Mild-mannered copy editor by day. Pinning madwoman by night. Or wait. I think it might be the other way around, since I work at night.

I lurk through the pins of others. I hunt down interesting hairstyles, fun craft projects, fresh tips to keep my home clean. I pin them all, because I want to try them.

And then I don’t. Because instead of actually trying a new hairstyle, getting crafty or cleaning my apartment, I keep pinning.

I find a hilarious picture of a dog. (pinned in “makes me laugh”)

I find a picture of a spiral staircase surrounded by towering bookshelves. (pinned in “dream home”)

I find a picture of a lovely wedding gown inspired by a Disney princess. (pinned in “wedding ideas” [giggle])

I find a picture of a coffee table with a checkboard pattern made of old scarves weaved together and lacquered over. (pinned in “craft projects”)

I find more and more things I love, and as I pin I imagine that my Pinterest buddies are getting the full scope of my artistic inclinations. I mean, I may not be able to actually draw a perfect picture of a unicorn, but I pinned one and that’s basically the same, right?

As I pin more craft projects, my friends must be thinking me quite the crafty devil. I mean, not everyone will pin a project as incredible and with such a level of difficulty as a wreath made of dried orange slices wrapped around and pinned (of course) to a styrofoam ring.

These Pinterest buddies also can see how funny I am. I have such a good sense of humor! Look at this shirt with this hilarious design that I will never buy!

The act of pinning renders me completely inactive, sometimes for the better part of a day. So to keep myself in shape, I pin pictures of women running on beaches and inspirational workout quotes like, “Keep calm and use a 5-lb. dumbbell.”

Am I alone in this? Does anyone else have this strange addiction to this site? Perhaps it’s the feeling of elitism. Perhaps I like that I was invited to join, and other people have to wait in line. It’s like being on the VIP list and walking past the girls in heels whose feet will be too sore to dance once they get to the floor. Is that so wrong?

That same day I met Ryan Newman. In my fervor to get his autograph I may or may not have nudged a child to the side. I tend to get tunnel vision when I’m in the presence of great men. Ryan Newman looked kind of surprised, but I thought he was in awe of my beauty. Upon returning to Candice and my dad, they informed me that the look on Ryan Newman’s face was a response to my “nudging” of a child … a child who was with a group from the Make A Wish Foundation. So I pushed a Make A Wish kid. Awesome.

Most of my celebrity experiences have been awkward. But that was OK, because for the most part those encounters were expected.

I did not, however, expect to see Tommy Lee Jones at Publix on Sunday.

Mr. Lee Jones looks doubtful as to his whereabouts Sunday afternoon.

I was in the bakery looking for strudel. Candice was looking for an ice cream cake, so I pointed to the corner of the bakery and said, “The free range cakes are over there.” That’s when I saw Tommy Lee Jones, because I think he thought I was pointing at him.

Mr. Lee Jones seemed to be wandering around, and I think he was people watching. In person he has a large head — not an insult, just a fact — and he was wearing glasses. As he walked past me, my thought process was as follows:

That guy looks familiar.
Is he famous?
He looks really familiar.
Is he a doctor? No … not a doctor.
Wait, is he Tommy Lee Jones?
But that’s silly. Why would he be at Publix? It can’t be him.
Wait.
No.
That definitely is Tommy Lee Jones.
…
Holyshitholyshitholyshit.

In my head I was doing champion arms as I moved casually over to where Candice was standing and mouthed, “Tommy Lee Jones?” She looked around, found him, then looked back at me and said, “Been there, done that.” Working at Barnes & Noble in Wellington, she checked him out a couple times. And not in a creepy way, but in a cashier way. According to her, she asked him if he had a member card and he said no. But when his wife came in, Candice asked if she had a member card and she said yes. Candice took great offense to Tommy Lee Jones’ denial of Barnes & Noble membership.

Also, Peter worked at Barnes & Noble. He had nothing but nice things to say about Tommy Lee Jones. He even threw in a bit about how he renewed Tommy Lee Jones’ membership card. So I guess that’s something.

