Somebody's getting better...!

Baby steps towards where I want to be.

This is my Shakira inspired She Wolf shoot.

The airbrushing and compositing took me 7+ hours,

not including the 4+ hours of shoot time.

It was SO, SO worth every second.

Welcome to my portfolio.

The new album leak

in combination with other factors

(stress from finals, etc.)

have lead this week's playlist to be as follows:

Thanks for keeping me sane, guys.

Keep on doing what you're doing.

I listen to this album incessantly in the Fall/Winter,

and so should you.

Best accompanied by a cup of hot tea

and a few candles burning in the background.

Bring it on, Autumn.

Oh, how I've missed you so!

Photography has entirely consumed me.

I am living, eating, breathing it.

I was told that when I hit this point, I would produce good work.

I have seen vast improvements in the quality of my photographs since I made the conscious decision to lower my defenses to its advances.

I am going to continue learning, progressing, growing,

as I still have so very much of that to do.

Here is some of my recent work:

What's the answer to 99 out of 100 questions?

I'm not one for admitting vulnerability, especially in the public sphere... but, here goes nothin'.

I'm scared. Actually, "scared" really doesn't do this state of mind justice. I don't know if there really is a word in existence to suit this. For months, I've been exhausted, anxious, petrified, and listless, all rolled into one fun little package. There is this big, ominous cloud floating over my head, and I'm just staring at it... knowing that quite soon it'll burst and pour down on me.

Money. That's what this all boils down to. Why is it EVERYTHING? As altruistic as one may be, as much as one says it's not of importance... it IS... there's absolutely no denying that fact.

Let's take a look at my position, here.
TRUTH: I've spent the past four years of my life working only a few days a week and filling in the gaps with funding from my student loans, spending a great deal of my time focusing on school. I live at home with my parents, not paying rent or utilities. They pay my car insurance bill. They pay my phone bill. I'm on my father's health insurance plan, which he pays. If I'm going to keep my grades up and succeed scholastically, this is how things have to be. I feel utterly worthless.

What am I going to do two years (or less) from now when the storm comes? How can I possibly survive? How can I even hope to make enough money when it's time to pay for all of these things PLUS a massive student loan payment? So, here I am, just staring at all of this looming over me... terrified. I find no comfort in cliches that I'll "make it because everybody does." Shenanigans. I'm calling shenanigans on that one.

I feel very stuck and frightened, as if I'm living my life balled up in a corner waiting for the fatal blow to be delivered. The world owes me nothing. No money is going to fall from the sky into my lap simply because I'm a good person or I "try my best."

Ahhhhhh....fuck.

Listened to this song probably about 50 times over the course of the past week.
Also, Lapse and Gift of Paralysis have gotten ample plays.

I will forever appreciate this band and album.

This would NEVER happen in real life.

Thanks, Photoshop!

Thrown together for my digital editing class.

Lapse.

This is somewhat along the lines of what my thoughts resemble presently.

I hate my brain.

It hates me more, sometimes.

Dear Self,

You should try putting less of the following things into your body:

- cigarettes
- calories (in general)
- cups of coffee
- alcoholic beverages
- fishies (they're animals too, ya hypocrite!)

You should try putting more of the following things into your body:

- fruits and veggies
- H20 sans sugars and flavorings
- proteins
- vitamins (forgotten on the shelf)

You should try to spend less time doing the following:

- watching bad VH1 reality TV
- worrying and/or overthinking
- procrastinating
- staying awake all night

You should try to spend more time doing the following:

- writing/photoshopping
- staying on top of tasks
- getting full, restful nights of sleep
- exercising


Just some helpful suggestions!
Love,
Lexi

Puff puffing on my 13th of the day (quit!) and thoughts of you are dancing in my head restless but in a good way with permagrin on my visage and the next 48 hours cannot fly by quickly enough. I cannot put into words how inexplicably wonderous this all is to me like the freshest of starts like a rebirth of sorts bringing rushing feelings sensations so terribly caked with dust up on the highest shelf of the bookcase. Exploring previously uncharted collarbones featherlight pressing of lips onto shoulders and cheeks intertwining appendages legs grip-slip yours with each readjustment and repositioning slide back. Can I set up a home of my own in your bed (?) so that I never have to leave it complete with necessary amenities of which you are the greatest. Erase and Rewind the past and start writing a new chapter of this novel with me simultaneous rebirths open up your heart toussle my hair incessantly. Haven't lustedtrusted like this in a long time frozen closed-off heart iron curtain melting coming down crumbling to ashes to ashes we all fall down. I am falling. I am fallingfallingfalling and freed and comforted and exhilirated by your customer service voice and subsequent commentary&kisses&arms. Afraid but hopeful but terrified but ecstatic but worried but comfortable but not too comfortable but so so so comfortable.

