Am I stalking this woman? No. Stalking assumes fully functioning gray cells, more purpose than a paramecium exhibits and better photo skills. Did I inflict myself upon her once before at the University and Dale farmer's market on a day that was 50 degrees with a -32 degree wind chill when she was wearing plaid? Maybe. Do I love love love asking questions and answering them? Only one love.
She's a bold and passionate woman, this one, and not very crazy at all. She's a sketcher (not a sneaker), she's a blogger (limerencelight/tumblr.com), a serial grocery shopper, a former Californian (who should be having some bigtime doubts about now), a cheeseball who is trying to reduce her dairy footprint, and the proud wearer of some leggings that started out riding English and then, whoa pardner, went all Western on the outside fringes. Have I mentioned how vulnerable I am to fringe?
Don't even talk to me about the fact that I cropped and decontrasted and defined the living daylights out of these photos so that you could actually enjoy the rootin tootin fringe as much as I did but the little tiny evil programmers inside my computer whose sole duty in life is to make me absolutely insane with frustration have suddenly disallowed all edits. Goodness, nearly all the blood vessels in my eyeballs popped, I screamed so loud. Oddly, this had no effect on the problem.