I say this, of course, knowing full well that I’m not actually cool. I don’t know how to do my hair, my idea of dressing up is wearing my one pair of jeans and a shirt that hasn’t been crazily pulled out of shape by deceptively strong baby hands, and the last time I was culturally relevant was when I was a freshman in college watching the Friends finale surrounded by all the girls on my dorm floor.
But! I felt cool yesterday. I felt cool because I spent the day hanging out in a Seattle loft, helping out at a photography shoot for my company. We needed some new product shots, so we hired what may be the best commercial photographer in the whole state and booked half a day with him.
This loft was just so cool, you guys. It was in this funky, ancient old Seattle building, and to get to the loft we had to ascend these tiny, weirdly tilted stairs and then walk down a hallway, the walls of which were adorned by all kinds of cool photos and artwork. The work space itself, I guess you’d call it a studio, was large and full of cool props and light parachute-type-things.
My co-worker (her name’s Cindy) and I hauled a whole truck’s worth of props up those weird stairs and set to work. Five hours later, we were all exhausted but had some shots that make our products look so pretty they should be featured in magazines like Martha Stewart Living and, um, Oprah and stuff.
Of course, being at a photo shoot all day necessitated being away from my little Aidan, which was tough. By the time I got home I was craving the smell of his little baby head and I also had so much milk backed up that I thought I was literally going to explode and douse my car with breastmilk.
Nevertheless. I spent the day in a cool Seattle loft. And no one puked on me. And I saw what may have been a meth head standing at the corner of the freeway on-ramp. How cool am I? So cool.