All is Vanity

I know that I said I was going to blog more about conversations we should have had pre-Chicago (see last blog), but, really, thinking of what a craptastic time we had there is just a bit depressing. Perhaps it’s because the lesson of our trip may be that we should never go anyplace at anytime. Plus, SRH is blogging about it all week, so you can get his take on it here.

As an aside, I find it really quite interesting that one could read my blog and SRH’s blog and never guess that we have been together for 11 years, own a home together, and are attempting to raise a child together. I mean, we really do see each other every day and share the same existence, but for the most part, our blogs could be written by complete strangers. This week, however, the blogs felt a little duplicatory (Did I make up a word there?)… so I’m moving on.

So I’m going to let you in on my latest obsessive/neurotic issue. It’s a small one, but I’ll try to be as honest and forthright in my weirdness as I possibly can be. I will not, however, be “naked blogging” – where I share my every thought, feeling, and insight as if I was writing in a private journal. I have a journal, and SRH has agreed to burn it should something happen to me. Plus, I’ve read some of those naked blogs, and far be it from me to criticize, but I’m just not comfortable listening in on someone’s innermost thoughts and feelings – reason #92 why being a therapist was not such a good career for me.

Anyway, I decided that I wanted to put a picture of Zane and me on the blog. As with many ideas that I get in my head, I wouldn’t leave SRH alone until he made it happen. I made him sift through all the Chicago pictures until we found 3 that I didn’t HATE. (I do tend to really hate pics of myself as I am extremely un-photogenic. It’s true. I tend to look way better in real life than in pics. Ani DiFranco says she doesn’t take good pictures because she has the kind of beauty that moves. Indeed. I’d like to believe the same is true for me, but really it’s just that I do not photograph well. I figure that this is better than the opposite where you are very photogenic but skank it up in real life).

So here are the three pics I was deciding between, accompanied by the inane mind chatter that I was experiencing as I was trying to decide which one to post. Remember, I’m trying to be honest here. The inner dialogue ain’t pretty.

Photo 1

Well, this one’s okay. We both look happy. (Me - because he’s finally stopped yelling TRAIN! TRAIN! Zane - because, well, there’s a train). I look relatively thin, but I so hate the way my eyes squint up when I smile. Whoa, Zane’s hair is a little wonky. My hair’s okay, though. We might keep that one.

Photo 2

Okay, I like how I look in this one, but Zane not being in the pic might be problematic. I really look like my dad in this one, I think. He’s an attractive man, but not so much as a woman. Also, Zane really should be in the picture – never mind that .5 seconds before the picture was taken he was standing there with me. Then, well, train came by, and he was off like a shot. So now I just kind of look like a crazy, hunched over mama who is hiding behind a planter from the police. Maybe not this one.

Photo 3

Okay, Z and I are together in this one. Metaphorically, what mama doesn’t feel like they are carrying their children with them at all times– good symbolism. Okay, so the sunlight on my nose does make it rather prominent, but hey, sometimes you just have to admit that you roll a little large in the proboscis. Smiling – good. This could be it.

Perhaps you have noticed that I don’t mention much how Zane looks. It’s all about my appearance. Perhaps this is because I think he looks amazing at all times – even with wonky hair. Or maybe I’m just incredibly narcissistic and shallow.

Either way, I picked photo 1, but after all my obsessing and self-criticism, photo 1 didn’t look very good as an itty bitty “about me” picture. So we put up photo 3, but I’m going to call it a work in progress. I’m now on a quest to find a decently flattering picture of me with my child. This could take a while.