With any luck, I'll have shots from the weekend's Big Shoot tomorrow.
Until then, more Laura, or, as Jaci commented, Ginger Rogers to my Fred Astaire, a comparision Laura and I get a serious kick out of.
Man, I wanna tell the Big Shoot story now, but it just makes more sense to wait until there's pictures to go along with it.
So instead I'll tell yesterday's story, which was of me trying to get to work at 530 in the morning, only to realize that my transmission, after several months of slipping, finally seemed to give out, trapping me in first gear on the freeway. I was able to, at a speed only slightly faster than a turtle, limp off the freeway and back to my house.
Then I mentally prepared to be INCREDIBLY BROKE, as apparently a transmission costs more than a lung.
Fortunately, while I am fairly ignorant when it comes to the way of cars, I am smart enough to know when I'm outmatched. And when to call for help.
Cue New Dad, aka my stepfather, who's not really new anymore, but both he & I get a kick out of the name, so it's stuck.
New Dad sold me my car.
New Dad is also a mechanic.
A mechanic smart enough to recommend, before taking said broken car into a mechanic, where said me will get reamed, that it would be prudent to check the transmission fluid first.
There was no transmission fluid.
Me am smart?
Because I was too lazy to walk 10 minutes to go get transmission fluid, I called Laura to drive me there.
Then, to celebrate, we went to Santa Monica and shot Emily, my lovely assistant, here for the holiday.
Then we had Zankou!
THEN WE DANCED!!!!
No, no dancing, instead we had Diddy Reece cookies, the best cookies in Los Angeles.
THEN WE DANCED!!!!!
Then I fell asleep, I think it was around 630.
Because I am old.
Old, but with a car that works.
This is the sister to this shot.
The polaroid version, up on the blog: blog.louobedlam.com/post/62417968/the-weekend-was-full-of...