Just in case you thought I was kidding about my narcissitic qualities…
I love to Photoshop. I don’t love the idea of people suing me over using their images. Therefore… it’s just easier to photoshop myself. Sometimes my friends after I bother them enough to be sure they don’t mind. And the occasional Johnny Depp. These are from the past week as I was lying in bed with the death. Both were taken when I was in Green Bay a few weekends ago. Yes, I am a vain little thing. =)
Once upon a time, I was a girlie little girl; Ribbons in my hair, dresses, and shiny shoes were REQUIRED to leave the house. Pink was not just a color, but a LIFESTYLE! As I grew older, I came to realize it was a lot harder to keep up with the boys while keeping ones shoes pretty and dress clean. I traded the pretty and prissy-ness in for the still favorite Jeans and T-Shirt (the glitter obsession never fully left). Upon making the decision to be more of an active tomboy, I rejected all things girlie. This included my former favorite color.
Flash forward to Feburaray. Valentines Day is just around the corner, and it’s time to work on the little monkies’ painting skills. Giant paper hearts are cut out of the massive butcher block rolls, and pinned up to the door that we use as the easel.
“Kieran, you like the art area. We’ll put you in charge of painting.” I hear from across the room. Obviously, my jean and t-shirt get up is easier to clean than theirs are. It’s cool… if it stains, it’ll add character, right? I pull out the jugs of red paint that have separated since the last time they were used, and start shaking. “What colors should we do? Red for Valentines Day, but should we put out another one?” I ask.
“PINK!” the little voice below shouts. I look down to see J, the spitting image of myself at 4. She is THE absolute definition of girlie, and she’s smart and funny to boot. She is also holding the white jug of paint with a giant smile on her face. “You’ll need this!” I was hoping for something a with a little more contrast, like black. Why don’t we make black a Valentines color? Draw the Singles Awareness Day in to the schools. Sighing, I pour some red in the bowl and help J pour in some pink. Then, we mix it until the colors blend. J looks at me and makes a face. “It looks just like that peppermint stuff my mommy gives me when I have a tummy-ache.”
She was right – it did look an awful lot like Pepto Bismol, and it had the same consistancy to boot. Great. “Let’s add a little more white and see if we can make it in to princess pink,” I say as I reach for the white. We add another huge glop, and mix, and much to our surprise… it stays Pepto pink. How does that work?
J decided that she would settle for the “tummy medicine pink” and got her smock on. By this point, word had spread throughout the room about the painting area being open. Leaving the color physics, I spent the rest of the work time putting on smocks and doling out paper.
During clean up, J wanders over to help me hang up the pictures. After putting the last one on the wall, we step back to admire our work. I look over at her, and she is making her face again. “What’s wrong, pumpkin?” I ask. She looks at me. “It looks like somebody puked all over the walls.”
Curse you, Pink, yet again.
So, I read this on Robin’s Blog, and it looked really fun.
The game is, you take the 5th picture out of your 5th Folder, and discuss it. In the actual factual game, you’re supposed to tag 5 people too, but I’m not going to do that because I’m kinda lame like that.
These are my awesome shoes. They are black heels with pretty silver poka dots. I got them at DSW on an unbelievable sale. Yeay shoes. The junk below it is what was living in the back seat of Kyna’s car at the time. We were driving from Ripon (where I was in school), to Appleton in order to go to Hooters. I had never been – seeing as I hail from Upper Michigan and we don’t have such convinences as Target, Starbucks, and Hooters.
We all got all decked out to go. It was about an hour drive, and we wanted to look smokin’. I will say, these shoes with my little denim jeans were quite the pair. My boyfriend at the time certainly enjoyed it, and I think about 12 people came up and complemented me on the shoes. Well, maybe not 12.. but it sure felt like a lot.
Let that be a lesson to you all.. you will always be sexy in a cute pair of shoes.
I was going to write a whole blog about how awesome I am. Let’s face it, I am pretty flippin’ cool. I’m so cool, you want to know what I’m thinking, so you are reading my blog. Word.
But instead, I got distracted by a friend of mine and his drunken passes via IM. In spite of knowing full well that said passes were done under the guise of a few Schmirnoffs, my ego bubble grew a little. Add that to the string of random MySpace dudes flirting with me over the past week or so… I’m surprized my head can fit through the door.
There is something wrong with me… I’m sure of it. I place far too much value on my personality and character to be easily wooed by pretty words. I’m smart! I’m funny! I collect Beatle vinyls! But, it’s the “Gosh, you’re pretty” comments that wrap themselves around my head and inflate away.
I suppose I have set myself up for it… I am just as guilty as 90% of the MySpace/Facebook community of the crime of self photography. My favorite place seems to be bathroom mirrors. I have mastered the one handed photo, and know exactly to what degree to tilt my chin so my nose looks smaller. I have not taken any pictures in my undies, but I do admit to photoshopping even the slightest flaw away. Is my hair really that color? Only my hairdresser knows for sure…
I’m willing to bet that you are a wee bit narcissistic as well. C’mon… you read what other people post after your comments, and get that smug self satisfaction when they agree and tell you how witty you are. Likewise, you get that irritating little twitch when they disagree with you. Your pictures never show your bad angles or flabby spots. I’m pretty sure you’ve considered photoshopping that blemish away, if you had the means to. I bet you’ve even untagged yourself in an unflattering picture.
I do take great comfort in the fact that I’m not the only person in the entire world who does this. Look at any social networking site, and you’ll find entire albums of posed candid shots and Miley Cyrus faces. It’s not just limited to the teenie boppers either… i’m well out of that phase of my life… out loud at least…
At least I admit it though, right? I don’t post the pictures and then go “OMFG… I’m so fat/ugly/hairy/drunk!!!” I don’t go fishing for the complements. I have not begged my friend list to go comment on my face for a LONG time. Doesn’t mean I don’t get excited everytime I see the “New Photo Comment” button pop up.
I, Kiwi, am a narcissist. Welcome to my blog.