I think Mr. Lee Jones was purchasing lunch at Publix on Sunday. I’m not a very good member of the paparazzi.

One last thing: Peter’s favorite TLJ story is that once, while ringing up the U.S. Marshall, Peter asked the man if he wanted a bag for his books. TLJ told Peter to “keep the sack.” Peter still has the sack. Peter took it as a metaphor for manhood.

Update:  On Tommy Lee Jones’ IMDB page I found the following tidbit: “Plays polo and raises polo ponies. His team won the U.S. Polo Association’s Western Challenge Cup in 1993. Invites the Harvard’s best polo players to his ranch to practice each fall.” “The Harvard.” Hah.

2. Say you’re walking your dog outside and he tries to eat a dead lizard, so you say, “No Kevin, don’t do that!” There may be a human Kevin nearby who turns and stares at you with a confused look because he’s just trying to get into his car, and he doesn’t understand why he shouldn’t do that. Is it rigged to explode?

Dog Kevin has wonderful ears.

3. Your maintenance guy comes to inspect your air conditioner. He’s charmed by your dog, but gives you strange looks whenever you say, “Come here, Kevin!” As he leaves, he asks your dog’s name. When you say it’s Kevin, he says, “No, really, what’s his name?” When you explain that you named your dog after a baseball player and a TV sitcom character, he begins laughing uncontrollably and declares, “I am Kevin as well!”

4. Imagine your dog’s name is Jenny. She gets out of the yard a lot and you have to go driving around looking for her. When you do, sometimes there is a little girl named Jenny who lives down the street and comes running over to your car whenever you yell, “Jenny! Come here, girl!”

5. Put yourself in my shoes when I decided to name my guinea pig Mr. Mort Guffman of the Oppenheimer Foundation. Try to picture the looks on the faces of passersby as I tried to walk my guinea pig down the street on a leash and harness, and whenever he slid out of it (“like a sausage”) I yelled, “No, Mr. Mort Guffman! God, you’re such a silly pig!” I bet 90 percent of the people who heard that thought I was talking on a bluetooth device.

Also, I used to set up a pen in my front yard so my guinea pig could romp in and nibble on the grass.

1. Fitz & the Tantrums, Pickin Up the Pieces

Song that got me hooked: “MoneyGrabber.”

Key to this album: This band doesn’t use a conventional six-string guitar in its compositions. The main instrument is a vintage organ, and frontman Michael Fitzpatrick rocks it like it never went out of style. There’s a crazy soul vibe to each song, but there are modern twists you never would hear in an R&B tune from the ’50s. For example, one line from “MoneyGrabber” so eloquently says, “I don’t think twice for the price of a cheap time whore.” Heh.

If there’s one thing that will throw you off: Fitzpatrick’s weird attempt at a trendy hairstyle. Peter and I agree that the videos are awesome, but we just can’t get past his funky, Rogue-from-X-Men ‘do.

My favorite song on the album: “Breaking the Chains of Love.” It’s the first track, and there’s something about it that’s infectious. It’s like ebola, but it won’t kill you, and it won’t make you bleed from every orifice of your body, which is nice, because you’re infected but there aren’t any visible symptoms.

2. Foster the People, Torches

Song that got me hooked: “Pumped Up Kicks.”

Key to this album: I don’t like to dance, and this album makes me want to dance. Each song has one little piece to it that makes it catchy, makes you want to hum it until you can’t hum anymore because your throat is sore. In “Pumped Up Kicks,” there’s this little kazoo-like noise that underlies the chorus. It gets stuck in my head and I can’t get it out, but not in a bad way, like with “Hello” by Lionel Richie.

If there’s one thing that will throw you off: If you don’t like electronic music, which is something I’m just getting into, then this may not be the album for you. Some songs are pretty heavy on the electronic stuff (I don’t know the technical term — I told you, I’m just getting into it). “Life on the Nickel” has what I would consider to be a bit of a drawn-out introduction, but it’s really good once you hear the song and understand its context. Wow. I kind of sounded like a snotty hipster prick there. Awesome.

