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.