I am decidedly un-photogenic… both in front of and behind the camera. I don’t know anything about light, or lenses, or framing, and I tend to count to 3 differently every time, so you can’t even be sure exactly when I’m going to say “cheese!” Basically, I’m the worst.

But, thankfully, with the development of iPhonography and ALL THE FILTERS (hi, Instagram!), now even a bumbling fool like me can take dreamy, classy, and/or emo photos with just a few finger-touches!

So, you can imagine how excited I was when Wondershare asked me to review their free iPhone camera app, PowerCam. More tools to make my pictures fun, and distract from how profoundly untalented I am behind the viewfinder? Bring it!!

And this baby is for-real loaded. It’s got every cool effect and trick (or “magic” as they call it) in the book.

Color splash. Tilt-shift. A timer for “one arm way out taking this pic of us in front of the Eiffel Tower” pics. Picture in picture. Four seasons. Old photo. Crumpled paper. Sketch. Neon. Color explosion. Mirror and flip effects. Tunnels, whirls, and other hilarious distortions. Mosaic. Negative. Old movie. Starlight. Splash. Cartoon. Bubbles. SNOW. LIGHTNING. FLAMES. YOU CAN LITERALLY SET YOUR PICTURE ON FIRE, Y’ALL.

In order to show you all the different effects, I wanted to use the same subject… and so I of course chose the world’s BEST subject, my poster of one Mr. Ron Swanson. Please to enjoy (scroll over pics to see the name of the effect!)

And this is only HALF OF THEM, y’all.

The movie effects are even cooler: snow, lightning, rain, 1920′s movie, rain drops, oh right, and also FIRE AGAIN. Redic. (Did I mention yet that this ish is FREE?!?!)

While I tragically didn’t get a chance to shoot a video this weekend, I did take an IKEA road trip with the lovely Maxie, Terra and Stacey. The effects were stupid easy to apply while I was snapping pictures throughout our brunch at the ‘Bees (that’s what everyone calls Applebees now, get with it) and our adventure into All Things Swedish. Check it:

The one complaint I was going to make was that I couldn’t send myself my entire gallery of pictures at once… until I noticed a “send” button on my gallery’s page that does exactly that. Not only can you email the whole shebang, you can also upload it to YouTube, Facebook, Twitter, Flickr, or Tumblr, all with a couple clicks. (You can, of course, do any of this with a single picture as well.)

In short, these guys are good.

So get thee to the app store and download this bad boy now. And if any of you make a video and SET IT ON FIRE, please, please send it my way!!!

FTC Disclaimer: I was monetarily compensated for reviewing this app. That said, all thoughts, critiques, and/or exclamation points are entirely my own. (As if I’d have it any other way.)

Mama said share.

Last Tuesday, I went to see a psychic.

Actually, the preferred word seems to be intuitive, which really makes much more sense to me.

Honestly, I’d never really thought about whether I was a “believer” or not before. I assumed there were plenty of hacks of course – people on the Venice boardwalk who bought a pack of tarot cards and decided to take advantage of some naive and/or intoxicated tourists. But there had to be some version of the real thing, too – why else would it exist?

Plus, I’ve seen “Ghost”, so, yanno. Game over.

Back when I was bartending, we’d often play the game of “reading” the customers who came in, and see who could guess the closest to their real life story (their job, where they were from, what they would drink, WHY they were drinking, etc.) We were pretty freaking good at it, too.

In my mind, an intuitive is that times ten – someone who isn’t just making educated guesses, but actually sees a pretty clear picture of a person’s character, background, life situation, and yes, future.

So when I read City Girl’s account of her reading with her friend a couple weeks ago, I decided that it might be exactly what I needed. A little outside, educated, third party advice about all the changes and upheaval going on in my life.

And I loved it. It was like having a drink with someone – someone really great and fun – who just happened to know a lot about me. Someone I couldn’t bullshit about anything either, ha. (Plus, I totally dug her Masshole-esque ‘tude of real talk, no sugar coating. I’m pretty sure we’d make great besties, actually.)

She only works off referrals, takes a nominal fee (half goes to charity), won’t read someone more than twice a year, and only after she sees a picture of you to see if she can read you. Like I said, no BS, no time wasted. I love her. (Update – yes, she does them over the phone as well!)

The specifics of what she told me are for me alone, but I left feeling so much more clear. It’s incredibly therapeutic to talk to someone you can’t hide anything from – you have no choice but to open up about all the deep dark shit. So, I didn’t – just laid it all on the table and we hashed through it. She may have saved me a year in therapy bills, quite honestly.