My favorite song on the album: “Houdini.” If for no other reason than it makes me dance when I’m driving on the Turnpike, and Kevin gives me weird looks.

3. Decemberists, The King is Dead

Song that got me hooked: Didn’t need one. This is one of my favorite bands, and I would have bought the album without hearing any songs. That’s what happened when I bought the album prior to this one, The Hazards of Love. Although, hearing “Down By the Water” on the radio certainly didn’t hurt.

Key to this album: The folk flow is so natural. The songs seem perkier and more upbeat, but some of the lyrics are downright depressing. Herein lies the magic of Colin Meloy and his merry troupe of musicians. This is a classically great album. Also, this is low on the list because I’m expecting you to already have heard it. If you haven’t heard it yet, you really are missing out. While you’re at it, buy the rest of your albums. I would use the first three albums as a primer, then delve into the whole “dissected, fragmented concept album” idea with The Crane Wife, then go right into The Hazards of Love, which is the definition of how to tell a tale with music. And bring tissues for “The Hazards of Love 4 (The Drowned).”

If there’s one thing that will throw you off: Nothing. It’s perfect.

Favorite song on the album: A tie between “Don’t Carry it All” and “Dear Avery.”

OK, one more, but without as much detail.

4. Lykke Li, Wounded Rhymes

Song that got me hooked: “Get Some“

Key to this album: It’s refreshing. I know that word when used to describe any sort of art tends to be a bit cliche, but for someone who really dislikes a lot of new, popular music, Lykke Li’s voice is so different and powerful. She’s like a Scandinavian Fiona Apple, without the piano.

If there’s one thing that will throw you off: I’ve heard tell some people don’t care for the lyrics of “Get Some” (“I’m your prostitute. You’re gonna get some.”); others have said her voice can be grating. I don’t agree with either.

Favorite song on the album: “I Follow Rivers“

On a totally unrelated note, Kevin pooped out his first foreign body today: yellow string from his rope toy. Guess which toy is no longer in service as a result? That’s right, his yellow rope toy. He’s sad, and kind of pouty, but I took him for a really long walk and we met some new people, so he’s napping and I don’t have to deal with his accusatory stares.

I never have blocked anyone. I’ve done the thing where I stay friends with someone but can’t see their status updates anymore, usually when they spam my wall with tons of nonsense related to games (oh Farmville, you crazy bastard). So to get a better idea of why this goes on, I asked people on Facebook if they’ve blocked someone and why.

Responses:

• “Does it count if you were only friends with the person on facebook because he was the bf of your best friend?”
• “Farmville.”
• Two other people liked this one: “yes. i hated the updates every 5 minutes on the games they were playing (farmville is SO stupid), and the other questions/quizzes…it was annoying….so i blocked them…then deleted them. and don’t feel bad at all!”
• One other person liked this one: “I blocked my exhusband….does that count?”
• “people who post 20 things per hr so my phone is blown up with wahh wahh waahhhh and if ur a yankee fan u must go”
• The inimitable Steam Me Up, Kid chimed in with this one: “I block angry people, and people who post photos of the carcasses of animals they shot. That’s about it.”
• “ive been blocked numerous times. i guess im an asshole. but ive never blocked anyone myself.”
• “i block people who are negative, vulgar and curse a lot… just don’t need to see that “
• “No, I wouldn’t know how”
• And, my sister: “I was blocked by someone for being friends with someone else they didn’t like. So, I blocked the person who blocked me cuz I thought it was stupid. I think I still have her blocked, but I’ve heard through the grapevine that she took the block off of me.”

This got me thinking: Why haven’t I ever blocked an ex-boyfriend? The short answer is that I want them to see how successful I am. The long answer involves me printing out any messages they try to send me and having my NEW DOG, KEVIN, release his bowels on them.

So why haven’t I blocked any of my adversaries? Surely there must be someone who is just downright rude to me, and I don’t want them to ever try to contact me or look at my photos. Wrong. Again, this category mostly consists of people with whom I went to high school or college. Mostly college. And they can see that I have a great job and graduated with honors as the outstanding graduate for my school and choke on their lemon drops.

