I'm on the brink of an aneurysm because I can't change my font to my usual "courier" setting. I can't change it to any font or text size for that matter. PERFECTION CAN'T BE REACHED grrrrrrrrrr. I will have to overcome this, and forge through the river and write in my blog anyway. Annoying font and all. Sigh. Why must life be so cruel and difficult? Universe, what did I ever do to you?
Saturday nights have become my "stay at home" time. After working three long, late nights in a row I want nothing more than to sit on my couch and watch movies. Which for the past three weekends I've done. It's wonderful. Although I should be productive and write or clean up my room or something else less wonderful like that. Hey, at least I haven't been drinking! Just saucy and sober. Bam! Now that I've watched three movies in a row I figured it would be a good time to do something on my computer. Not write, not look at porn, oh no. First I had to catch up on the news (i.e. gossip blogs), and then look through all the pictures on my computer to pick out my favorites. I remembered to buy printer ink, so I can continue my soccer mom project of printing out pictures to frame and cover my living room wall with. Old lady-hood here I come! Not only am I lame, but I border on mild/raging narcissist, so I like to be able to look at myself as much as possible without having to strap a neck brace around my neck with a mirror attached to it (Sketch idea!).
There are so, so many pictures saved on my computer. Six years worth of drunken nights, parties, holidays, random get togethers, impromptu photo shoots and everything else. There are a lot of wigs too. Which makes me happy. I started young. There are tons of pictures I completely forgot about too. Some featuring people I completely forgot about. I have Mr. Big shots from four or five years ago, some I took and others he must have e-mailed me...before cell phones had camera capabilities I suppose. He looks the same. Seeing pictures of myself when I was 17, 18, is so strange to me. That was the very near past, yet I feel as though I can't relate to the person in those pictures. At the same time though, the only thing that truly changed is my hair and style (to an extent). Meaning I finally learned how to look good. Yikes. I wore red lipstick back then like I do now, I pose that same. I was as much as a camera whore then as I am now. Seeing the progress I've made as a human being is satisfying. I don't look at these pictures and realize that I haven't done anything with my life (not yet at least). Where I'm at today is a lot better than where I was three years ago, and I think things will continue to get better. My hair used to be so light! Progress! And I have pictures of most of the guys I've slept with. Which is hilarious and weird. I guess that's what happens when you're not into picking up strangers at bars. I should make an album so when I'm old I can look back and not only remember how, er, awesome (yeah, that's the word I'll go with) I was but I can show my daughter, Stella/Darla, the pictures and she can judge me. "Ew Mom, how could you!" or, "Wow he's hot, I bet he's a DILF now." I'd like to think it'll be the latter, because my daughter will obviously be cool and open to such a conversation since she will inherently have the slut gene herself. Or she'll be a raging lesbian and dispise me her entire life because I forced her to wear dresses as a child and I'll never get to share with her all the people I shared my body with. I'll have to get a cat. That's neither here nor there....ANYWAY.
How did people live before digital cameras? I remember it then, developing film, taking only 12 at a time. Now I can't keep up because I have thousands of pictures saved on my computer thanks to my own and all my friend's digital cameras. Good, bad, embarassing, all those pictures get uploaded, and I'm lazy and don't delete any of them. That's probably a good thing. Although the thought of, "What if I die tomorrow?" occasionally pops into my head and I think of the proverbial "people" going through all my notebooks and reading what a twisted individual I am. And then "they" (as if the "they" isn't my family, but strangers) go onto my computer and look at all my pictures and laugh and laugh and laugh because I look bad in a lot of my pictures and they think I'm ugly. Meanwhile I'm dead and can't do anything about it. In fact, maybe they'll be glad I'm dead because of the weirdo faces I've made. I'm only human! These are the thoughts that plague my existence for seconds at a time. I've also decided I'm going to grow my bangs out. I saw Zooey Deschanel on the cover of Self magazine, and her bangs are kind of long, and I'm impressionable when it comes to hair, so that's why I'll stop trimming my bangs. Worse comes to worst I can cut them and everything will be Katy fucking Perry again. Ugh.