I hate hate hate being in front of a camera. But there's some things you do for the good of your blog.
On Wednesday (remeber Wednesday? I was late announcing the winner of my very first blog contest?) I sat next to Sarah, a co-worker turned friend, fiddled with the hair I hadn't had cut in almost a year (seriously, it was last November) (I know!), and said, "Maybe I should get bangs."
Bangs. I haven't had bangs in... Have I ever had bangs??? I must have. I clearly remember a photograph of me on my birthday (my twelfth?) and I'm fairly certain I had bangs. Also? I didn't brush my hair then either.
"Oh, my God!" Sarah exclaimed. "Yes! Bangs! How fun! Squeal!"
Suddenly the phone was in my hand and I was making an appointment for that very day, just an hour later. Of course, after I made the appointment, I had to make sure I could leave work early. It's okay. My boss is my BFF. (That doesn't mean he shows me deferential treatment.) (Yes, it does.)
So. This is me. With bangs. Anyone know why they’re called “bangs?”
The pictures are courtesy of J, who (whom?) I thrust the camera at and said, “Here. Get it over with. Quickly.” I don’t think I ever mentioned this, but my sad kid sister fractured her leg a month ago playing volleyball.
This was doubly painful because not only will she miss the entire season of volleyball, but she’s missing quite a bit of soccer as well and soccer? It’s numero uno. I feel bad for her. For J, not being able to play sports is like me not being able to eat chocolate. I’m totally serious.
Wow, a not horrible profile shot. I usually hate my profile. Did I ever mention I love the color pink? Also, I have a blue nevus on my right cheek. Do you know what a blue nevus is? It's a flat, blue mole. BLUE! For crying out loud. I completely admit to photoshopping it out in the above photo. I’m sorry. But... I hate that thing.
I’m the girl who wears her hair in a ponytail every day. No joke. There’s nothing that makes me feel more scattered and messy and disorganized than having hair in my face. At this point, I started to ask myself, “What the hell were you thinking?”
The head belongs to Tristan, the youngest sibling. He was named, I kid you not, after Brad Pitt’s character in Legends of the Fall. He’s… crap… eleven? Twelve? A total pain in the ass. The oldest sibling, my sister T (no, that’s what we call her) is 31. My mom likes to take her time and spread things out. There are five of us in total. I'm somewhere in the middle.
Not sure if you can see it, but in the middle of my hand there’s a faint blue mark where I stabbed myself with a pencil when I was twelve. I went to poke someone in the butt and the freshly sharpened lead tip slid nice and smooth into my palm. I panicked and shook my hand wildly about until the pencil flew out. I won’t ever forget the image of a pencil sticking out from my hand. Ugh.
I consider my eyelashes one of my best features. And I have crooked bottom teeth. And fangs, but you can’t see them in this picture. And I know what you're thinking. Me and Edward are so meant to be.