Jan. 2: TBT – Ugly Boy

This might be my first-ever Throwback Thursday post. I tend to throw back whenever I feel like instead of waiting for a Thursday.

Let me preface my post by saying that we thought Katie was pretty from her first moments, and were thrilled to discover that she was very photogenic. I mean, even her not-very-good pictures weren’t awful. I think she gets it from her Auntie Sonya, which is why I sometimes don’t like Auntie Sonya.

I wrote the other day that if I could find Jack’s ugly baby picture I would post it. It took me forever to track it down because it wasn’t digital. In fact, this picture was the reason we bought a digital camera—The Boy was ten times whatever the opposite of photogenic is. I finally found the horrific thing in a scrapbook and snapped a photo of it with my phone, which promptly broke itself in half.

So, here it is—and I present it with a warning: looking directly at this photo has been known to cause nausea and vomiting. I’ll give you some scrolling room so you can back out now if you need to.

Jack, six weeks old, on Christmas Day 2001:

I’m right, aren’t I? Ugliest baby EVER. What you can’t really see in this picture is just how big his ‘fro is, which, believe it or not, makes him look even more like he should live under a bridge. Fortunately, Jack gradually cutened up and we were able to take him out of the house without fear of being chased back by a pitchfork-wielding mob. Here he is at five months old:

 

And here’s our bird-flippin’ boy at one year—no need to ask why this is our favorite of Jack’s milestone portraits:

I can’t resist sharing one of my other favorite Jack pics, an outtake from my attempt at something cutesy for our 2004 Christmas cards:

We love that kid. He’s weird, but we love him.

Sep. 18: Woman without a face

I waited until the last minute to renew my driver license, not so I could spend the whole of my birthday at the DMV, but because I am a dolt. I’ve decided that the DMV is a lot like the post office, but-cept people have to stand in line much longer and are therefore angrier by the time they get called. Also, the stink. And the lack of stamps.

I went to the suburbs, thinking the lines would be shorter. I thought wrong; the place was packed. They were calling “#73” when I walked in and my number was 34. I hoped they started over at 100 and not 1,000.

Since I had all my paperwork and identification ready, I was allowed to go straight to the express line, which was supposedly shorter and moved faster. I don’t know what was “express” about my line, because I stood there forever before it ever moved. I knew there was a problem when I heard an old guy 17 spaces in front of me yell, “Since when do you need to see my birth certificate?” and I thought OH LORD, I’M NEVER GOING TO SEE THE FRONT OF THIS LINE AND I’M GOING TO DIE HERE ON MY BIRTHDAY. They would totally cover that up in the obituary, too—that’s how our government agencies conspire against us.

Mr. Too-Old-To-Be-Driving-Anyway stomped off to find his proof of birth, and the line started to move again. When it was my turn, Miss Nice Lady DMV Person #1 was surprisingly smiley and sweet (prob’ly because I had all the documentation I needed—A+ for Jen!). After looking at my papers, she said HAPPY BIRTHDAY! but I detected a tone of snark in her voice, as though she was chiding me for waiting until the last minute to renew my license and was barely holding in YOU WOULDN’T BE SPENDING YOUR BIRTHDAY IN SUCH A MISERABLE PLACE IF YOU’D PLANNED BETTER.

It didn’t take long, and she told me to go to Miss Nice Lady DMV Person #2’s counter for my photo. Miss Nice Lady DMV Person #2 told me to look into a little square below the camera lens and wait four seconds. It flashed and she said I could stand up. She started pushing a bunch of keys on her keyboard and said, “I’m gonna need to take another picture” and asked me to sit again. This time she told me to put my chin down a little, and four seconds later I got up again. She was chatty about the weather and then interrupted herself and said, “Hang on.” She went to the counter next to her and asked Mr. Nice Guy DMV Person #3 a question. He answered “no,” and directed her to Miss Nice Lady DMV Person #4, who also said “no.” Finally, Miss Nice Lady DMV Person #5 said that YES, she could override the system.

I heard that and was all, WTF?

What’s so wrong with my picture that it requires an override?

Miss Nice Lady DMV Person #5 came down to Miss Nice Lady DMV Person #2’s counter and asked me to sit and look at the square below the camera lens. Then she said LEAN FORWARD. I leaned forward. She said MORE. I leaned more. She said to turn my face a bit to the right. Too much. A little more. Chin up. Down. Down more. Then the camera flashed.

I stood up, thinking that was pa-lenty of DMV photos for Jen for one day! And Miss Nice Lady DMV Person #5 said quietly to Miss Nice Lady DMV Person #2, “Yes, I’ll have to override the system. It doesn’t think she has a face.”

…

…

…

I said, “Wha-a-a-t?” Yep, four syllables. “Wha-a-a-t? It doesn’t think I have a face?”

