Gallery

Sir’s finally making good on promising to enforce that rule

So, starting this Tuesday, get ready for a once-weekly serving of at least one of my boobs on your dash.

Gallery

Sometimes, you are snapshots. Found objects. Morsels. A trail of breadcrumbs.

You are things I must piece together, things I have borrowed without permission that came without instructions beyond a pamphlet written in a clunky, hasty attempt at a translation to English.

You are a certain North Atlantic triangle that claims to pull like migration patterns but, in my humble opinion, is more just an intersection with a terrible traffic light that sends us both barreling forward at the same time. 

Yet, in those rare, fleeting moments where the chemicals and the silver and the light come together, in those times when everything syncs beyond my understanding of how a camera or you or I function, there seems to be some semblance of clarity.

But this, too, is only a snapshot.

Gallery

“Beauty without expression is boring,“ – Ralph Waldo Emerson.

Gallery

Artsy types: I have a weakness for you.

Gallery

I don’t like being photographed at all. I just feel like you interrupt the natural flow of hanging out, having a good time, etc to get all posy and *show* that you’re having a good time. It breaks stuff up and it just feels awkward and I feel like I’m wasting precious time.

Conversely, whoever thought up the notion of a “candid photo” as an alternative to the posed nonsense should be taken outside and shot. (Not with a camera. Hurr hurr photography joke. Admonish me later, Montecervesa).

I am too lazy to figure out where else I expressed this sentiment on my tumblr. Just kidding, it’s here. I don’t even have the cruelty in my heart to get lazy on you people and make you do work.

However, it was someone close to me’s birthday recently, so I allowed myself to be photographed as a part of the celebration. Because I don’t want to be a nag and because, oh, whatever.

Guess who still smiles like she’s six? 

Gallery

Now we see this as in a mirror dimly, then we shall see each other face to face.

Gallery

“It is in these moments of tender and ridiculous nostalgia that I know something inside me is still broken.” – Steve Almond, My Life in Heavy Metal.

Gallery

So, my boobs shrank. I know, this is such sexy conversation.

I noticed this when all of my bras just started to feel oversized while on my trip and there were little pockets of space in the cup that would be otherwise good for storing keys, money, change, makeup, a change of shoes, a small animal, etc. At first, I assumed I’d stretched them out somehow in the wash. So, I proceeded to get myself measured and it was confirmed: I’d dropped from a 36C to a 36B. Super.

Looking at them in the mirror at the store, I could see it. They still looked nearly the same, but they weren’t as full. I guess I’d never noticed while away because, while there, my mirror was only large enough to look at my face. 

But, seriously, body, what are you trying to pull here? Of all the things you could’ve made smaller. Nice job.

Gallery

I can’t smile in pictures. It’s like an affliction. I think it all boils down to the fact that posing for a photograph feels so unnatural to me. You have to break up the action. You have to stop what you’re doing to prove to some mirrors and film that you’re having a lovely time. I don’t want to put a hold on what I’m doing. I just want life to go on, uncaptured and uninterrupted. 

That being said, don’t get me started on my problems with the whole notion of going to a department store to take a family photo on a white background. You’ll have me griping for hours.

Legs Malone, photographed by Don Spiro.

Gallery

Goatees seriously are for villains. And sexy photographers. 

boyfriend2girlfriend:

amysticvelvet: