Since I Got A Digital Camera, You Have To Deal With Pictures Of Me. All The Time.

Here is the Very Retarded Cosby Family Christmas Potrait. Seriously, we all look like we have brain damage. You can all agree, it won't hurt our feelings. I think it's just my mom's bright ass red lipstick and my dad's horribly bloodshot eyes, cause next to them the three of us almost look like models. Not that they give us much to look better than.


Ma souer et moi. I was trying to push her out of the shot. Didn't work as well as I thought it did.


My best friend Megan and me on New Years Eve. She always looks at me like that.


I only put this on here to show off Megan's Olsen twin-ness that she was so proud of in this picture. I'm her green-eyed lady, ocean lady and she's my brown eyed girl. Even though she has blue eyes. I hope this picture was really late in the night to explain why my eyes look like they're going in different directions. There were other people at the party, I swear - it wasn't just the two of us.


Self portrait on Christmas, the day I got the camera. I have can't-shut-my-mouth-syndrome. We're working on a cure.


My friend Lauren and I some random Tuesday we went out.


That same Tuesday. I love this picture, even though I look like creepshow. And am also getting violated by Julie. It was okay though - she had been gone working in Washington D.C since August. Her tongue felt so natural there, like it had never left.


He wasn't even working last night. The first Tuesday since May that I've been to where he hasn't been there too. Goddamnit. God fucking damnit.

In other heart breaking news, I lost my turquoise ring last night. I've been bitching for the past month about how I wanted to get it fitted so I wouldn't feel like it was going to fly off my finger, especially when it's cold out, and then last night it finally happens. I'm hoping to god Lauren finds it in her car but I'm pretty sure that's not going to happen. I've had that ring since I went to Mexico man, four years ago. I am so sad. So so sad.

Last thing: Why is finding a pair of jeans that fit you like asking for the fucking moon? Everytime I got shopping for them I get angry; I don't know why I do it to myself so often. I don't have a dime to spare now, but come income tax check time, I'm getting a pair custom fitted at Levi's. And then all my problems will be solved. There will also be world peace and Rosie and Donald will be friends once again. I'm not the only one who's going to benefit from this great create-your-own-jeans invention, so you can see why it is of upmost importance.