I am on the verge of something great.

Just give me a few months...

=/

A couple nights ago, our favorite regular customer died.

http://www.post-gazette.com/pg/09084/958136-100.stm

He was so young... only 30.
And, he leaves behind the most adorable little girl.
My condolences go to his family.

Treasure every second of your life,
because it's so incredibly fleeting.

Hi, hello.
I'm Lexi.
I'm imperfect.
And, I love myself.

Promise Ring

I've wanted to write about this for a bit, but never got around to it. I'm killing time before work, so there's no time like the present, I suppose.

I have this ring. It's more special to me than any other piece of jewelry I own. Now, rings serve as cultural symbols of significance for so many reasons: promise rings, engagement rings, wedding rings. But, all of those are about a relationship one has with another person. Mine is about my relationship with myself, which makes it far more important than any of those others in my mind.

Outwardly, it doesn't look all that noteworthy... just gold with a big black oval in the middle, but my god, is it amazing. It was my grandmother's college graduation ring. I wish I could say that's the reason it's so significant, but unfortunately, my grandmother passed away when I was two, so I really didn't have that opportunity like many do to get to know her or cherish her. I only have very faded, foggy stillframes in my recollection of her.

Giving up on one's dreams is in my genetics, you see. My grandmother was a college graduate in a time when most women didn't even attend post-secondary schooling. She was vastly interested in the arts, and eventually obtained a position working for the box office of the Pittsburgh Playhouse. She was a beautiful, lovable, charming woman, and the celebrities and socialites that passed through definitely took note. She befriended some of Hollywood's most elite members, and she was invited to move to New York as the roommate of one such woman to begin her career. However, around this time, she met my grandfather, and began to feel the pressure of conventions and expectations. She abandoned her dreams to settle down and have a family, and thus, my mother was born.

My mother was vastly interested in the arts, and she had friends with friends in high places. She sung, played guitar, piano, wrote her own songs, and dabbled in comedy. She performed at open mic nights around the city. She recorded demos. After giving a comedic speech at a friend's wedding, a higher-up at a comedy television show (one that gave birth to the careers of most of the early SNL stars, like Gilda Radner) approached her, asking her if she'd be interested in submitting a demo. When she told him that she was more interested in singing, he said he could help her out in that venture as well, and he told her to record and send him a demo. However, before sending him the demo, she played it for her parents (my grandparents) who were terribly harsh and told her it was awful. And, there it was. She didn't even send it. She gave up.

Now, here I am, on the threshold of something beyond what I could have ever hoped for. Again, as in generations passed, I am attempting to break into the arts. Despite the self-doubt everyone experiences as an artist, I truly feel that if I press onward and put enough effort into it, my chances of success are high. However, in those moments of self-doubt, I consider just giving it all up, and that's when that ring comes into play. It's my reminder to not follow in the footsteps laid down before me, to not become the third generation to hold promise and throw it away. I want to make it, not just for myself, but for my mother and my grandmother... I'll make it for all three of us and pay homage to these two amazing women that came before me.

That little piece of gold reminds me that it's possible.
It's my promise ring with myself.
I promise to not give up, no matter how difficult the going gets.
I promise myself.
I promise my mother.
I promise my grandmother.
I won't let us down.

You know, life is funny sometimes.

At the beginning of this week, I was incredibly stressed out and concerned with whether or not I'd be able to complete my final projects and papers on time... and now, my greatest concern is that the spacebar on this computer keeps sticking. I'm sitting here like normal, killing time until I have dinner company, perusing Swedish fashion blogs and reading Anthony Bourdain's various accounts of dining at Ferran Adria's El Bulli. (Damn spacebar is really getting quite annoying.)

And, why can I sit here like this right now? Because I was studious all quarter, because I completed my work on time instead of procrastinating, because I shot assignments instead of going out for St. Patrick's Day... and it all really did pay off in the end. Everyone around me is stressed out beyond belief, and I get to sit here, cool, calm, and collected. This feeling is worth all of my extra efforts this quarter and I'm so proud of myself. I hated every one of my classes, every single one. Each assignment felt like some monumental task to complete, being that I loathed the courses themselves. Yet, here I sit, reading about how little silk neck scarves are so very "in" (at least, I assume that's what's being said based on context clues) and preparing to eat some delicious eggplant parm at this hidden little Italian restaurant in the basement of the Law and Finance building, watching the pandemonium around me.

