. Maybe one day, I’ll come to the same revelation others did reading my blog from 2014.