Monday, April 13, 2009
It's my birthday, yall! Wooooo! And I'm at home for lunch so I'm not breaking my no day-blogging clause.
One way that I know I'm getting older (aside from the fact that Naturalizer footwear looks increasingly comfortable) is that I don't want to make a huge deal of my birthday anymore. I don't want to shove thirty of my closest acquaintances into a bar on a Saturday night or force an unlucky waiter to contend with eight loud, drunken women. It's not that I don't like a good party, but this year I just felt like keeping things low-key.
To that end, my present to myself (and to you) is the second edition of Go Fug Myself.
The scene: a rural home outside of Austin Texas
The year: 1985
The look: Punky Brewster after a few years spent in a dumpster
I look like one of the Manson children. Or at the very least, one of the Zappas. But check out how serious I am about the sidewalk chalk drawing. The others seem to be waiting with bated breath for my critique. What's that on my right nipple area, you ask? A puffy sticker. Oh, yeah.
Now, on to 1990/91 in the parking lot of my grandfather's old age home.
UNA: You wish you looked like me.
ZOE: Can it, bitch.
UNA: You wish you had high-waisted, acid-washed denim Capri pants.
ZOE: Actually I’m pretty sure I’m better off pantsless.
UNA: My two-piece looks like the Carvel ice cream logo. I RULE.
ZOE: You have one eyebrow and no belly-button. How does that work?
UNA: At least I’m not wearing bunny sneakers, halfpint.
ZOE: Um, I believe you belong in guest parking, hag. Read the sign.
Finally, I will share with you a particularly unforunate look from college.
I remember buying that skirt. It was Betsey Johnson, on sale for $20 at a vintage clothing store. I was in love with Betsey Johnson at the time, mostly because she was the only real designer whose clothes I'd even worn. I convinced myself that there would come a day when it would make sense to wear the skirt. That day came when I got sloshed on cheap vodka and decided to hit a kegger.
Even wearing that I never got laid until junior year, which says something. Also, note to former waify self: STOP DOING THE CHARLIE'S ANGELS POSE. You could not kick anyone's ass. I could snap your arm in half. Eat a sandwich.
(Also: close your mouth.)
I don't want to end by being a bitch to myself, as this is my birthday. So I'll end on a positive note:
Oh, strawberry two-piece with sensible sandals. I want to go to there. (P.S. Nice short shorts, Dad).
Also, check out the top photo on this post: My shirt matches my cake. I think it goes without saying that my skills are of the mad variety.
Have a blessed Una Birthday 2009. It is customary to have a celebratory cocktail at 11:52 am to celebrate the exact moment of my birth.