Miss Nice Lady DMV Person #2 stared at me and waited for Miss Nice Lady DMV Person #5 to answer. AS IF I WASN’T JUST ABOUT TO FA-REAK OUT OVER WHAT HAPPENED TO MY FACE BETWEEN THE MOMENT I WALKED IN THE DMV DOOR AN HOUR EARLIER TO NOW.

Miss Nice Lady DMV Person #5 finally said, “Our facial recognition software is comparing this picture to the one from 2004 and it doesn’t think you’re the same person. We just have to assure it that you are.”

I asked why the software didn’t think I was still me, and she said, “Probably your curls.” (Stoopid cancer.) I think I heard her mutter something after that, and I’m not entirely sure she said AND ALSO THE ZITS AND THE GREY HAIR AND THE WRINKLES AND THE MUSTACHE but I totally bet you she did.

May 19: Mean people suck

I need something to take my mind off the people who are mean for no reason except to be big fat meanies oh my buddha I hate them so much I get all stabby and twitchy-eyed and I just know my day is about to become a Lifetime movie because I’ve got a lighter and a lot of flammable liquids in my pantry.

That image is of someone yelling, sure, but it doesn’t even come close to how I feel. I feel more like this…

…y’know, crazy enough over this that it shows. (Except I don’t have a porn ‘stache.)

I know I shouldn’t let these meanie jackholes get to me, but I’m human and I can’t help it. I just don’t understand how people go through their lives leaving a path of destructive hurt and cruelty behind them. My guess is that some don’t even know they do it because it comes so naturally to them, and I think that’s super-sad. I also think/hope that karma will get them in the end. Unfortunately, karma doesn’t always follow my timing demands.

I’m not completely self-deluded; I can be mean. I can. I just usually need a good reason for it. Oh, who am I kidding? Sometimes totally innocent people are on the receiving end of my grouchiness. I apologize when I’ve done something wrong or insensitive or mean. though—but only if I truly feel it. In in the end, I hope everyone gets what they deserve. I like that you-get-what-you-give thing. But mostly, I try not to go out of my way to be a meanie.

I don’t like being lied to, especially when it’s done in a two-faced way. Can I trust you or can’t I? Just wondering that makes me think I probably shouldn’t trust you. And when these liars are people I associate with regularly, that makes trust a constant battle.

I also don’t like having someone pissed at me when I have no idea what I did to deserve it. If they think I should know why they’re pissed, then I feel like an idiot and wonder if I’m just as clueless as they are and then I start hating myself and questioning every behavior and personality trait I can identify and then I feel like I need one of these things:

Or this might be more appropriate:

The problem is that when I’ve presented my case to an unbiased ear, if that ear completely takes my side and blames everything on the meanies, I question the validity of that too. I mean, when my friends support me and say mean things about the mean people, I appreciate it but I know they’re doing it because they love me. But someone I PAY to listen to me? They don’t have to be biased. They have to be honest, right? And when they say, “those people are jackholes,” then I tend to think maybe things are more like I see them than I thought. Maybe I’m not so far off when I say some people are mean for no reason.

Then I wish I was this:

Ultimately, because all of this uncertainty and self-doubt magnifies the tiniest issue, it makes me hate being a girl at times.

But back to my venting…

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…please ‘scuse me while I get some of this frustration and anger OUT of me:

 

 

 

And to try to change it around, today I’ll work on remembering this:

"Holding on to anger and resentment is like drinking poison and expecting someone else to die."

And this is a good one too:

Be kind, for everyone you meet is fighting a hard battle.

Dec. 23: Fugly sweaters

These are super awesome. See many ugly Christmas sweaters, modeled by idiots. Here’s hoping you don’t see one of these things under your tree this year.

Oct. 3: Nekkid yardwork is insane

Listen, I'm a patient, reasonable, gorgeous woman, but this just isn't working for me. In the past few days our local news has been reporting about some guy in Happy Valley that likes to do his gardening in the nude. Neighbors have complained. Is it any surprise? The guy looks like David Crosby. Nudists/naturists never look like Taye Diggs or Eva Longoria. If they did, I don't think people would complain so much. Also, nudism would be a spectator sport with cheerleaders and trading cards. And ESPN would be a lot more popular.

But my point is not that this guy's a goblin. It's actually this: if you choose to work in your yard naked, you are nothing short of an idiot. Let me count the ways:

1. thorns
2. weed-whackers
3. bees
4. rakes
5. sunburn
6. angry neighbors with archery skills

Now this guy's showing up all over the news talking about how he means no harm but he has the right to "thrill his soul" in the outdoors if he so chooses. I'm not arguing with whatever his reasoning is; I just think it's a dangerous sport. Sunbathe, sleep, whatever else... but garden?

Also, the guy's a goblin.

Happy Valley, a perfectly nice little burg, skanked itself up when it recently expanded its boundaries to include Clackamas Town Center. This is not helping.