Archive for the ‘lookin’ good’ Category

selfie game weak

March 20, 2014

So, I tried to take some shots of myself wearing my latest finished object.  (Lucy in the Sky Cardigan in Cascade Yarns Longwood, zinfindel color, which is best in first photo).

lucypicsmtumblr lucypicsmback

My self-shots are weak.  Here’s the process:

Find camera.

Realize only mirror of adequate size is in the bathroom.  Find clean part of wall.  Try to take picture.  Contort until you get something reasonable in mirror.  Realize you’re too short for whole sweater to be in mirror.  Find footstool.

Try again.  Realize you don’t know where the button to actually take the photo is.  Turn camera so you can reach button.  Flick wristband out of way, which moves whole image.

Try again.  Take photo.  Swear when you realize you still have the flash on and it whites out whole image.  Turn flash off.  Contort some more.  Take photo.  Look briefly at image.  Feel bad about horrible fluorescent eco-friendly lighting.  Take a couple more shots.  Realize ancient bathrobe on back of bathroom door is in image.  Realize you have big pimple on forehead.  Figure you’ll crop that unflattering stuff out.

Find camera cable.  Upload photos.  Start editing images.  Realize that  mirror is dirty and current t-shirt looks terrible under sweater.  The sweater, which, after all, is the focus of the whole thing.  Swear some more.

Go back, change t-shirt, clean mirror.  Take opportunity to take down ancient bathrobe.  Do whole selfie thing again.

Look at second set of photos on computer.  Notice that second set of photos is bad – infinitely worse than the images with the dirty mirror.  Give up and load those anyway because people are only going to care about the sweater.

I do not know how other people do it, with all the self-consciousness going on and all the life-editing that must be applied.  Anyway, I’m thinking those are people are much better at this than I am, or their places are super clean, or that I care too much.  Either way, I’m probably just going to be placing finished item on the floor next time I want to take a picture.  (That is, after I finish mopping it clean.)

Advertisements

soft clothing post

November 21, 2011

Henry’s been demanding “soft clothes”. Which would be okay, if he wasn’t trying to put on sweatpants in 85degree weather. (Of course, for people who knew me and the way I dressed in high school, this all probably seems like genetic revenge.)

J’s been spending many mornings screaming about the injustice of having to wear clothing at all, so I guess it could be worse.  (And then she might rub milk, cereal, or apple sauce into her hair.  So lovely is my little lady.)

Sigh.  Chant.  I love my children.  I love my children.  I love my children…

Note:  I realized Henry doesn’t have any sweatpants appropriate for holiday visiting.  They’re all torn up at the knees, or getting too short.  (As for “sweatpants appropriate for holiday visiting” –  I’m trying not to think about that as a real term.  I mean, I wish I had sweatpants appropriate for holiday visiting.  But it’s all about W and what he considers inappropriate.  Frowny-face.  That’s another entry for another day, though.)

I might have to visit the store and buy holiday-ready sweatpants for the boy.  And me, too.

Post Halloween

November 3, 2011

I really love Halloween now.  It didn’t used to be such a big deal, but since I’ve had kids, and seen how the kids love the holiday, I’m into it now.

I did not dress up, although I really thought about it.  For ten minutes before I had to get to work.  I’m trying to get the office to dress up for next year.  We’re going to have to consider themes.  It’ll be fun.

W does the costumes – it’s his thing.  He loves doing them.  Henry was a rocket this year (made out of a big round thing originally designed for concrete posts).  We bought J’s costume (green and pink fairy) – I was of the opinion that I was not going to kill myself for a 2-year-old’s costume, especially when the chance of her rejecting it was so high.

Henry loves Iron Man, so I got this idea to use one of those stick-on lights (the big round battery-powered ones you push on and off) on a cardboard box.  It’s sort of dumb, and I have no idea if it would work, but the idea of it is really appealing to me.  This idea I give to the Internet, in case somebody actually does it.  (Please send me pictures!)

little things

March 18, 2011

W had gone to do some work in California recently.  While strolling around Stanford University, he made the following observations:

1.  Beautiful campus

2.  Incredibly nerdy-looking student body

3.  What’re adults doing out at 7 or even 9 pm, eating and drinking – by themselves?!

(For the record, he was with a couple of collaborators running some machines in a basement somewhere in 12-14 hr shifts, grabbing meals at the student union and staying at a no-frills (meaning, several bedrooms, one toilet – hostel-style) hotel.)