If you can find someone you know is the real deal (or would like me to refer you), I highly recommend it, especially if your life is recently in the toilet and you need a little direction. (It’s not all kittens and roses though – just the truth, whatever that may be – so be prepared to handle that. Just sayin…)

Oh, and PS? One of my friends is going to lose an iPhone in March. Watch out, y’all.

<3

Mama said share.

So, yeah. That happened.

On a very related note, I expect I’ll be writing a lot more now. Silver lining and all that.

(Sidebar – thank you SO much to everyone who sent me an email – they meant the world to me, honestly, and made a terrible day much less terrible. I didn’t want to write back until I felt like my head was in a place where I could do the responses they warrant justice, but they’re coming, swearsies.)

It’s actually pretty funny. Whenever you go through something awful, you really find out who you can count on, and who’s suddenly MIA, you know? I received some of the sweetest, most thoughtful and healing messages from people I never would have expected (God bless the Interwebs)… and then there were some noticeably absent condolences that you can’t help but wonder about. C’est la vie, I suppose.

(And if you’re giving me side eye right now, SHUT UP. If I ever had an excuse to be petty, that time is now, biatch, so just sit on it.)

There’s so much change going on in my life right now, my head is spinning. I’ll be living somewhere else by December 18th, with only one cat, a slew of roommates upstairs, a new neighborhood, a new commute, a replacement for Tonic… what will I do without my Tonic and their totchoes?!

Sigh.

But, there is also good. My own bathroom. A whole DVR all to myself. Living on my own (essentially – basement apartment), which is something I always wanted to do. I’ll have a lot more time for work and networking and all those fun things. You think I’m a social butterfly NOW? I was practically a homebody before. Watch out, y’all.

And I’m sure there will be plenty of other great things I haven’t (can’t) even think of yet. Trust in life’s plan, blah blah blah. Most importantly, I’m just really glad you guys are all here for me. People talk about how awful going through a break up is now with social media… I personally don’t know how I’d get THROUGH it without social media, and all of you, and the overwhelming support and love and glitter unicorns you’ve showered down on me.

So yeah, I love you guys. And thanks, truly, for being there.

Oh, and? Um, buckle up, because, yeah… talk about a fresh fucking start for 2012.

All I know is, it’s gonna get interesting.

xo

Mama said share.

He pulled me tightly to him, holding on as though we could physically fight the decision we had just made.

“I’m so scared,” I managed to whimper, in between sobs.

He squeezed tighter. “So am I. I don’t even remember what life is like without you.”

I sobbed harder.

“Aw, Rach.” He held my face in his hands, looking down at me sweetly.

“You’re an extrovert with a great rack. You’ll be just fine – that’s a recipe for success right there!”

And for the millionth time in four years, he made me laugh…

And that’s how I choose to remember us.

Mama said share.

I’m twenty eight years old today.

Ergo, I’m definitively no longer in my mid twenties. Sure, I’m still a “20 something”, but I know in the blink of an eye I’ll be thirty. It seems like the years pass faster and faster with each one.

I’ve defined myself as a 20 something for so long, I’m already dreading having to let it go – not because I’m afraid of getting older, necessarily, but simply because it’s been such a big piece of my identify in recent years.

But, yanno, one step at a time.

So, I’m 28. I don’t have everything I hoped I would at this point, but I do finally feel like I’m on the right track. More changed and fell into place this past year than ever before. And let me tell you, there is nothing quite so satisfying as figuring out what you want to do professionally in life – and then making it happen.

Me, basically. I have less nose hair.

Other things change as well; I find I’m more careful with my words, lately. It’s started to drive me nuts when someone describes a turkey sandwich as “PHENOMENAL”. It’s started to drive me nuts when people do a lot of things, actually. (Apparently, one can in fact become crotchety before 65.)

My bedtime gets earlier and earlier. I love me a happy hour, but somewhere around 10 9 8pm, I turn into a pumpkin. I used to make fun of my mother for the same thing; at least she had the excuse of two kids. And with the tattoo, I think she’s officially cooler than me now.

My metabolism is seemingly slowing down at the exact same rate as I decrease my caloric intake, which means I will never, ever lose these ten fucking pounds. I love Fall for all the right reasons, too, but especially because sweaters are more forgiving than tank tops.

I still think kids (and especially babies) are noisy, sticky little parasites. But… I’ve started to think my own could be cute. Ben and I both have such lovely green eyes, after all.

My obsession with the Golden Girls has gotten a little out of control this year; I suppose it’s my Matlock or something. Other TV shows from my childhood now seem silly with their laugh tracks and predictable punchlines, but goshdarnit, those sassy ladies are timeless.

Basically, I’m getting old.