Of course, as I write this I’m speaking sternly to my NEW DOG, KEVIN, telling him not to eat his stuffed hedgehog.

Oh, I’m sorry. Did I mention that I have a NEW DOG, and his named is KEVIN?

O hai there.

Kevin enjoys fetch, rope toys and more fetch. He’s my apartment buddy. He’s almost 8 months old, and he doesn’t evacuate indoors … unless we’re at Peter’s house, because Kevin gets really confused.

I named him after Kevin Youkilis from the Red Sox, and also after Kevin Malone from “The Office,” because every time he eats I yell, “Superfeast!”

Kevin will be a dog about town once he is neutered and has all of his shots, so I’m really looking forward to exploring the dog-friendly side of Martin County.

Where is this going? I don’t know. I got a mild concussion on Saturday and my brain has worked well since. Also, Kevin just ate the foot off his hedgehog.

Also, I promise my next post will be more interesting.

One last quick anecdote:

The day before I went to pick up Kevin, Peter and I went shopping to get puppy supplies. We went to PetSmart, and I got a little squeaky cupcake toy for $1.17.

I love the little cherry on top.

At the register, I turned to Peter and said, “Do you think the cupcake is too girly?” Both Peter and the guy behind the register replied that yes, it is girly. “Oh well,” I said. “If Kevin doesn’t like it, I’ll just give it to Patrick. He’s gay.”

The cashier stopped and stared at me. He was glaring, and it was really uncomfortable. The first thought to dart through my head was, “Oh crap, is he gay?” Then I looked at his name tag: Patrick.

I started laughing so hard I couldn’t breathe. I had tears running down my face and I was trying so hard to apologize, to tell him the Patrick to which I was referring is this guy:

The Official Patrick.

Peter helped me recover, and the cashier was just as embarrassed as we were. “I’m definitely not gay,” he said, handing me my receipt. All I could say as we walked to the door was, “Sorry I called you gay.”

And in the time it took me to write this, we have lost our dear friend, the Tiny Hedgehog. May he rest in peace.

Poor little guy.

While I’m sitting on the toilet or lying in bed writhing in pain from stomach cramps, or while I’m sitting on my living room floor staring wistfully at the kitchen into which I haven’t ventured in four days because I can’t eat anything in there, I Google myself. (Update: I just realized how dirty that sounds.)

When I Google myself, I don’t put in my full name, because that only returns search results for me. Instead, I put in “Kristina Webb.” The results for this search term are far more entertaining.

And so I present, Kristina Webbs from around the world. They are in order of appearance on the Google search results.

Page 1: Here we meet Kristina Webb, an Australian who works in the IT industry and enjoys “Personal Development, New Age, Share Trading, Wealth Creation, Internet Marketing and generally learning new things!” She has a cat named Jasmin and loves nature.

Page 1: Kristina Webb Shapiro is an attorney from Baton Rouge, La. Her areas of practice include Probate & Successions, Interdictions & Guardianships, Estate Planning, Wills & Trusts, Community Property Partitions & Settlements, Divorces and Miscellaneous. So if you’re heading to court to take of that pesky old miscellaneous and you’re in or near Baton Rouge, give her a call.

Page 1: Another Kristina Webb, this time from Fort Lauderdale. Or is it Salt Lake City? Maybe Macon. No, I think it might be Nashville. Anywho, this Kristina describes herself as follows: “A little crazy and rough on the edges. You either love me or hate me , no in between. Love playing music/writing songs and fronting a band . I love playing golf and love gambling on the holes !” She has a grandson named Tater.

Page 1: Lots of great Kristinas on just the first page of the results, but here we find one who definitely lives life after my own heart. Kristina Webb is a 20-year-old from the United States, according to her Myspace profile. She believes that “to get to the rainbow, you gotta deal with the rain <3″ and she lives this mantra in every aspect of her life. From her dreams to be a Playboy Bunny to her belief that “bitches come && go so believe none of wutchu hear && half of wutchu see,” this Kristina believes she is “as real as it gets.” Good for you, sister.

