Saturday, August 15, 2009

you should be dancing

You see that picture there of me? Yeah, the one right there in the About Me section. Regardless of what it looks like, I am not throwing down a disco move. This white girl can't dance.

OK, if you must know, I was cleaning something off the ceiling. Alright, it was mold. Are you happy? Don't ask me why there was mold on my son's bedroom ceiling. We just moved into the joint. But there was a teensy bit up there, and I had to get it off before it crept down the wall and devoured my youngest in his sleep.

At any rate, that picture is one of the best pictures I've ever had taken in my long-legged life. My husband took it. That's why I look so happy.

Generally I take bad pictures. Very, very bad pictures. Most of the time. For the following reasons:
1) I often have my eyes closed in pictures. If I know the camera what's being used to take my picture, and by that I mean if I've had my picture taken with this camera a couple times before, I subconsciously close my eyes before the flash so's I don't get spots before my eyes. It is a psychological defense mechanism. I hate the spots because they stay there for a verrrrry long time. These spots evoke strained, unfocused looks on my face as I try helplessly to read the body language of the person I cannot see.

2) When I smile my nose does a weird thing, and closeups are not kind. It is a big nose. Big noses run in my family. Er, what I meant to say was that most of the people in my family have big noses. Well, on one side of my family, that is. The other side of my family have much smaller, less, ahem, noble noses. At any rate, when I smile broadly, my nose crinkles and gets pointy on the end, and I look freakishly Halloweeny.

3) I'm over forty, so things like wrinkles and crow's feet run rampant o'er my countenance. And even though I have a nice smile and these luscious lips, smiling makes those nasty, little lines more pronounced.
But this picture, this picture was taken from across the room. I look happy. I am happy. I look gay. I am not gay, just happy. My chin is taut, and my hair is "amazing and luscious." Not my words. But I'll gladly embrace them and feast on their bounty. (Oh yes, I almost forgot, sashay on over for a great giveaway by my friend who is also "amazing and luscious.")

Which reminds me, somebody else recently said my hair was "sexy." Now I know for a fact--and you'll just have to trust me on this one--that this person was not looking to get anything from me, if you get my drift. This person did not owe me money or a favor. This person was just saying what this person thought to be true. That I had some stunningly "sexy" hair. Then said person gave my husband a look like, "You lucky devil." (My husband didn't see or hear any of this because he was busy talking to somebody else. He does that a lot.) Suffice it to say, being told I had sexy hair was the biggest boost to my little ol' ego I've had in a good, long time. Not to mention the fact that I've just been told that my hair is "amazing and luscious." I'll just ride high on that for a while.

At any rate, back to my picture. I thought it important to tell you that I was not dancing at the time. You don't want to see me dance. Even if I get tipsy, I still can't dance. My dancing looks like a cross between a Peanuts character and Bill Cosby. You wouldn't want to see it. It isn't pretty.

link: bee gees