Get started on keeping your part of the bargain

I can't get back to sleep. I woke up with this oddly intense thirst that I just couldn't slake. It was more irritating than desperate, honestly. So I've made myself a cup of coffee and gotten involved with writing some of my paper, Facebook, and listening to music. Coffee, by the way, is not good as a source of hydration. You'd think, being a diuretic, that would be completely obvious. And to be fair, it is. I just thought I'd...you know...share that.

Speaking of sharing, I'm going to share some things. Because to me, they're absolutely fun and ridiculous and embarrassing, and what else is this blog for?

Photography. But that's not the point right now.

Allen and I have been furiously cleaning out the townhouse, and today is the last day we have to get everything out. Having pneumonia really set me back, and we'd be done by now (I say "we". I have done about 95% of the amazing work in that townhouse, and while that is terribly aggravating, at least I know what a god job is being done) if I hadn't been cut off from cleaning for two weeks. This is all garnish.

I've been finding photographs. Old ones. And they make me laugh. I wanted to share a few more of them, but it looks like I only took pictures of two thus far. Ready? Fuck yeah, you are! BEcause you're a champion. Of the past.

Would you kindly take a look at those sweet, sweet mother fuckers circa 1985. Possibly '87. So, from the left, we have my Uncle Doug, my Aunt Carol, my cousin Chris is on her lap, looking sardonic and slightly aggravated (even though that paper airplane is gigantic and incredible. Look at those holed and perforated edges!), my grandpa George is the affable looking gentleman holding what can only be described as an incredibly large cap, my mommy with some adorable little tubster on her lap (I was on my own safari, it looks like. Binoculars all about the thing, and who knows what I was looking at. The shirt, though, indicates something potentially nautical. Nautical in 1931. Forget the safari, I suppose), and then there's my daddy, rocking the Borat look about three decades ahead of time, which is an admittedly bold fashion move. My cousin Chris and I have been picking out our favorite things about this photo. So far, mine has been the fact that it looks like my daddy isn't wearing pants. Which is foreshadowing, really, as pants really aren't a favorite of his at all. Ever. Chris's favorite is his dad's hair, which admittedly is god damn glorious.

Honestly, my favorite thing about this picture is the part of just me, my mommy, and my daddy. My mommy and daddy look so happy. My dad, however, bushy, looks handsome (look at that winning smile!), my mom looks relaxed and pretty (again, look at her smile!), and I look fun and adorable, because I am. I always have been, and I STILL am. Sometimes, I even carry binoculars. In my panties. I just like reliving the past, I guess.

But wait, there's more!

Unfortunately, this picture is going to unravel everything I just said about me always looking fun and adorable. I did go through a phase (can I reasonably call a period of about a decade a phase? I will, anyway, because fuck you, convention, that's why) where I looked like a fucking nerd. A HUGE one. I call this The Blue Period (well, right now. I've never really called it anything, but if it's good enough for Picasso, it's good enough for me!). Ready? Ugh. Ok.

HOLY SHIT I AM A GODDESS IN CRUSHED VELVET AND AN EMPIRE WAISTLINE. Sears had no idea such a gorgeous, delicious little dish was going to walk into their studio and just fucking crush the ever living hell out of that balloon backdrop.

You were a deeply cruel mistress, nineties.

So, what have we got going on here, hm? Let's dissect this mess.

I was a horribly skinny girl. And also very, very tall for my age. With horse teeth. I don't think I'm older than 11 in this picture, making this around the '94, 95 era. POSSIBLY '93, but I don't think I was any younger than nine. My mom picked out this outfit for me, which really isn't indicative of my memory of the day, rather a way to express that my mother dressed me (VERY unfortunately) until I was about thirteen. I have never forgiven her for this, and I suspect my forgiveness isn't coming any time soon. That heinous ring I'm wearing was my dad's. He lived out of state, and he gave it to me as sort of a parting keepsake. His company would have been better, but I digress. The cross came from my Aunt Jill, and really, I wore it because I liked jewelry but didn't own anything that wasn't my dad's, or made out of plastic.

That. Hair.

I had, at one time, long, beautiful ringlets. They cascaded all the way down my back like something long, beautiful, and cascading. A waterfall of hair. I believe I mentioned in a long ago post that both of my parents were compelled to brush my hair, because I don't know why. My mom wouldn't allow me to NOT have it brushed, and you just don't fucking brush curly hair. You brush it once, right after you wash it, and then you leave it alone. If my parents knew this, I'd be shocked. My mom believed my reluctance to brush my hair was proof that I couldn't take care of it, so she hacked it all off. This picture was about a year or two after it had all been taken away from me. I can tell, because it's longer than it was when she first cut it. And that is not an exaggeration. So, here, we have me sans long hair, with short, BRUSHED curls. Half up half down, for added ugliness. Moving on to my sallow skin!

I actually DO remember this day, oddly enough. I had gotten into a HUGE fight with my mom and my step-dad right before this was taken, and I had been crying. A lot. I don't remember the nature of the argument, just that it was emotional. You can tell. My eyes are puffy and red, and that smile is fake as fuck. However, that could be due to the size of the chompers at the front of my mouth and not wanting to show them to everyone in the world, because they're huge.

I don't understand the backdrop. Or the size of my eyebrows. I feel like nobody was fooled, and it was patently obvious that I was not in the middle of some hugely amazing balloon party. I wanted a simple grey backdrop. My mom wanted something snazzy (this is the lady that would single-handedly orchestrate my glamour shots five to seven years later, and the resulting photos would be equally as unfortunate. Possibly more so, because Glamour Shots).  Since she was footing the bill, she won.

Allen and I have been chuckling over all of the photos I've been finding of myself when I was much, much younger. I would love to share the other ones, and I'm sure I will. At a later date.

I'm depressed that spring break is over and I got nothing accomplished aside from getting better. I've actually been writing my paper this morning as I write this, and Stevie is coming over tomorrow to have a long overdue study day with me. She has an exam on Thursday, and I have a metric fuckton of things that are due. I also have to write out the contract for the wedding I'm shooting in May. Busy, busy, busy. On top of those things, I have to reorganize my house. I haven't been able to do much here because I've been at the apartment for the last few days, scrambling to get everything out. Five years is a lot of shit to move and erase.