Vixen

I am a sexy, tousled-hair vixen.  Tousle-haired?  I've now thought and typed multiple variations of the word tousled enough that it no longer looks real.  Ho hum.  Damn, I think the sexy part just when away when I said ho hum.  So it goes.

Do you know how much time I've spent attempting to capture the perfect self-portrait lately via the camera on my phone?  You probably don't because it is just sad.  I've gotten into this weird habit of exchanging random pics with a certain someone.  I quickly tired of the "sitting at my desk trying to surreptitiously take a picture of myself...oh shit, is the volume muted so no one hears the snappy sound of the picture being taken?" schtick, and I've tried to add in some variety.  Yesterday over lunch I accidentally fell through the door of Ann Taylor Loft, then I stumbled into the dressing room with an armful of weirdly cute clothes, and a piece of jewelry (sort of, it was clothy and sparkly) that I never figured out the role of.  Bracelet?  Anklet?  WTF?  It didn't fit well around either, so I'm still puzzled there. 

Anyway, cue to me in the ATL dressing room, trying on a crap ton of clothes since they somehow ended up in my hands, anyway, all in my size, and I look at my phone, and it looks back and it's all, "Oh no,  For serious?"  And I answered YES! with the power of a thousand dumbass ideas behind it.  Boom.  Snippity snappity, it's me in this dress!  It's me in this dress from a different angle!  It's me with my face cut off because I'm not that coordinated, and a little of that other dress in the corner!  It's a skirt I really want to buy because it feels like silk and is the color of gunmetal and I like it, but all I can think is "Summer.  Sweat.  Unforgiving fabric.  Maybe not." 

I always smile in my pics, with teeth.  I don't think I look cute when I smile without teeth.  I've tried, damn it, just for something different.  Today I tried in the lunchroom first thing in the morning, in a corner, hoping no one came in and witnessed my idiocy.  Then I took a picture of my pants and heels, just the two.  Every time I wear these pants, I feel like I might be a train conductor in my off hours.  Just a little.  The heels add a special touch to the train conductor notion.  Perhaps a classy train conductor?  Oh, the possibilities!

I might be the dumbass sneaking a picture of myself while at a stoplight.  I might be the one cursing at my lack of gumby like fingers to press the right damn button when using the self-shot mode.  I just might be. 

This morning, in my corner lunchroom photo endeavor, I managed to get a picture of myself with a non-toothy smile that did not repulse me.  I did not look broken, or sad, or anything else particularly disturbing.  I looked...tousled.  Kind of cute.  Whatevs, it happens on occasion.

Don't worry, I get pictures in return.  Yesterday morning I got a picture of the certain someone, and he was still in bed.  He was shirtless, as most men are wont to be early in the morn', and he'd obviously JUST.WOKEN.UP. and thought to capture the moment and share it with me.  Men are brave like that.  I don't think I'd ever try to capture that awesomeness, and if I did, it would be more of a science project kind of goal, like "WTF will I find when I look at this and will it make me cry?".  The idea of snapping a picture like that (not shirtless, though, as I am personally not wont to sleep in such a way, GENERALLY) kind of trips me out.  Don't think so, buddy.  Sometimes when my hair has been blown straight I wake up looking pretty effing cute, but it's not often.

Maybe I have too much time on my hands.  Maybe I have a secret dream of capturing myself in one of these photos and being like, "Well damn.  Not bad, my friend.  Not bad."  Or even, "Holy hell, I never knew I could look so casual cute/classy/adorable/sexy/effortlessly awesome!"  So far I've not had any real epiphanies like that.  I end up with tousled hair me, which is not entirely bad.  I'll take what I can get, baby. 

 This post is pretty pointless.  What I mean is, IT DIDN'T HAPPEN IF THERE AREN'T PICTURES.

Sorry, no tousled pic because I'm too modest, LOLZ.  Or I don't want easily identifiable proof of my ownage of this here blog, even though it is not scandalous or even particularly interesting even.  Also, I am not adept at Photoshop.  Pants and heels it is!