While he was gone, I had a bad parent moment.  I took the kids to buy shoes.  I found out that Henry needed a size bigger, which I sort of knew.  The sad thing was that J needed a 1.5 sizes bigger.  No wonder she was crying when I tried to put those old shoes on her!

So, W has returned, and I have returned to work (after a crazy couple of days with the folks, explanation post to follow).  I have no idea what to do without a child at my elbow anymore.  Weird.

Hot hot hot. Not not not.

January 18, 2011

It’s been so dry and so cold here, my hands are looking terrible. Worse, they’re starting to crack a bit, which can hurt something awful. So, as an experiment, I slathered my hands with petroleum jelly and then covered with tube socks. Ooo – so *sexy*.

Combine that with the same treatment on my feet, my teeth-grinding preventer mouthpiece, my ratty old robe and two crying children, and I present to you my ultimate nighttime hotness. (Not.)

It’s a wonder that I convinced anybody to procreate with me.

Makes you wonder what W was on when he agreed.

the worst version of telephone ever

December 19, 2010

A couple of weeks ago, Henry had to go to the hospital for the second time this year.

As I was picking him up from daycare, some kid was really aggressively affectionate and pushed him into a sharp sticking-out corner.  He started crying his brains out, I was trying to soothe him, and I patted his head (a few inches over his ear) and my hand came up all bloody. I might have said “OH MY GOD!” but I can’t remember.

Somebody handed me some paper towels, which I packed onto his head.  They asked me if I wanted an ambulance, but I said no, the hospital is really just around the corner.  I had Henry hold the paper towels to his head, but realized he wouldn’t be able to hold it onto him during the whole trip.  So I opened the bag of extra clothes we had there, grabbed an extra pair of underpants, pulled them over his head.  I got him into his coat and shoes and I carried him into the car, hollering to the people there to please call W and tell him we weren’t going to be home,  and we went to the hospital.

Henry cried a lot, but settled down some as we waited in the ER.  He was super anxious about anybody getting near the underpants on his head – saying things like “Don’t touch my underwear!” any time somebody even looked at it.  We got checked in, and the blood was still a bit oozy.  I only realized at that point how much blood was on my coat – but it’s not like I could leave him to wash it off.

We waited in the ER for an hour, with the nurse checking on us periodically.  Then we waited in a room for another hour before the doctor put a staple in Henry’s head.  W visited with Baby Girl J, as did the AA from daycare.  Henry really seemed okay, if fragile.  The doctor confirmed this, saying that A) head and scalp wounds bleed a lot, and B) if anything serious had happened to Henry, he wouldn’t be nearly as wiggly and curious.

The upshot is that Henry had a single staple in his head for a week, a day at home chilling to videos of diesel engines, and I am very grateful that things turned out okay.

The thing that seems funny in retrospect is retelling the story to my parents.  I told my dad, whose English is pretty good (I have a habit of trying out my Korean and then repeating in English).  He seemed a little upset, but calmed down once he realized Henry was okay, but told me my mom would want to talk to me once she got home.

An hour later, my sister calls (she was with my mom) and wants the whole story again, and again, and asks all sorts of details (she’s a nurse so I figure her questions mean something) in English.  Also, her Korean is better than mine, so I figure she’ll have a good way of describing stuff to my mom.  She was also asked me a bunch of times whether the staple was in hair territory or on the face – because then Henry would need a plastic surgeon.  It was in hair, so no problem.

Twenty minutes later, my mom calls and wants me to repeat the whole story – in English and Korean – after my dad and my sister have already given her the low-down.  How many times does she need to hear the story?  (By the way, how many times do I have to hear that head wounds bleed a lot?  I was an EMT.  I KNOW.  I know people are only trying to be comforting and have something to say, but that particular phrase is not comforting.  Even in Korean.  Or especially in Korean.)