Page 3: Kristina Webb from East Mesa is a piano accompanist who charges $20 an hour. She has 20 years of piano playing experience, and loves holiday arrangements. She is most familiar with classical arrangements.

Page 4: Kristina Webb is a musician by trade. She is a song writer, and wonders “what happened to music? Now a days people just make a song that sounds good in the club.Dont get me wrong we need club music, but your whole album does not have to be about shaking ass and drugs and how much money you have and cars.” Oh Kristina. We are such an introspective breed.

Page 5: Here we meet a Kristina Webb who also can be called Teenie, if she loves ya. According to her Myspace profile, she is a 40-year-old from California who loves glitter-letter graphics. She loves to dance, believes you should just enjoy life, and knows deep down that we all have capes. Her words of wisdom are like gems from God himself: “A little advise, DON’T LET THE PAST CRAP FUCK WITH YOUR FUTURE.” Kristinas, as I’m sure you know, are extremely wise. We poop wisdom like that.

One last Kristina for you to meet:

Page 5: Kristina Webb was arrested in Port Charlotte on Feb. 22, 2009, for petit larceny. She was released on $1,000 bond. At the time of her arrest she was unemployed. Her birthday is April 11, and she has hazel eyes. And she definitely is not me.

Not that I would mind being her. She has a certain charm.

Support your local Kristinas!

That leads me to the topic of this post (now that’s what I call a segue!): insomnia. Occasionally I’ll have my bouts of it. It usually happens when I’m undergoing stress, or when I’m experiencing a personal dilemma. However, in this case it’s a combination of rampant nightmares and not knowing how much caffeine is too much caffeine when you work a shift that runs from 3:30 p.m. to 12:30 a.m.

The worst part is that I normally am very productive when these things hit. I’ll stay up late at night and write, sketch, take weird photographs of myself with stuffed animals…

Gee golly willickers, however did my hair get on that stuffed turtle-saur's head?

This time it’s the complete opposite. I wake up from the dreams, sit in my pajamas (read: underwear) on my couch and watch “The Office” on Netflix while eating almonds and occasionally drinking red wine. What used to be a space occupied by creative outbursts now houses lethargy and loneliness. Sloth. Gluttony. Me in my underwear. Sins running rampant.

So I’ve decided to do something about this. I need a challenge, but one I can do at night. I thought about giving myself the challenge of doing individual photo series of each object in my apartment, but then I realized that might get monotonous since many of the objects interact with each other.

I also considered doing a kind of “found at night” project, where I drive out into the world and find something interesting, then photograph it and post it here. That was an OK idea until I was driving home (the long way) tonight and saw the kind of hooligans that float around the downtown after midnight. If my primary goal were to photograph drunk white trash wandering around with paper bags full of who-knows-what, then I would have a never-ending supply of material.

As I thought about this last night, mulling over the many ways I can make good of such a late hour, I decided that I can’t make a plan for creativity. If it’s going to happen, it will happen. Maybe I’m not feeling creative right now because I have no inspiration. And if that’s the case, perhaps I should work on finding inspiration before I force myself to start churning out useless crap that no one wants to see.

Speaking of which, here’s a photo of a flower, taken in my parents’ back yard after a rain cloud passed over. It’s a metaphor for religion, and how the dew always springs fresh from fertile ground, and how with rough hands and tender hearts we can conquer our fears and make our names known, make our names remembered for the ages as kings and queens of eternity. We will rise up and forever be aligned with the brightest stars, with the farthest reaches of the universe, from the rings of Saturn to the very deepest depths of Uranus.
Or something like that.

Here we are, flowers of the universe.

The initial U.S. reaction was celebratory. People partied in the streets outside of the White House.

There are a lot of young people in these photos. Probably a lot of students from Georgetown, a lot of young professionals who were up late.

I remember where I was on Sept. 11, 2001. I was at school. It happened during my first period class, then I went to lunch, and when I got to Earth-Space Science the Twin Towers were falling on TV. I didn’t understand. I thought we were going to be talking about gravity and its effects via a fun lesson using demolition as an example. My enthusiasm for what I thought was going to be a lesson was shut down quickly by my teacher, who already had expressed his dislike for me and what he declared my “incredible ability to put science on the back burner.” (I hated him so much.)

