Ugly Selfies (Now That’s a Blog!)

Ever since I bought my first digital camera in the fall of grade twelve I have been hooked on taking weird pictures of myself. Sure, I will pose if pressed for the occasional pretty selfie, but for the most part I just like to make super awkward faces when I stare into the camera and the digital days have made this all the more easy.

Gone are the oh so nostalgic days of film rolls and eagerly getting pictures developed only to find out that everyone in the picture is blinking except the one person who wasn’t even supposed to be in the picture in the first place and of course they have eyes redder than the devil. Sure I miss the mystery, but who wants to pay for all that wasted film?

Now I can just take dozens of pictures until I finally hit that one shot (usually around number forty) that everyone loves.

Or, you know, I can just make silly faces into the reverse camera on my iPhone when I am sitting home alone and bored with a perfectly reasonable size glass of wine.

Really, it’s the best of both worlds.

To be honest I am not sure where my obsession with silly faces came from. As a child I definitely only did the bunny ears in photos when other people were doing it first (I was a bandwagon bunny-ear-er) and I grew up used to having to smile appropriately when having my photo taken (my Mom was a photographer). Still, this obsession took hold and has shown no signs of letting me go.

It was a day like any other day and I decided to take a picture. I remember it all so clearly, holding the camera out just so when suddenly and without warning my eyes squished up, my mouth twisted unnaturally and awkwardly, and I managed to get the perfect flare in my nostrils. It was glorious.

This obsession has gotten so bad that even when I genuinely try to look nice I just end up doing my “selfie” face which is a cross between a happy puppy and a slightly deranged and overeager customer service worker.

Whatever, I still dig it.

Dear reader, I honestly believe that a silly, funny picture always wins out over the overly posed photos that have become so popular these days. Sure, it’s fun to spend an hour trying to get the perfect shot, but you know what’s even more fun? Actually doing something with that hour!

So smile pretty or smile silly, just smile, have a good time, and don’t stress over ugly pictures!

I spend a lot more time than I should admit making this face.

I spend a lot more time than I should admit making this face.

Now That’s a Blog! The Dissatisfaction of Angry Mittens

I am a mitten girl, it’s true. Yes, I know they aren’t the most functional choice for hand warming or, to be honest, always the most fashionable, but still I love them all the same.

For many years while I lived in Edmonton all I would wear when venturing out into the great white north were my bright red mittens. Every day from October through April I would sport these hand-me-down red beauties enjoying the blissful coziness of their warm embrace and feeling just oh-so-very adorable.

Sure there were some drawbacks. I could never text or really use my phone in any way (which was a bit of a problem as you needed a phone to access the transit schedules in Edmonton) and I could never change the song on my iPod, but I didn’t mind. I was cute and that’s all that matters.

mittens

“#@%* you!”

Then one day tragedy struck.

I was crossing the street by my home at 109th and Whyte Avenue, which is not the best of intersections (drivers be crazy!), when all of a sudden it hit me. Like, literally hit me. A car. (Well, I suppose it’s more accurate to say it “bumped” me …) The blow to my thigh nudged me over and my feet skidded on the thick ice. I went down, hard, backside to asphalt. The driver slowed slightly, narrowly avoiding my outstretched leg as they checked to see if I was dead on impact, looking more annoyed than chagrined.

I was furious. With all of the rage and hurt in my heart and buttocks I lifted my hand waving it high in the air as I stood back up, giving the driver the most aggressive middle finger of my life.

To which they waved right back, a small relieved smile on their face as they continued on their merry way.

Suddenly, as if I was an independent observer, I noticed how I looked standing there on the ice waving like a mad lunatic at the driver, my angry finger encased in the bright red mitten, looking for all the world like I was waving the driver on as opposed to enjoying the angry ritual of the middle finger.

It was then I discovered a valuable life lesson: there is nothing more dissatisfying than giving someone the finger while wearing mittens.

Awkward! (Now That’s A Blog!)

You may have noticed, dear reader, that this category has been woefully empty pretty much since its inception. And I have a bit of a confession on that score. It’s not that there haven’t been several awkward moments over the last year where my father desperately cried “Write about this one!” it’s more an issue of semantics. You see my dad has used every other phrase possible instead of saying “Now That’s A Blog” and since he hasn’t used the exact phrasing we agreed upon I have been able to get away with not writing. (Sort of. He still bugs me about writing weekly.)

But he’s finally caught on. So, without further ado, I bring you the latest installment of “Now That’s A Blog!”

Yesterday, while taking the bus to my parent’s house I was digging through my purse trying to find my earphones. Now, you’d think I would have learned the valuable lesson of utilizing zippered pockets since this last incident but alas, I still just throw everything into the bottom of my purse and hope for the best. Well this time, rather than erotic dice, I ended up throwing a feminine hygiene product (somehow this sounds much more scandalous than “pad”) on the floor of the bus. Proving that chivalry is not dead a very handsome young man bent down to pick up my dropped object. His carefree and somewhat flirty smile turned instantly to dread with a hint of disgust when he saw what the object was, his hand only just out of reach. Quicker than a kid touching a hot stove he wrenched his hand back and snapped back up to standing, leaving my pad on the floor of the bus with me scrambling to grab it before anyone else noticed.

My expression was a mixture of bashfulness and annoyance as I stuffed the item back in my purse. It’s not as if the damn thing was used.

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Porter Family Christmas (Now That’s a Blog!)

We’re only a few hours into Christmas Day and three things have already happened.
First, my Brother just convinced me to join the Pen 15 Club. Yup, at 25 I am still falling for elementary school tricks. (Not to be confused with “Elementary, my dear Watson”.) Not sure what the Pen 15 club is? Go ahead, write it on your hand and find out.

Second, my Mother just told me to put on a bra even though I’m wearing one. Finally my body is catching up with my 85 year old personality. That one stung a bit.

Thirdly, my Father told me “Now That’s A Blog!”. And that, dear reader, is why you are treated to this travesty of a post. As per my previous agreement with my Dad, I have to write a post every time my Dad say’s “Now That’s A Blog!”.

Merry Christmas, dear reader.