say cheese and die.

Please: DO NOT get your sister, aunt, mom, grandmother or girlfriend a camera as a present. I have been through 12 of them. My discarded cameras lay either dead or dying in the confines of my broken electronics junk drawer or scattered throughout parts of Vermont, New York and/or the Caribbean. 

As a person in a long term relationship, the only walks of shame I've done while in college are back to the geek squad at Best Buy, begging them for a refund or replacement camera after a reckless night of drinking.

You'd think that after camera #6 or #7 I'd realize my fate was not to take less-than-average-quality digital pictures of girls at bars for the rest of my life, but I have not. Its a really unfortunate un-realization. 
so besides the fact that they break whenever they're dropped,
or besides the fact they they're easier to lose than a tampon inside of a large purse, 
there's another reason not to get a digital camera: The people you take pictures of will torture you. 
Now, I'm not talking about everyone. I genuinely enjoy taking pictures of stupid stuff and funny things and pretty-looking people. But then there are people who I loathe and things that I hate and somehow I end up with all of these abominations in picture form on my computer, seared into the softer parts of my brain. 
To keep photo albums free of useless shitty pictures, you just have to learn which sort of people to avoid. 
The Dance Team: The bar could be playing elevator music and the second these people spot a possible photo opportunity, they turn into a choreography group. They'll grab onto each other's vinyl forever twenty-one mini dresses and pull out all the sexy dance moves they learned in their 2001 hip-hop summer camp. Then, ever-so-subtly, they will look at the camera and wait for a flash.

The Raging Alcoholic:....who doesn't really drink that much. This person is desperate to appear as a fun-loving, party-hopping good time. She is also probably extremely single. You'll be forced to stand by, camera raised just so, to capture pictures of her deep-throating a beer bong. She'll grab her mixed drink before getting in a picture and raise it into the frame as if to say, "Look how fun I am!" 

The I-Spy: Perhaps the worst of them all, this person is most likely amazing at the game, "Where's Waldo." Once the pictures are uploaded/printed out, the I-Spy will miraculously be able to find themselves in a majority of the photos. They'll scream out in joy, "THAT'S MY HAND!! THAT'S MY HAND OVER THERE IN CORNER. SEE, I CAN TELL BECAUSE MY NAILS WERE PURPLE THAT WEEK."

-If by the grace of god, the I-Spy cannot locate herself in a picture, she will find a way to relate the picture to herself. "I was sitting in the bathroom when you took that picture." "Wow. That's totally my drink in the corner."
The Picky One: I've got no qualms taking pictures off of Facebook....if I find it necessary. And even if I don't find completely necessary I can usually agree (silently-so) when a friend complains they look bad in a photo and want it gone. However, I'm finding it increasingly hard to sympathize with people who are living in an obvious state of denial. Either I'm completely blind, or people have no idea what they look like anymore. Friends and non-friends alike ooze self-pity as they complain about minor imperfections. "Ew my hand looks manly in that picture." "I don't like the way my teeth look when I'm smiling here." "I just look awkward, don't put that up." Yes, your majesty, I shall not put it up. But all the while I'm complying, I'm very confused. The picture is never drastically different from how they look in real-life, so I'm left to wonder, who do they think they're fooling by not putting it up?

The hyperbolize-r: Everything is a huge deal. It is either horrible or it is excellent and it needs to be discussed. This person, similar to the I-Spy, picks out slight abnormalities in any given photo and expands endlessly upon them. "OMG WHAT IS MY FOOT DOING IN THE AIR? OMG THAT FACE I'M MAKING IS INSANE. WHAT AM I DOING BACK THERE IN THE CORNER?" 
The Generalizer(s): They're an annoying group of friends taking a picture together, all of them doing something goofy or "cute" in it. Suddenly, this picture becomes the symbol of their friendship. This picture is as precious to them as a hand me down pendant from a dead grandmother, that is until next weekend when they take a new picture. Expect comments or captions with the words 'basically' and 'nutshell.' Such as "basically our friendship in a nut-shell." "basically this is why I love my friends." Basically defines our life....love us." 

So basically, in a nutshell, just try to avoid these people.

save the photo shoots for models.

Come to think of it, since 90% of the people I know think they're models, that strategy might also land you in hot water. 
*note: If you're hanging out with me, let that be indicator #1 that you are not a model.
Next time my camera gets lost in the ocean ill let it sink
or left on top of a ski mountain in Vermont, ill let it freeze
or "forgotten" in the bathroom of a bar, I'll let someone else find it and pass on the curse. 

Beverly Hills Ninja Moves To The Bronx.

Yesterday, October 31st 2011, marked the second anniversary of the day I was stalked by a ninja. 
Last year I took my building's stairs from the 6th floor to the 4th. Under usual circumstances, I would have taken the elevator, but these were not usual circumstances. A couple days earlier I had been yelled at by an angry group of male and female basketball players for using the elevator to travel "only" one floor. Fearing that I would once again run into the disgruntled sports team, I was forced to go against everything I believed in, and to waste unnecessary physical exertion, by taking the stairs. 
Black dress, white face and slit throat walking down the hallway, I realized I was the only person on the floor. Taking one last glance back out into the hallway before I headed down the stairs, A ninja appeared, materialized as eerily as a ghost would have. He waved at my with his fake sword in hand and I waved back. Not thinking much of it, I continued into the staircase. 

As the door closed behind me, His masked ninja face appeared once again. It was pressed up against the glass window that separated us.
Walking down the first flight, I noticed how putrid the stairwell really looked. Fluorescent lights and blue walls. It was as if the word despair was a color and the all the walls were painted of it. Wobbling down the stairs in heels with the grace and femininity of Rosie O'Donnel, I began thinking of a more suitable wall color. 

There to snap me back into reality was the ninja. He was standing in the staircase, just a few steps behind me, staring off into space, unmoving. A nervousness grew in me and I started to run. The ninja followed my lead. He chased me like a real ninja would, crouching and leaping his way down the stairs. I transitioned into a full on sprint and reached the fourth floor where I opened the door to the hallway and slammed it shut hard behind me. 
Walking backwards towards my room, his face appeared once again pressed up against the glass from inside the staircase, each foggy breath making him less and less visible.
After leaving the staircase, he leapt into the common room and ninja rolled behind a couch.
People later told me security referred to him as an intruder.
I never saw him again
......
That is until last night.
My suite-mates, unaware of the history I had with the villian, came into the room half laughing about some creepy ninja they'd just seen crouched into the corner of an elevator. 
Like the surviving member of a Nightmare on Elm Street movie just figuring out that Freddy Krueger was after them again, I screamed out in terror. I ran into my friends room across the hall hysterical and in disbelief. 
On cue, the brave friend of the overly paranoid victim went out into the hall to investigate. Sure enough, the ninja had arrived. He was standing four doors away and staring straight at us. We slammed the door screaming. I stood against the wall clutching my weapon of choice, a baby blue coffee mug; Probably the least intimidating thing  I could find.
His footsteps had finally reached us. He began to drag his ninja sword across the door in swirling patterns and then started to bang on it (a little out of character for the silent ninja, I thought). Then, like the most arrogant ninja I'd ever met, he began tapping his foot outside of the door to convey his impatience with us. Ten minutes later he was gone, off to stalk the rest of the building. 
Roaming the halls with the pervertedness of Freddy Krueger, the silence of Michael Myers and the pure unadulterated evil of Michelle Bachmann, the ninja was a force to be reckoned with. 
And while we've all got our demons, whether inside or out, mine just happens to be a ninja. But in the same way that I hate him, I also love him, for he has given me one more reason not to take the stairs.