oiran | (no subject)

I had been waiting for the rain to stop, but it wasn't stopping, so I took the dog on a walk. It was a bit miserable, though probably mostly for me. A wet sheltie turns into a sort of...feltie. We had a long brushing session anyway, and he drooled and leaned against me in a manner I choose to interpret as adoring.

I'm continuing to organize my work area, which is a somewhat daunting task. I was looking for some empty boxes and was instead diverted by a full box that contained many of the treasures that I've been missing. Glass skulls and miniature fans and bees in boxes and broken mirrors. Pictures from magazines, postcards, art projects, a self-portrait (with horns). And photos! Of me! Including one of my all-time favorites!

I'm indulging in nostalgia here. I'm feeling very fond of younger me. Also - WARNING: the all-time favorite is basically a nude photo. However, you can't see anything particularly "nude" in this one, so you be the judge of whether or not you wish to view such a thing.

My apartment, Seattle, 1991-ish. This is one of my favorite pictures taken of me, ever. I'm about 25 here. It doesn't really look like me, per se. It doesn't really look like anyone, or it looks like everyone (well, everyone female, white, and chainsmoking with an ashtray at her elbow). Taken by long-lost friend Keith Bingman, who I believe is working as a professional photographer somewhere now. Keith took tons of pictures of me over the next couple of years, mostly nudes. Somewhere I have a picture of Keith in the fishnet, but it looks better on me ;)

I had that fishnet bodysuit for a single episode of gogo dancing with the band on my girlfriend's vanity label. The next day, a Turkish butcher approached me in the park, complimented me on my stage near-nudity, asked me on a date, and mentioned several times how much he enjoyed cutting up meat. I declined the invitation.

	Woolworths, Seattle, 1987, the day before I left Seattle for Olympia to attend (ever-so-briefly) Evergreen. I'm 21. I have no idea what I'm trying to achieve with my hair-up pose, nor the hand that appears in the fourth image, but I still like this series. My hair was down to my waist and vivid magenta at the time. That "bump" in my hair on the right side of the photos (left side of my head) was always there - it was from my pushing my hair back out of my face more or less constantly. It shows up in every photo I have of myself from that time. The heavy key that is hanging off my bracelet in the second image was given to me by a boy named Colin who was rich, beautiful and pretentious. Last I heard of him, he was dating Dame Darcy of Meatcake fame.
	Woolworths, Seattle, 1989. I am, obviously, the one in the back. I'm 23. The girl in front is Christina. We were like sick sisters for years, but she didn't want me to get married (because she didn't even have a boyfriend) and...I haven't talked to her since. It's stupid. I miss her like crazy. She's my phantom limb. So, if she looks familliar, get her to e-mail me, 'kay? My hair is slicked back with an overabundance of Sebastian Molding Mud which I had found in Xina's bathroom, and therefore I was uncharacteristically without bangs. Instead, I had this sort of flamenco bun thing going on that day, and my styling product mishap actually turned out so well that I let my bangs grow out and had all-one-length hair (whether long or short) for the next 12 or so years. I'm wearing purple velvet jeans pegged skintight, and the same shirt I had on in the four-shot series. I loved that shirt.
	Fred Meyer, Capitol Hill, Seattle, 1992. I'm 26. I fell down and hit my knee really, really hard. Lasting damage hard. Even though I always have bruises because I'm clumsy and apparently easily marked, this bruise was so huge and ugly that even I was impressed. The dark specks are tiny flecks of leather from carrying it around in my wallet for quite some time. I don't know why I was so fond of this photo, but I liked to have it with me and would take it out and look at it from time to time.
	Sylvia Hotel, Vancouver, B.C., Christmas Day, 1993. This isn't me. It's Mr. Glove. Isn't he young and pretty? Mr. Glove is 31 and I'm 27. I don't know if this picture was taken right before he asked me to marry him, or a brief time after. I'm thinking before.

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Thanks for sharing. You're quite the looker (though I already knew that). As is Mr. Glove.