So the first time Henry went to the hospital this year was because he had walking pneumonia and they wanted a chest x-ray to confirm.  Scary.  A whack of antibiotics cleared that up within a week.  Modern medicine is awesome.

But between the pneumonia and the head wound – my poor Henry.

On a side note – a friend of my commented that when it was all the thing for guys to shave their heads, she noticed how many had numerous scars, nicks, knots, bumps and dings.  Probably from stuff just like this.

girl groups

December 13, 2010

While looking at some photographs of weddings recently, I noticed something.

Photographs of some friends who had weddings in the 70’s and 80’s – their bridesmaids looked sort of like girl groups of the 50’s and 60’s – you know, all the same outfit, hair, accessories. Weddings in the 90’s and ’00’s are sort of like girl groups of the 80’s and 90’s (leaning towards R&B groups) – similar outfits, hair and accessories, but you can tell who is who by how the outfit is customized. The girl with a single off-the shoulder and shorter skirt is sassy, the one with sandals is carefree, the one with great accessories and the really nice nails is obviously girly-girly.  And there is still one truth: the one with the best hair and big voice is the lead.

Weddings. Still 20-30 years behind actual fashion.

the real story of the haircut

December 2, 2010

I have funny hair – it’s thick, I have a lot of it, and it’s short.  It can be hard for people to cut.  I also have a very round face – it can be hard to find a haircut that’s flattering.  My solution for finding a haircut is to check out people with face shapes like mine and similar hair.  These tend to be Asian men.  So if there’s some hair I like, I will print it out to bring to the cuttery.  Fair enough.

W walked into my office last week, looked at my desk and asked, “Why do you have all these pictures of Asian men?”  (Maybe he was concerned about my recent foray into Kpop, I don’t know.)

First of all, it was only 2 pictures of strangers with nice haircuts.  But I was embarrassed about the pictures, so I tossed them.  Then I went to the place early so I could find another picture of something similar.  I got the haircut, it was fine.

At my mom’s house, I woke up with my new short hair sticking up all over the place, especially on one side.   W commented on how much he liked my new “butchy cut” while patting the sticking up side.  The thing is, I think he really does like it.  He would probably also dig it if I shaved it down – but my head is so lumpy, I think it would look terrible.  If my head were nice and round and smooth, I’d have done it in a heartbeat years ago.

All of this makes me sound so desirable, I don’t know why I’m not beating off all the potential suitors.  I really don’t.  😛

Presentation expectation

November 23, 2010

I’m an adult, okay?  Really.  So why the hell do I feel like I have to get a haircut when I’m about to visit my parents house?  Ugh.  I’m trying to make an appointment (phone’s busy) at my local cuttery and it’s a pain.

Part of it is marrying a guy who only cuts his hair on two occasions – important social events (seeing his parents, seeing my parents, weddings and funerals), and important work events (conferences, big meetings).  Since he almost ways takes Henry to get his hair cut, I suppose Henry is also getting this imprinting.

I just want to be oblivious, show up at my mom’s house, have her harass me about the haircut and be done with it.  If she’s busy harassing me about the haircut, then maybe she’ll let some other thing slide.  There’s always hoping, right?

I like having short hair – I hate getting my hair cut.  It’s easy having short hair.  Keeping up the maintenance on a short cut, not so easy.  If there was some contraption that allowed me to stick my head in the sink/vacuum/lamp/appliance and get on with my day and not deal with the appointment, interrupting my day, and talking to the stylist about what I want, I’d totally do it.  Maybe I should make a visit to the men’s barbershop – something for fast and cheap would be my style today.  I don’t even care what it looks like, much.  I always hate it anyway, for the first week or so.

Man.  It’s a hassle.  (I know there used to be a real Suck’n’Cut – the Flowbee – and I actually knew somebody who owned one.  He bought it, loved it, wanted to buy accessories, and found out the company went out of business.  He was still using it though, years later.  I am so jealous of this guy now, you won’t believe.)