Posting Tons, to Make up for the Shortage

It's always odd when you see yourself through someone else's eyes, even if you're an attention hound like me.

For example: LT recently played a song for me, a song that (he said) reminded him of me, and when the song was over he said, "What do you think?" And I murmured, sort of speechless, that I was flattered.

Because the song was Whiskey Girl, and for those of you who aren't familiar with country music (you're lucky), the lyrics are about a girl who is, without a doubt, the perfect girlfriend. She drinks whiskey, doesn't care so much for flowers and silks, likes to drive fast and doesn't mind when "her man" stays out late, and of course, since it's a country song, her man is totally worthy of her trust. I get an image of long-legged girl in jeans and a white muscle tank, sandy hair blowing in the wind, perfect skin, deep blue eyes, exuding a sense of western calm, drinking whiskey and laughing at danger.

Readers, I am 5'6" on a good day, too curvy to be called skinny under any circumstances, tend to clutch the oh-shit bar when the LT takes a corner too fast, love flowers (although I'd rather have live plants) and am never, EVER, calm. I resemble a round bouncy ball with hair and a mouth, and hardly ever, if at all, do I look in the mirror and see a Western-looking Tommy Hilfiger model! (And if you think I am lying, please check out the following pictures:)




(All images from www.davefry.net.)

Usually I just put flattering pictures of my self in this blog--hey, it's MY blog!--but I thought the time had come to show all the other pictures, in which you mainly see my cleavage, my butt, or my open mouth, occasionally with drool--and also, apparently, my burning need to DRAPE myself over every surface. I need to either learn to sit up STRAIGHT, for the LOVE of PUDGE, or buy a burkha, and frankly I haven't decided which of the two is more practical.

Anyway, you can see why I was enormously flattered, something I couldn't properly articulate to the LT at the time, which is why this blog is so handy, and not just to show embarrassing pictures of myself. Perhaps one of the definitions of love--human love, not dog love--is that your beloved sees you the way you WANT to be seen, not only a better person, but also taller, slimmer, more graceful, sans the annoying habit of turning my chin up at the camera when I smile or without flub sticking out above my jeans. The more I can appear like the girl in Whiskey Girl, so much the better.

After all, I already drink whiskey. How hard can the rest be?

Yeah, right. Some days, even on a really nice day in which I'm unpacking my brand new office, perfection seems a long damn way away.