shoesonwrong

As I’ve mentioned on here previously, I was an accident prone kid. Here’s me sporting a Mr. Rogers sweater and a shiner. I tried to find one of my tooth that was broken and turned a horrible green-grey color after I slammed my face into the floor, but there weren’t any in my Flickr account. Lucky you. (It’s kind of gross looking.)

I was a child that always sounded a few years older than I actually was. I talked early and began with full sentences shortly after. However, physically, I was dumber than a bag of hammers. I could NOT master the concept of running without smashing my face into a wall.

Let’s just pretend the various bruises, scrapes and cuts in this picture are from being in a tiny gang war on the mean streets of Bellevue, Michigan.

GCPOYT

Hello, October.

Behind me is another eight acres of heavily wooded land, and I’m sitting on small structure that housed a generator that was used to power our home at the time because the power lines didn’t come all the way out to us. My parents still live there, and electricity finally made it but cable hasn’t.

Don’t let the smile fool you; this was my first suicide attempt.*

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*Gallows humor is sort of a requirement when you’re all crazy n’ stuff.

I never was destined for a maritime career, as one might guess from the disgruntled look in the photograph.

Too many sharks.

(Funny story: I grew up near a very small, but very deep, spring-fed lake. This lake has a long, shallow, sandy shelf near the shore that extends a few hundred feet into the lake. Then the lake floor dips deeply and plummets a few hundred feet. The shallow water was very light blue and the sand beneath was visible, but the deep water was dark blue and the bottom wasn’t visible despite the water clarity. As a little girl, I was always told not to go near “the blue water.” When I was four, my parents plunked me down on a sailboat with them and some friends and we went into THE BLUE WATER. I have vivid memories of screaming, “NOT THE BLUE WATER NOT THE BLUE WATER.” Because I was sure we were all going to die non-specific, blue-water-related deaths. And then it gets a little fuzzy because apparently I PASSED OUT. This is an example of why you should explain things better to children and why you should not give birth to a child with severe anxiety problems.)

GCPOYT

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It’s almost cruel to photograph children during their awkward preteen years (I’m twelve here).

I can’t wait until I have a big awkward kid one day to endlessly photograph.

GCPOYT

I still do this. In fancy restaurants and during conversations, even.

“Oh, so I think the situation in Iraq is just terrible. It’s such a mess that there’s no easy w— *slumps over, snores*”

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The year is 1992. Seven years old and on the local basketball team, I am secretly harboring desires of playing for the Chicago Bulls. I am in the front row, third from the left. We’re all wearing the same size shirts, but you wouldn’t know it based Giantess McFlunked A Grade next to me. Others may have tucked their shirts in, but I went for that super chic, is she or isn’t she wearing shorts look.

Click through and get a better look at everyone. This picture is so awesome that anything I post from here on out is going to suck in comparison.

GCPOYT