Saturday,
February 8, 2003
A Blast from the Past
A couple of days ago, I was challenged to take a picture of a certain someone from his college days and do dreadfully embarrassing things to it in Photoshop (well, he was wearing black slacks, a red vest, silver bow tie and nothing else -- it SCREAMED to be manipulated. And come on, dude -- you know you were challenging me at lunch).
Not being one to pass up something like this, I created a rather nice image last night using four pictures of male strippers and matting in the college self, with a black title bar that read "How I Paid for College." I thought it was a brilliant piece of photo editing -- his wife apparently broke into uncontrollable laughter when she saw it, as did Lyndon, and the comment on the receiving side was, "I'm just stunned at how cute I was back then."
And he was, too. I think that's true for a lot of people -- we hit adolescence, and unless we're naturally blessed with the body shape that's in fashion at the moment AND are incredibly mature for our age, we secretly think that we're the biggest trolls on the planet. It's not until we hit our thirties and forties and look back at our youthful selves that we wonder, "What the hell was I worried about?"
For
example, the picture at left is from my sophomore year in high school (not the
clearest, I know, but getting a sharper one would require hooking up my laptop
to my scanner and I'm not in the mood). I'm the one on the left -- I was going
for an assist on a volley return (yes, shock of shocks, I used to love playing
volleyball and basketball), unaware that there was a school photographer in
the gym. At that point in my life I was 14 and convinced that I was a huge blob
that no boy would ever find attractive. I think I was all of 40 pounds overweight,
although according to the ideal weight lists being touted at the time I was
70 pounds overweight. Yeah, like there was any way I was going to get down to
130 pounds without daily puking.
I look at this now and think, "I would kill or die to look like that again." Dammit, I was CUTE when I was a teenager -- big, yeah, but in a plumptious, well-muscled sort of way (I had gym five days a week, marching band after school and an eight block walk home from the bus stop -- I wasn't exactly sitting around on my ass all the time). It's times like this that I wish I could have use of a time machine for one hour -- I'd go back, collar this girl and pound it into her head that she was gorgeous.
Then I'd get her a scrip for Synthroid and tell her to ignore every word that came out of her parents' mouths.
Whoops, got a little bitter there, sorry. But you have to wonder -- how many of those lovely young things wandering around right now think that they're hideous? If you're in your teens or twenties and reading this, trust me -- you aren't. You're gorgeous. Revel in it.
Speaking of reveling in it
I'm
still at 273, but I noticed today that my upper arms are really slimming down
(or muscling up, depending on how you look at it), and my torso is visibly narrower
than it was. Stacy called earlier while I was out at my eye appointment, and
Lyndon said he told her about the Incredible Shrinking Melanie and how he could
feel my ribs when I'm lying down. "I don't think she believed me,"
he said, grinning. "Man, is she going to be surprised in April."
She'll be surprised
at my glasses, too. I decided to throw custom (aka Real Big Glasses) to the
wind and indulge in a pair of rimless glasses much like the ones at right. Mine
have pewter earpieces with the expandable hinge thingy that I like, but they're
definitely the elongated octagonal Ben Franklin look. I should have them in
my hot little hands sometime in the next five to seven working days -- then
I just have to find some generic sunglass clip-ons in the right shape (or order
them, but that's kinda pricey), and I'm a happenin' optical event, people.