Aside: I wish I had a full-body fishnet. Hmmmm...

You make me want to do this - dig out old pictures, I mean, not lounge around in a fishnet bodysuit. Although that idea does have some appeal, now that I think of it....

The bruised-knee picture makes me want to take care of you. Not that I think you need taking care of, exactly. I don't know how to explain what I'm thinking. I guess I mean that you look rather vulnerable in that shot.

OMG Mr. Glove is hot.

Mr. Glove and Mr. Boni should so totally hook up for us.

P.S. u r hot 2

Aw, you're sweet. I wish I still had a full-body fishnet - that one was cheap and tore soon after this photo was taken. At the crotch seam, of course. I thought a crotchless fishnet body stocking was too tacky and threw it out ;)

What a punk rock girl you are. And yes, Mr. Glove is pretty, too.

The fishnet bodysuit thing wasn't really all that loungy-comfortable, so there's one reason to skip that part and just dig through old pictures instead :)

That's interesting about the bruise picture - I've always thought it conveyed a sort of "it figures" attitude...but I suppose that actually reinforces the idea that I'm vulnerable. Huh. Something for me to think about.

I enjoy posting pictures of myself because others see so much in them that I don't think I'm capable of seeing on my own.

Well, we were hot. We're, like, 11 years older now.

Mr. Glove refuses to be gay for me, no matter how much I beg. Obviously, his love for me is shallow and conditional.

Punk rock? Or OCD? I was nearly incapable of passing a photobooth without getting pictures. I have saved just a tiny fraction because - like most pictures of me - they were usually awful. Still, there were many times when I spent my last few bucks on cigarettes...and four little pictures.

Mr. Glove was much prettier than me. I was sexy, sure, but he was pretty.

Damn. And he'd be so pretty at it, too.

Mr B is the same way. Silly straight boys. And he and I are way older than the two of you, I'm sure. (But still at least moderately hot. I hope)

Back then, Mr. G was much prettier than me. I was sexy, but he was the pretty one, definitely.

It's making me nuts because here he looks like the kind of face that's drawn by some BL mangaka and I can't think of who it is...

I bet you're not way older. Mr. G will be 43 in February, and I'll be 39 in March. OLD!!!

Both you and Mr. Glove are way gorgeous.

My hair is slicked back with an overabundance of Sebastian Molding Mud

Okay, I too was in love with the Molding Mud in 89.

Okay, you and Mister Glove were/are the hotness. Smoookin'.

You're so rock and roll! And Mr Glove is SO PRETTY!

Oh! Great pics! I love all of them. And Mr. G is indeed a handsome devil. Past and present.

Pretty people! *blinks in awe* Wow. No wonder you're hanging around with J, Rhi, Miss Jungle and Pun. Because, like, wow.

Also, your bruise pic makes me wish I'd taken a pic of this fantastic, amazing bruise I picked up in my self defense class once upon a time. It covered the majority of my upper left arm. It makes me think of the days when I was fit, trim and rarin' for a fight.

OMG I AM NOT OLDER THAN YOU. WE ARE ALMOST THE SAME AGE.

*has heart attack from shock*

Mr Glove is very pretty. And you look so darlingly 80's in the pictures it makes me feel all nostalgic for my teenage years. And the boything approves of the picture of you in the fishnet bodysuit (he was peeking over my shoulder as I was reading LJ).

I thought we were pretty much the same age, i.e., old ;)

Aw, thanks! Of course, these pictures are at least 11 years old, which makes us 11 years older, too ;)

Hee! Thanks!

Molding Mud: It smelled kind of like medicine, and it made these little clicky noises when you worked it between your hands... Good times, good times.

Wasn't he ridiculously pretty? He was so much prettier than me. He was so much prettier than most girls. He's still pretty, but he's more...guy-like now. Because he's old. We're both old ;)

and 11 years better, I'm sure - much like fine wine.

Woo-hoo! I'm still a kid!

I won't be 39 'til September.

Thanks! Mr. G is a devil, definitely ;)

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