moosh in indy.

So I have this new camera. A new camera for which I sacrificed my left leg.

Literally.

Cody told me months ago that he wanted (WANTED!) me to get an SLR if and when he was hired on for a summer position. Something about he “thought I’d be good at it and that it would give me a new sense of fulfillment and satisfaction blah blah blah.”

I think it was more along the lines of “HERE WIFE, SOMETHING SHINY WITH LOTS OF BUTTONS TO TAKE YOUR MIND OFF THE FACT THAT I’M ALWAYS GONE.”

Whatever, I have a camera and I love it.

(For all you inquiring minds, it is a Canon 40D. And yes my b0obs are 34D.)

But here’s the thing. My mom is a photographer and my best friend is a photographer. And I don’t mean photographer in the sense of having a really shiny expensive camera with lots of buttons that they take a lot of pictures with. (Like me, HI!) I mean photographer, photographer. Pay lots of money, published in books photographer.

Me? I had a weekend in Chicago with my mom. This is the extent of my photographic training.

So I do not claim to be a photographer. So if you want to roll your eyes at my attempts go ahead. I think I’m finally over what everyone else thinks of me.

I like my camera. I love the click the shutter makes. I love that I have a hobby that doesn’t involve doing dishes.

So without further adieu, some pictures.

I was coming off the Orange line in Downtown Chicago on Friday night headed for my hotel heavy with baggage. I had a large backpack containing my camera, an insanely large duffel bag with enough layers to keep one warm for ten straight hours outside in the middle of March in Chicago and my purse.

This is what I would have looked like had I made it down the stairs upright, I give you this illustration because it’s really hard to draw luggage on stick figures falling down the stairs :

(Oh yeah, I was wearing really kicky boots with tall pointy heels. I believe this to be what led to my downfall, pun intended.)

About halfway down the stairs it happened. How I’m not sure, I’m blaming the boots, but I knew I was going down and there was nothing I could do to stop it.

The first thing that should have gone through my head as I was falling is “GOOD HEAVENS DON’T BREAK A BONE AND KEEP YOUR HEAD FROM SMASHING INTO THAT REALLY HARD CEMENT.”

But instead it was “DON’T YOU DARE LAND ON YOUR CAMERA OR THIS WHOLE WEEKEND WILL BE A BUST, IT WILL BE MUCH CHEAPER TO FIX A BROKEN BONE THAN YOUR CAMERA.”

My first thought as I got up should have been “THANK HEAVENS I AM OKAY!”

But it was actually “WHO SAW ME?”

My response to the nice man who said “YOU CAN’T BE OKAY AFTER A FALL LIKE THAT. Can I call someone for you?” should have been “OW THAT HURT LIKE HELL CAN YOU PLEASE TAKE ME TO MY MOMMY AT THE HYATT?”

But instead it was “Oh, I’m fine, it just ripped my jeans.”

Dumb me and my pride.

So what did the fall really do to me?

I also have several gigantic bruises in places I can’t photograph, either because I can’t reach them or because my underwear covers them.

I still walked around with my mom taking pictures for over 10 hours in the freezing cold the next day.

I wasn’t about to waste the opportunity that was being in Chicago childless with my mom and a brand spanking new camera. Busted up leg or not.

Tiny Gramma and I met in Chicago for the weekend.

These are the stairs I fell down and injured myself quite badly on.
Yep. It’s not a moosh vacation without some form of immortalizing embarrassment.

Stay tuned.