I haven't felt this "adult" in a while. Sometimes, I forget that I truly am an adult, as I just really crossed over that threshold, and it's easier and less intimidating to regress into adolescence and the behaviors that go along with it. (FUCK THIS SPACEBAR.) I feel more prepared for the "real world" than I ever have right now. Honestly, bring it on. You're not so scary, and I don't know why I've spent so long seeing and treating you as such. You're just a pussy cat, really. (Perhaps I just had a bit more growing up do. I'm sure I still have more of that to come.)

I'm so very content with my life as is right now. Everything is so simple, and simplicity is something I haven't been priviliged enough to experience in years. I am soaking this up. I am
"basking in the Good," to use the phrase coined by Rhianon and myself. And, the Good is being very good to little ol' me.

Back to Swedish fashion, I go!
Eggplant parm in 15!

Yesterday made me feel wonderful..

Forget about how my presentation went,
even though I think it went pretty well.
During it,
I was to show some of my portfolio and discuss it.
Assembling that portfolio is what
sent me into that mini-breakdown,
episode of self-doubt, whatever you call it.
Well, after I sat down from showing it,
people kept pulling me aside
and telling me that my photographs were beautiful.
WHAT?!
REALLY?!
I hated everything up on the screen
and thought it was awful,
yet the compliments poured in
about my composition and lighting.
I was so touched.
I literally (secretly) cried a few happy tears.
Maybe I CAN do this.
Maybe I AM on the right track in some way.
It was an amazing experience that I desperately needed.
As I've said so many times,
it's so important to stay humble.
And if you do,
you get to experience moments like yesterday.

It's time to photoshop my Portraiture independent project,
and I'm now excited to do so.
Feelin' good... feelin' so very good.

I am feeling this so hard today.

I am so blessed.

classic beauty...

...whatever happened to it?

I can't help but sit here and ponder this. You see, I have almost two hours to kill until my beloved Rhianon is out of her painting class and can join me for dinner. Therefore, here I sit in the library, perusing blackcig as per norm, when this post catches my eye: a collection of photographs of Vivien Leigh. As I scroll through them, I'm absolutely in awe of just how purely radiant she was, a true beauty for certain. A second thought crosses my mind: what happened to this sort of beauty? It has seemingly become a rarity for a female to possess this classic, ethereal beauty and behave like a lady (as opposed to a complete whore). Look at who we consider to be beautiful and just how the standard for beauty has changed. We give propers to emaciated, overtanned little tramps who pile on the makeup and hair extensions, skip out on the clothing (i.e. underwear, while flashing vagina to camera), surgically modify their bodies, and are known for their rampant atrocious behavior. This isn't beautiful. This is pathetic. If a team of highly-paid experts is required to make you "beautiful," SURPRISE, you're not really beautiful.

Also, I hold firm the belief that true beauty is more than just appearance. True beauty stems from character, and genuine, classically beautiful women just radiate with this certain aura. It oozes from their pores, and wordlessly, we know. We just know.

So when did this mass-confusion begin? When did beautiful and slutty/fake become synonymous? And, how do we undo it? I believe a good start would be executing all of the women on Rock of Love Bus by firing squad.

Then...

... and, now.

Really?! Are we serious?

No, I don't believe in the wasting of time. But, I don't believe that I'm wasting mine.

Been having a strong case of the blah's,
which is leading me to not/not want to leave my house.
I also haven't felt all that spectacular all week.
Various aches and pains with an unknown cause.
A headache that just would not quit for 4 days straight.
Now, I'm a bit lightheaded,
probably due to the fact that I haven't eaten much
courtesy of feeling shitty.

Staying in tonight,
splitting a bottle of White Zinfandel with my mother,
and playing a heated game of Trivial Pursuit.
And, I wouldn't have it any other way.

"Going out" every night is vastly overrated.
I don't need to socialize ZOMGZ every day
to feel secure in my friendships.
I'm past that phase for certain.
At this point in my life, I'd much rather just fucking relax.
I've been running around like mad for a few years now.
I felt the need to jam some social event
into every bit of free time I had,
and I'm just burned out on all of it.
It's due time to take a major break.
This is why you have not seen me in a few months, my friends.
So, if you'd like to come over and play Scrabble,
or watch a good movie,
or cook dinner with me,
or sip wine and listen to vinyl,
or have discussions,
you're more than welcome.
Otherwise, occasions of exiting my homestead,
beyond school and working,
have been and will continue to be much more seldom than prior.