This was tenth grade. I was cognizant enough to know the differences in national emotion. It was like someone snapped their fingers and, suddenly, everything changed. I turned 16 about two months later, and I remember reading 9/11-related news the morning of my birthday. I also remember the night after the towers fell. I remember moving a TV into my room to watch round-the-clock coverage on MSNBC. I watched Brian Williams and Tom Brokaw with a sense of complete awe — part of the reason I decided to go into journalism.

Many of these kids look like they’re 18. I would estimate that on 9/11, they were between 7 and 9 years old. They may have a pretty good idea of what life was like before 9/11. They may remember their parents being emotional, watching the news, stowing away the newspaper the next morning in a safe place. Children in New York understand this well, I’m sure, as do those in Washington, D.C.

But I guarantee there are kids here in Florida who can’t comprehend the real, powerful emotions people feel when hearing that Osama bin Laden is dead. There are kids in elementary school today who can’t understand why their teachers are sneaking looks at the news on their cellphones, or keeping one tab of an internet browser open on CNN. There are kids who heard their parents cheer when the news broke last night and, roused from sleep, asked for an explanation.

But how do you explain something like that to a child? How can you justify being jubilant when you hear the news that someone has died? How are parents handling this? You have to be handling it somehow; it’s the top story on the news, and it’s on every newsstand, and there’s no way they haven’t seen it or heard it from friends.

Do you tell them the back story? Do you explain the event of 9/11 first to put the current situation in context? When you tell them, do you tell them about the people falling from the towers before the towers themselves crumbled to the ground? Do you gauge how much you can tell them by their age, or do you assume they’ll learn about it later anyways? When you come to today, do you first ask how much they know? Do you show them Pres. Obama’s address? Do you let him tell your children, because you’re too speechless to say it yourself?

I’m asking these questions not to be critical, but to get a better idea of how parents are handling this. As someone who only has had pets, I can’t comprehend the difficulty of being in this situation where there are images of people partying — revelry in the streets — and it’s in response to the news of someone’s death. I have so much sympathy for parents trying to deal with this right now.

It’s a huge event, sure to be in history books in the future, and obviously it’s important to put it into perspective for the little ones. So how is that achieved? It’s a question I can’t answer, and I think it certainly is one with which we’ll struggle more as this war continues.

The River Walk is a cute little boardwalk that runs right along the St. Lucie River to the north of downtown Stuart. Despite the trash, it’s pretty great. We parked over by the Pelican Cafe, at one end of the boardwalk, then walked the entire length and back through the downtown area. The breeze was amazing, and I went crazy for all the little fishes we saw swimming along the way. Plus, two jellyfish! I love spotting creatures.

Butterfly shell!

I fell in love with this shell. I would have picked it up if I could, but I think it’s considered bad form to hop off the boardwalk and tromp all over the beach.

Under the Roosevelt Bridge.

To be perfectly honest, the first thing that comes to mind looking at the underside of the Roosevelt is, “Does the wittle Roosevelt wants hims belly scratched? Huh?” Ugh. I disgust myself sometimes.

Master of all he surveys.

Peter and I found this guy strolling along in the water next to the boardwalk. I think we threw him off his hunting groove.

Cool creature.

I want a blue heron as a pet. Someday, not right now, because the pet deposit in my neighborhood is $600, which is just too much.

I'm pretty fond of this photo.

There’s something about that one that I really like. Maybe it’s the bridge in the background, maybe it’s the posture of the heron. Either way, it’s one of my favorites from the day.

Peter.

Welcome to historic downtown Stuart! Their motto should be, “It’s frickin adorable.”

Holy bangs, Batman!

Peter took this picture of me. Believe it or not, it’s posed. I know, I know, it looks so casual because I stand next to shaky lampposts all the time, so you’d never know it wasn’t natural.

Jelly!

