A Family Photo Wouldn’t Be Complete Without A Diva Not Wearing Pants

I finally found the family portrait I’ve been tearing the house apart trying to find.  I knew I had it, I just couldn’t figure out where I put it.  It’s one of those things I always meant to have framed, but due to the condition of the photograph, I was reluctant to do it.  It was once a coloured photo, but it has since faded with age.  It was taken in and around 1969, putting me at around aged 3.  My parents and my brothers and I are all standing on the porch of our house in Wallaceburg, Ontario posing rather nonchalantly at the guy with a camera pointed at us.   I actually remember the day.  My Dad’s friend agreed to take the photo since he had a good camera and some film.  We all rushed outside.  It was windy and even then, I hated the wind.  Luckily, somebody remembered to put shoes and a jacket on me.  Too bad, no one was worried about my obvious lacking of pants.

Blackford family photo 1969

I’d like to think it was my choice to go pants-less, in a sort of  ‘hell-no, I do want I want’ sort of three year old rebellion.  Not, ‘oh, she’s cute in her pigtails and underwear.  It’ll be fine.’    Thanks. 

My mom had on a nice dress and heels.  Her hair was combed and done nicely.   She even wore lipstick.  The boys wore jackets indicating it must have been a chilly day, and I DID have on a jacket.  Who needs leg coverings, am I right?!   My older brother had the misfortune of growing out of those pants at an alarming rate, while Kirk holds a big dice in his hands that I think was a paper weight.  He loved to play with it.  As long as he wasn’t throwing it and using his little sister’s head as a target, I think my parents were happy he was occupied.  Dad had on his signature cardigan sweater and oh yeah, PANTS.

Apparently, being the youngest affords one the opportunity to not trouble about trivial matters such as clothes, or in this case, pants.  I was more concerned the wind would take my breath away,  which is why my hand is over my mouth in a “OH, MY GAWD CAN SOMEONE TELL THE WIND TO PLEASE STOP WITH ALL OF THE BLOWING AROUND!” kind of moment.  It’s not a look of shock at my lack of attire, like one would normally think.  Not “DAMMIT I FORGOT TO WEAR PANTS TO THIS PHOTO SHOOT” kind of thought.  I think my parents were hoping my pink jacket was a tad longer to make it look like a dress, but sorry guys.  It just looks like I’m standing in my underwear shocked and appalled that someone actually took our picture with the little girl with no pants.

At least my red Keds were okay.  And I had that feathery toy that looks like a boa.  Wait…I HAD A BOA AND NO ONE THOUGHT TO PUT IT AROUND ME?!  DAFUQ PEOPLE, WORK WITH ME, HERE.

If I couldn’t have pants, the very least you could have made me look glam and put that feathery pink thing around my neck.   Gawd….

I Call That Friday Night

The crick in my neck has me walking like the Hunchback of Notre Dame this week.  I don’t remember scaling the Empire State building or wildly ringing bells at a cathedral…but then again, it doesn’t mean I didn’t do it.  Just that I don’t remember….

I read today this photographer has just released an exhibit where he had friends drink wine and then photographed them at different stages after one glass, then two then three.  I CALL THAT FRIDAY NIGHT.   He turned it into a photographic portrait of alcohol-induced silliness and got hundreds of fans.  That is what planning does… I take pics on my iPhone and plaster it on FB like normal winos.   This Friday night is going to be very interesting…I’ll have to make sure the iPhone is charged and invite some friends over…Say, “Red-stained-teeth-are-a-few-of-my-favourite-things” peeps!  I wonder what a pic after five glasses will look like?

monkey pic

Oh.  ALREADY BEEN DONE.  Sorry.

I’ve been binge watching Scandal and I think I’ve started ranting like Olivia Pope’s dad.  He has the most epic speeches I’ve ever heard on a television show.  The “you are a boy” speech that saw him project his deep-seeded rage and ire upon the  Prez for holding him captive to help Olivia assist in her mother’s escape from her imprisonment (big mistake, there Miss O) was nothing short of inspiring.  It was practically Shakespearean in its delivery…If you have never heard it, try it here.

So, of course I hear this rant in my head when somebody is less than intelligent in their decisions regarding, anything really.  “You. Are. A. Boy.”   I need him to follow me around so I can have him recite it at random when I want him to lay it out there… “You. Are. A. Boy.”  Hubby forgot to put his socks in the hamper?  “You. Are. A. Boy.”   The guy in front of you in line at the grocery store has more than 15 items in the 12 items or less line?  “You. Are. A. Boy.”   The Personal Trainer at the gym you just joined told you that you had the lungs of a 65 year old smoker? (Actually fucking happened.  I shit you not.  I used some reeeelllly interesting words in my head and heard this ENTIRE speech)  “You. Are. A. Boy.”   I like it.

Memorize it.  Breathe it.  Live it.

You are a boy