I abhor having my picture taken. Occasionally, I take a good photo. You'll notice my profile photo, always visible in the upper left corner, is typically a lovely photo taken from a flattering angle and often, photoshopped to bits. But basically, I look like crap in pictures. Which is to say, basically, that I look like crap in reality. The problem is, I don't like how I look and seeing it in a photo makes is harder for me to live in a comfortable denial of that.
Enter my wonderful volunteer experience. I've been serving as an advisor to a teen group and a couple weekends ago, I accompanied 154 of them (don't worry- there were other adults to help) on a weekend retreat. And let me assure you, there is nothing like 75, annoyingly skinny teenaged girls to REALLY drive home how out of shape and fat you are. Ugh.
And after the weekend, pictures started going up. I have to admit, I was very dodgey all weekend, trying to make sure I stayed away from being in any photos at all. And I almost had a 100% success rate until a girl from the northwestern valley chapter posted a photo on Facebook and tagged me in it. A photo of me from behind. In a crowd of teenagers. I looked like an amazon. Worse, I looked like my cousin in New York-- the one with the huge ass I always make fun of.
There was the photo. For me and anyone linked to me on Facebook to see. How humiliating. How undeniable. How HUGE IS MY ASS? Omigod.
Want a good, proverbial kick in the ASS to get you motivated? Have someone photograph your own behind for you and post it to the internet.
Another photo I saw a week later was of me in short-sleeves. I try to avoid short sleeves as a general rule but since Los Angeles is having a fucking SUMMER in NOVEMBER, I've been careless about my sleeve length.
So what is the moral of this tale? I must avoid short sleeves and being photographed from behind.
(What - you were expecting something more profound?)





Ok, now I'm no nutritional or physical expert but if Karolina Kurkova is being called "fat," then I am life-threateningly-obese, right? I mean, who ARE these idiots?
Last night, I was trying on a bridesmaids dress I am set to wear in June and I have to tell you, I felt ridiculous. I wear dresses about as often as it snows in Los Angeles and there I was, in something satin and shiny, cleavage showing, arms exposed... My goodness, you could see LEG. Part of me wanted to laugh, part of me wanted to cry and part of me wanted to put on the nearest pair of jeans in the worst way. 