"And you better start swimmin', or you'll sink like a stone,

for the times, they are a-changing."

I can has new glasses.

I can has hot tea.

I can has Angus & Julia Stone.

I can has my furry children.

I can has over 100% in two classes,

and I can has high A's in the other two.

(NERD.)

I can has wonderful, loving friends.

I can has Anthony Bourdain's book, "The Nasty Bits."

I can has Nag Champa.

I can has a relaxing, beautiful night in.

I can has lots of blessings.

So, I have to take four self-portraits

by Wednesday night for my Portraiture class.

I do not like this.

There is a distinct difference

between taking quirky little myspace photogs

and taking artistic, professional-quality photogs of yourself.

Add into the mix

that I do not own a cable release cord or a remote.

All of these photos must be done by pushing the button

and running into place,

which makes focusing challenging.

I enjoy being in front of the camera

when my friends and peers need a model,

but certainly not for myself.

However, I shot one of them today,

and I'm pretty proud of the result.

I call it:

"Have faith in the Blue Lady."

(This site murders it.

Click it to see the actual photog.)

One down, three to go.

If I don't get this out, it will eat me up.
Maybe typing this out will be therapeutic.
So, in case you are in the majority and are uninformed as to this topic,
allow me to tell you what having clinical depression is like.

Hell.
I think the easiest explanation will be through metaphor.

Take your worst life experience and repeat it every single day.
Not literally or physically, of course.
Repeat it in your thoughts as if it were videotaped and played back daily.
Now, take every lesser, but still unfortunate experience and add that to the tape.
Make sure you also splice in some frames for every failure,
every hurtful word, every lost love and lost friend,
every insecurity, every instance of self-doubt, every time you've cried.
Play that tape, on incessant loop, twenty four hours a day.
Now, (and here is the fun part!) try and act as if the tape is not playing.
It is in the room and you can certainly hear it, but turn a blind eye,
immunize yourself to the tape.
Condition yourself to ignore the tape, even to deny its existence.
You're doing a pretty good job with this. "What tape?" you think.
But then, there is the slightest noise from across the room,
and startled, your eyes snap to the direction it came from.
Unfortunately, it came from the same vicinity of the room
as the television looping this torture is located in.
And there it is: you notice it again... that damned tape.
It doesn't take much, you see... just the slightest, even often unrelated occurence.
And suddenly, your eyes focus on the video,
and you have to start from scratch the process of tearing yourself away and forgetting its existence.
Although, each time, it becomes just a bit harder,
and all you wish for so deeply in your heart,
is for people to stop doing things that create a disturbance on that side of the room.

There are ways I try to habituate and eliminate the tape's constant background noise.
Firstly, I make jokes about the events on the tape,
as if I were viewing a comedy in which I just so happen to be the main character.
I tell the stories loudly and humorously and make all around me just laughlaughlaugh.
I always hope that my consequent laughter can eventually become veritable,
but it never really does.
While I am laughing with you on the outside, inside, I am cursing that damned video,
and hoping that your laughter might drone it out for a few moments.
Another method of coping is to reach out to others and show them the tape.
It's strange, but often I can't bring myself to show the tape to those I am closest to.
I don't want them to see its contents.
Frequently, I show the tape to those I don't know terribly well,
and I can't really be sure of why.
Perhaps I hope for a fresh film criticism that can change my view of the tape.
Perhaps it's just easier to be vulnerable with those whose opinions of me I am not as concerned with.
However, people are easily frightened by what they see on the tape,
and they are equally frightened with your preoccupation with it,
and they don't usually come around for a second viewing.
Another prominent option is to take these pills that aid in your ignorance of the tape.
It is excellent at first. The tape fades into obscurity and you continue onwards.
However, not long after you begin this regimine, you start habituating other things...
...in fact, you start habituating EVERYthing.
Not only are you immune to the tape, but you are immune to the room, the house, and the world outside.
You are immune to desire. You are immune to happiness. You are immune to feeling anything at all.
What a marvelous cure!
So what is one really to do but live with this parasitic cassette?

Individuals add to the footage CONSTANTLY.
As the director of the film, you begin to become oversensitive to the world around you,
and what others might not notice as being worthy of filmed or see as a passing thing,
you see as pure cinematic gold.
Into the loop it goes!
It is not in entirity the fault of the actors, for they are unknowing most times.
They don't realize that what they saw as an outtake, a minor blooper, is bound for the big screen.
And upon seeing its inclusion, they don't understand your reasoning,
and they question your credibility as a director.

