Last night I took three “before party” self portraits prior to leaving around 7pm. Upon arriving home 7am, I took an “after party” shot. I mean PICTURE! Good God, not another shot.
Don’t judge, I’ve had a rough year. Honestly, I don’t know why my doctor didn’t just prescribe ouzo in the first place.
Fakest smile ever:
Looks like I have herpes of the mouth – might be good to know:
There are fourteen photos taken during the fun, too dark to make out. Then suddenly, this:
The girl who had the party is married to a cop. He was out of town, but expressions of his cop-ness were everywhere. Pictures, plaques, guns, and the way anytime you walked into any room or area of the yard you hadn’t been a magnificent motion light shone upon you. Whoosh. Police spotlight! It was like a minefield!
And in the midst of his badass paranoia, he collects antique spoons. We all laughed until his wife got defensive. “It’s his hobby. What?” And again I say: HAHAHAHA.
Police spotlight! Whoa. Turn that thing off.
I’m going to a party tonight at the home of one of my wildest friends. Her husband’s a cop. He’s out of town.
Since moving to the apartment in July, I nod out the balcony every night at KC’s weather beacon and say “That’s my Christmas tree.” The Mexican always said that, but since I moved down here I’ve been claiming it as my own.
So I’m not getting a tree this year because I already have one and I’ve pared down my ornaments to just the favorites. Wanna see?
Do you like the stockings? I love them. That’s my stiletto boot and Andrea’s ice skating one.
Hanging mittens remind me of coming inside to mom’s hot chocolate after playing in the snow.
Made by Andrea around 3rd or 4th grade:
That evokes such nostalgia for years dad would chop down a tree that we picked.
Every time I move, I get a “new home” ornament for that Christmas. This one is simply a key, but the message is powerful:
“Your heart will always lead you home.”
In front of the TV:
Hey, I have an indoor Christmas tree after all…
I do believe my heart led me here. If I ask myself if I miss the house, my answer is, honestly, not one little bit. (Okay, maybe the jacuzzi tub… come on).
I love this view from the stairs. I love having Andrea home. I love hearing her laugh with her friends.
Andrea’s the one sleeping like an Egyptian. She started doing this a few years ago…
Instead of asking each other if Andrea was sleeping, R and I used to ask whether she was in her mummy state or not.
I love my colorful girl and my colorful life. Maybe I’m happy in spite of myself.
I need to do something crazy.
There’s a line in an old Madonna ballad that goes: And I must confess that I… am usually drawn to sadness. And loneliness has never been a stranger… to me.
Lately I’ve been listening to her most melancholy songs that make me feel the way I do when I listen to Karen Carpenter. The entire time I was getting ready for work this morning, I played “Used to be my Playground” over and over and over again – I drove my mom nuts when I was a teenager playing music like that – but I could not get enough of that song.
Especially these stubborn lyrics:
“And why do they always say…
‘Don’t look back
Keep your head held high
Don’t ask them why
Because life is short
And before you know
You’re feeling old
And your heart is breaking
Don’t hold on to the past…’
…Well that’s too much to ask.”
“‘Say goodbye to yesterday’
Those are words I’ll never say.”
So I sang along a billion times until I was running late for work and as I got into my car I wondered, “Why DO they always say ‘don’t look back?'” I mean, maybe I’ll just spend the day living in the past, regretting everything that’s happened, letting myself get lost in despair, denying myself of today’s happiness…. again.
Then I saw the car I was driving behind:
His plate read DNTLKBK. Don’t look back. At least to me that’s what it read.
So I decided to try not to.
In case anyone missed Andrea’s facebook status that weekend she stayed with me, I do have a screenshot…
I’m working on a slideshow of her, ages 13-18. I made a ‘birth to 13’ way back for her 13th birthday using “I Hope You Dance” for the music, which Andrea and I both consider my song to her.
I put it on her facebook, as well as my own. (hee).
Afterward, an old friend contacted me and said in part, that Andrea “simply exudes life.”
I can’t disagree.
Andrea – Birth to 13 years from Kristine Smith on Vimeo.
I got a massage this morning in which the therapist pulled my hair for twenty of the fifty minutes of my appointment. I’m not saying she accidentally kept yanking my tresses while working on – oh I don’t know – my body… she literally sat there and pulled my hair. As a technique. For twenty minutes.
Life: it really is pretty funny.