I’m also getting significantly less crazy, which rocks. I don’t know exactly how to explain it, but the world starts to make more sense as you get older. It’s kind of like you’ve been juggling all these different pieces of a puzzle your whole life, without understand why, and then suddenly a flip switches and you can see how the whole thing fits together. The boat in the Magic Eye finally appears, and you have no idea how you couldn’t see it before. Every day, the shit I didn’t understand the day before blows my mind a little bit.

Wisdom, yo.  It can’t be bought.

So. I’ve got two years until 30. I refuse to casually drift into my next decade – an even better one, if you 30 somethings can be believed. I plan on cranking up the hustle and doing a crapload of stuff I can be proud of, especially now that I’ve found the path I want to be on.

As long as it happens before 8pm, that is.

Mama said share.

1. What to care about this month:

It’s October, which means it’s the Month of the Boobies! Or, more accurately, of Boobie Cancer Awareness.

A lot of you probably already know my dear friend Stef of CityGirlBlogs (and if you’re not yet following her dating/sex/advocacy blog, um, you’re missing out). She’s a recent survivor, and as such, is partnering with FunFactory (sex toys, wheeeee!) to support the breast cancer awareness group Pink Jams!, a DC based non-profit organization dedicated to raising breast cancer awareness among men and women under the age of 40.

Throughout October, using the code “Citygirl” at FunFactory will get you a 20% discount, and PinkJams! will receive 20% of the proceeds. (And, oh, by the way, check out PinkJams! regardless – they’ve got a fashion show with one Mr. Christian Siriano coming up on October 21st, all to support the cause! Details here.)

~~~~~

2. What to do this weekend:

I’m pretty sure we all like to eat, yes? Good, great, grand. Well, if you’d like to sample delicious foods and desserts from celebrity Chef Ming Tsai (star of “Simple Ming”), while watching cooking demonstrations near the Annapolis waterfront on a gorgeous fall day this weekend, GET IN LINE.

Just kidding. I got you tickets. Yes, all of you!

Food & Wine is putting on this fabulous shindig with Buick, who will also have their new line there for viewing and test drives. It’s like a smorgasbord of cool things all in one place, and it’s free - all you have to do is be 21.

Guess how I feel about that?

Well said, Ming.

To get tickets, just tweet @GMNortheast, or email my gal pal Eleni here and ask for ‘em. Tell her I sent you! (More details about the agenda here.)

~~~~~

3. What to do read while you’re pretending to work the last couple hours today:

Over on my professional blog, I’ve had enough of crappy Twitter bios. So, naturally, I’m venting. Enjoy:

Is Your Twitter Profile God-Awful?

~~~~~

Bonus: Just cause.

[source]

Mama said share.

This past Saturday, Ben and I journeyed to Atlantic City to see “The League” live.

We drove up early in the day so we’d have some time to explore before the show. Now, I’ve never been to AC before, and my only points of reference are Boardwalk Empire and that one episode of Sex and the City where the girls take a bus down so they can wear sequins for a weekend and get called fat by some Jersey meathead. Still, as someone who enjoys the tackier side of life (if only for the people watching), I was looking forward to the adventure.

Our show was at the Borgata Hotel and Casino, which will run you about $400 a night. Since I didn’t feel like selling my eggs to foot this trip, we opted for the Sheraton on the other side of town.

Only, we didn’t realize just how OTHER it was.

After checking in, we decided to walk down to the boardwalk and check out some of the casinos. As we opened the door to Bally’s, the stink of cigarettes and musty vaginas smacked us directly in the face.

We are not easily daunted, apparently, because we pressed on.

As we followed signs that suggested places like “Kate’s Krazy Korral”, I got my first good look at The People of Atlantic City.

On a scale of 1-10 of sadness, they were Jon Gosselin.

Atlantic City is where the wrinkled and skanky (generally both at once, if we’re being honest) come to PLAY, and they are not messing around. With our non-douchey jeans and hair that did not defy gravity, Ben and I stuck out like sore thumbs.

The cocktail waitresses were 50 going on 150 – these ladies were ridden hard and put away drenched. We could barely walk through the casino floor, as there was a scooter attached to a chain-smoking lump of human flesh every six feet. The one “bar” we stopped at was atrociously Western-themed, built out of enormous styrofoam Arizona red rocks and miserable bartenders wearing bolo ties.

I so badly wanted to enjoy the ridiculous cheese-factor of it all, but the overwhelming stench of disappointment was just too oppressive.

I did have one moment of glory, however…

Once we were thoroughly disillusioned, we hopped in a cab to the Borgata – a very, very important two miles away – and we were suddenly in (the classy part of) Vegas.

Beautiful young people, bartenders with fake boobs pouring $18 martinis, zoot suits in high roller suites – it was like going from Buffalo to New York City. Let’s just say I was suddenly very conscious of the fact that my heels were only three inches high and that I’d left my BumpIt at home.

So naturally, we got drunk, and had an absolute blast at the show. (PSA: If you’re not watching The League, which is the funniest show on television except for maybe Parks and Rec, you’re basically wasting your life. That is all.)

Four of the five main characters are stand up comedians, so that should tell you something. And I even got a hug from Steve Rannazzisi, who was by far the funniest (sorry Nick Kroll, you were a close second. Love you.)

The only one who was disappointing was Jon LaJoie, aka Taco, which was surprising because his YouTube videos are hilarious (Rapist Glasses, anyone?) But honestly, he was just kind of a dick. Which would have been fine with me if he was ALSO funny, but, well, he wasn’t.

They took questions from the audience, which means I got the chance to thank them for being so fucking funny, which – most importantly for you – means they gave me TWO copies of Season 2 on DVD. Why two? I don’t know, but that means one of you gets one!

Share your favorite League quote in the comments for a chance to win, and I’ll pick my favorite on Friday. BLAMMO!

Update:

MAGGIE, you’re the winner! Shoot me your address and I’ll send the DVD your way!

Mama said share.

My mama came to visit last weekend, which was an utter delight. It’s not often that we get to spend time just the two of us, andbetween trips to a local craft fair, Eastern Market, the local Tar-jay, a few brunches and happy hours, dinner with the BFFies, and hours of catching her up on the magic that is Parks & Rec, it was pretty much the perfect weekend.

Except for one thing – her birthday was the previous week, and although I’d ordered her present from Etsy (it’s this, if any of you are ridiculous MST3K fans like we are), it hadn’t arrived, and I was bummed. Especially when she got me a WILLIAMS & SONOMA CUISINART Slow Cooker/Steamer/Roaster/Browner for my impending birthday.

Yeah. Pulled pork for dinner tonight, yo.

Anyway! At dinner Saturday night with the girls (Central – if you haven’t been, make it happen) – we all started talking about tattoos, since a bunch of us have fairly new ones. And then Mama made the mistake of saying:

“I’ve always kind of wanted one.”

*screeeeeeeeeech*

Within minutes, it was clear that we would be heading to the tattoo parlor that very night. (After she admitted she even knew WHAT she wanted, it really was game over.) So the six of us trotted over to Tattoo Paradise in AdMo, only slightly tipsy and having way too much fun as I announced to the artist:

“My mother would like to get inked, please.”

(I mean, how many kids get to buy their moms tattoos for their birthdays?! – And yes, I am aware of how delightfully white trash that sentence is.)

And with that, my sweet, mild-tempered, baby boomer mother popped her tattoo cherry.

And with that, it was done.

My mom now proudly bears the logo of the Grey Fox Bluegrass Festival on her right foot (a kickass three day concert in upstate New York my family goes to every year) – and it’s adorable to boot.

I am so proud.

Mama said share.

It’s so hard to write anything meaningful lately, and I don’t know why. I struggle all the time with it – I can’t and don’t want to let go of this place, but I’m also not happy with the way it’s going (or… not going). I miss having this place be a true outlet and place for feedback and laughs and advise… you know, that whole community thing.

Is it because I’m happy (e.g. my life is boring)? Perhaps. While I’ve got a ton of stuff going on, there is little to no drama involved. It’s all cool new projects, brunch and happy hours with friends, coffees with potential business partners, traveling to attending and speak at events. It’s a blast, but let’s face it – the best writing comes from angry/sad places, and I just don’t have any of that going on. (And um, lest y’all start throwing things – this is not a complaint!)

Drawing from above, it is simply how utterly, ridiculously busy I am? Definitely in part. But I used to write every morning on the bus on the way to work. That time’s still there, but I’m not using it. Instead I’m flipping through Twitter and Instagram, opting for real time conversations over the investment of a blog post.

Perhaps, as evidenced by my Gen-Y attention span, I just like the immediate gratification of the short-burst platforms better. With Twitter, Instagram and Facebook, people instantly like, respond, comment. Blog posts take a lot of work, and there’s no guarantee it will even be read. If I tweet something hilarious but no one reads it, life goes on. I only wasted 20 seconds or so. But if I spend an hour on a post and no one gives a shit, well, that hurts.

And the way I used to write (back when I was REALLY writing)… I edited over and over and over. For me, it was the telling of a story, and I needed it to be perfect. That’s not where I am anymore – I want to get back to writing honestly, and raw, if there’s anything left in me like that.

I’m going to try and dig it out. I miss it.

Mama said share.

SAMCRO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

squeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee

Mama said share.