So what exactly DOES one plagued by this tape need?
I have long searched for the answer to that question.
I believe I have found it, but I question the chances of ever achieving the solution.
What is really needed is for people to come over,
sit down on the couch with you, wrap their arms around you,
and watch the tape with you, holding you all the while.
After it plays through, don't get up from the couch.
Remain there and have a discussion about the tape.
Point out the hidden aspects of positivity in the footage.
Then, remove the tape from the VCR and put in a comedy.
If ever one arrives back at their friend's house and finds them sitting there,
watching that wretched tape ever again,
don't judge them for it, don't criticize, don't turn on them, and don't walk away.
Just sit down and do the same thing again that you did last time.
You'll find, with time, that you catch your friend watching the tape less and less,
and being far more proficient at ignoring its presence.

I wish I could smash the tape, but that's impossible.
I wish I could take a sledgehammer to the television set it is playing on,
but I can't do that either.
All I can do is live as best and happily as possible,
and hope that someone is willing to come over from time to time and watch it with me.

Won't you shine, shine on? Because, you're not done...

I am feeling very unmotivated and lazy.
My artistic block is perpetuating itself.
I think it's the routine I've fallen into.
Life feels like one big routine right now.
And, I'm severely bored.

I need someone or something to shake my life up a bit.
I love my friends dearly, but I believe it's time I start exploring
with some of the newer people I've met.
I feel like maybe they have some adventure or intrigue to offer.
Here it is, again.
My eternal restlessness.
My eternal need for more more more.

I also feel like I need a Penn State trip very soon.
I am missing the Happy Valley and the craziness.

I want to relearn French.
I want to find a new hobby.
I want to discover things about myself I don't yet know.
I want to travel and cover some major ground.
I want to shed old skin, lizard-like.
I mainly just want to begin growing again.

It's worth it to put up a fight...

It has been a solid few months of change pour moi.
I am evolving. I am growing.
I am coming to know myself and it is beautiful.
Allow me to reintroduce myself:


I am Lexi.
I'm an old soul.
I am not an indie rock snob, but it soothes my soul.
I'm an intellectual and deeply in love with language/vocabulary.
My room will forever be perfumed by incense.
I am in the process of quitting smoking. It is a long process.
I am probably "dressed up" by your standards every day.
It is not for you. It is for me.
I have finally summoned the courage to eliminate quite a few people from my life.
I am therefore in search of some new friends,
though I still have plenty and am fully content.
I prefer things to be kept simple,
and when they become complicated, I get easily frustrated.
There is a difference between being "laid back" and being a doormat.
I have been uptight. I have been a doormat. I have been a mixture of both.
I am now laid back.
My true self is spontaneous, untamed, and ridiculous.
It may take some time or alcohol to pull that out of me.
I drink too much coffee and waste too much time.
I don't eat animals, but I am a wonderful cook,
and I would love to cook some animals for you sometime.
I am passionate about every endeavor I take on.
I have recently accepted that I can't save the world.
I am not a slut, far from naive and doe-eyed, and not willing to settle.
Bear that in mind in attempting to date me.
If I seem to be expressing interest in you, then I am.
I'm pretty straightforward with most matters.
If I seem to be upset with you, then I am.
I'm pretty straightforward with most matters.
If you befriend me, there is no need to doubt my loyalty or devotion to you.
It is there, and I will make it known.
I am a social butterfly.
I am a complete loner.
I am both of these, simultaneously.
The duality sometimes clashes and I get restless.
I get restless often. Listless.
I get urges I can't identify frequently.
I get these callings, but to what, I am unsure of.
Occasionally, I stumble upon the right answer.
Above most other qualities, I value loyalty.
I just had all of my hair cut off. Metamorphosis.
I am often hard on myself, but I love myself.
Truly loving myself is a recent development.
I think it can only come with age.
I believe it is essential to be kind and courteous,
and become very bitter when I feel mistreated.
I have big plans. I won't let anything stand in the way of them.
I still sleep with my childhood teddy bear.
I fulfill obligations and keep my word.
I have terrible troubles with insomnia.
I have made my share of mistakes in the past and have finally learned from them.
I'm a fan of physicality, hugs, and touching.
I don't understand people who aren't.
I am attracted to enigmatic people and long to solve their puzzles,
even though deep inside, I know that I never can.
I am inquisitive. I am nosy. I long to know everything.
I want to suss out every individual on the planet.

I am Lexi.
I have changed in many ways.
Let's be friends.