I tried to convince a small child to jump in and pick it up for me, but his mother quickly escorted him away while giving me the stink eye. Geez, sorry lady. I’m just trying to teach your kid the value of entrepreneurship by offering him 25 cents to pick up a jellyfish. Don’t hate. You’re just mad you didn’t think of it first.

Thus begins the photo set from the wilderness.

After visiting the River Walk, we decided to head to a natural area just north of the St. Lucie nuclear plant. I pulled into an area on the west side of A1A, thinking it would be a short walk to the Intracoastal.

WRONG. It was a very long walk that involved horse flies, alligators making noises and hiding in the shallow water next to the path, mosquitoes, sunburn … and fish jumping out of the water, which, admittedly, was incredible to watch (but very difficult to capture on camera since I was so dehydrated that I was shaking by the time we got to that spot).

Another favorite shot.

I think I like this photo because it’s so sharp. You could just imagine cutting yourself on those leaves. Also, I think there was an alligator hiding in there.

Hello, friend.

I spotted this creature from the path and took three pictures as I tried to keep a horse fly from eating my ear.

I also was very concerned with crabs crawling over my toes. The thought of it terrified me, and there were so many crabs of such varying size that I never knew if I would look down and find a large crab crawling over my foot, or if I would walk along for five minutes with a tiny crab hitchhiking on my sandal.

Since they bothered me so, I have excluded any pictures of the crabs. They’re not that great anyway. Have you been to a restaurant, seen a crab there? Imagine that guy on a bed of sand instead of lettuce. There you go. You just saw the pictures I took.

Beautiful spot.

After walking along for what seemed like an hour but probably only was about half that, Peter and I came to this spot where we could look out over this stream and watch fish jump out of the water to catch mosquitoes. Not only was I appreciative of the fish keeping the mosquito population in check, but the breeze was great, the company was amazing and everything smelled so fresh and clear. Despite my complaining about being lost in the wilderness, we never were lost because we never left the path. Sometimes a long walk gives you the feeling that you’re lost because you’re hot and tired, but in the end you can always turn around and wind up right back where you started. If only everything in life were that easy, eh?

Oh what the hell. I’m in a pleasant, introspective mood now. Why not give you a crab picture?

A small crab with a big claw. He's got heart.

I started this endeavor earnestly enough. My first post was pretty stereotypical: “Hello, I’m Kristina. I write and take photos. Here are my activities. I go to school, and that’s kind of a big deal. You should care about me because I’m a middle class Caucasian girl, one of hundreds of thousands who blog every day and expect people to care. Look at me and see I’m not different.”

Oh, the laughs we shared!

Throughout this process, I’ve become more involved with my blogging. Remember that stint where I blogged every day for almost a month? I even joined the WordPress Post a Day 2011 movement, although I’m not sure I should continue with that badge on the right side of my page since I haven’t posted in so long.

It was during my Post a Day 2011 phase that I became obsessed with Freshly Pressed. I read it every day. I would check to see who had been chosen — anyone I follow? — and then I would wait breathlessly until the next morning to see if my blog, by some incredible chance, had been chosen.

Chosen. Like God chose the Israelites, so some divine hand reaches through the internet and hand-picks blogs to be featured on Freshly Pressed. Some powerful being with impeccable taste (admit it, you love every post you’ve ever seen on FP) miraculously locates the very best posts on WordPress.

Who knows how it occurs? Is it based on page views? Search terms based on timely topics? Quirky photos that pop up in the image stream?

Most importantly:

How can I get their attention?

How do I get my blog on Freshly Pressed? I became obsessed for awhile. Every time I worked on a new post for Post a Day, I would wonder if this would be the one to break the barriers. I really thought I had something with the exploding possums, and again with my prehistoric crane photo. But somehow I just can’t seem to catch the all-seeing eye of the Freshly Pressed judge.

I am sure there are others out there like me. Now that I’m back in the game, I’m more determined than ever. And surely you know, my readers, that should I make it to the Freshly Pressed page, I will ask my questions of the One Who Sees All and Selects, and I will publish the answers here.

The first question I’ll ask: How many of you are there? Is it just one, or are there many? Is there a Holy Trinity of WordPress?

Answers. I need answers.