These past few days have been full of win and full of lose both, so I guess I'll give you the rundown.

First off, the win.

I have several pictures now that I am in the process of inking (When I can get to my computer and my tablet) and a little project concerning my favorite Pokemon. Also, I have my camera, and it is Autumn, and close to Samhain. I will be taking some nature as well as some season-themed photos. I hope to get some people together for an All Hallow's Eve photo shoot of sorts. That would be lovely.

So, things to look forward to from me:

-New drawings
-Nature Photography
-Some Fiction
-Samhain Photography

Okay. Now the lose.

I am rather young in my facial features, and have been told I will look like a kid for a long time. I don't mind much, and it is why I am growing my hair out. However, just because I look like a kid doesn't mean I am one, and it certainly doesn't give anyone the right to disrespect me.

I was a volunteer for the High School marching band in my home town these past two weekends. I helped with props, which consisted of a large pyramid structure made of wood and canvas, and three triangular picture-pieces that rotated during the show. The picture-pieces frequently liked to blow away, and were more or less giant para sails for those of us on the field working with them. Despite this, I never got upset. It was kind of fun actually. If not a little stressful to move on the musical cues.

Regardless, the keyword there is that I was a VOLUNTEER.

Now I don't know about the rest of you, but I like to treat volunteers to any cause I might be holding, photography, social or otherwise, with a lot of respect and kindness. They are doing me a great favor.

However, during the competitions, and the prepping beforehand at the school, I was continuously disrespected. First by the band students themselves, and then by the band parents. I can forgive the first set of band students that were stressed out because they were section leaders and being pressured from all sides to do well. However, the second set of band students were what I consider, in every sense of the word "Children." I am a pacifistic person by nature, but I seriously wanted to slap each one who thought it was a good idea to fuck with their volunteers. But they're kids. I can't expect much out of them.

But the parents? Really?

The parents of the band can be divided into two groups. There are the ones who provide for the students with snacks and water and help with props and instruments...and there are the ones who sit around and do nothing and then demand that WE do something when we take a second to rest.

I'll admit most of the time I did not do much of the manual labor. This was mostly because I had two guys with me who love very few things more than doing such labor. They were quick, and efficient in what they did. When I did help, I helped with 100% of my ability and energy. I'm a woman, so a lot of the people there were kind of reluctant to let me do much, but I can work, even if it is in small increments.

Regardless, we did our work, and were on the field, helping and doing every damn thing we could, because our friends were in the band.

What did we get for it? We got bitched at because of a misunderstanding, and one of the ladies having a stick lodged so far up her ass she couldn't bear to see anyone else sit comfortably.

I'm an adult now, so I don't know why I took it all sitting down. But I did. Maybe because I just graduated last year, and the whole following parental authority is still firmly stuck in my skull. However, there is one thing that still bothers me more than anything else.

Once we got back, I was so tired and fed up with it all, and I just wanted to get me and my boyfriend home. I stopped for a moment to give my friends a quick hug while they were unloading the instrument trailer. I wasn't going to do anymore work. I didn't have it in me. Neither did my boyfriend. Yet as I paused to say goodbye, I heard one of the women who had bitched at us earlier speak up.

"You aren't doing anything, help them."

This was coming from a woman who was standing there in a semi-circle with other adults doing, yes, you guessed it, nothing.

My first thought was to wheel around and give the woman the finger, but I didn't. I calmly, albeit spitefully, turned to look at her and said, "I am leaving."

And that is all I did.

It is very, very sad when an eighteen year old and a sixteen year old respond more maturely to situations than men and women in their forties and fifties.

I could have bitched her out so hard her skin would crawl for days, but I didn't. Because I have always been taught by my mother, that if you respond in a childish manner, you are no better than those who have wronged you. It's a mechanism that has put me rather high on my pedestal, but I don't care much. I am completely okay with admitting that I am better. I didn't lose my head.