Inevitable

If you’re a blogger then you’ll relate to what I’m about to say.  Why is it that every time I take blog pictures, droves of randys {my word for random people} pop out of the thin air and stare.  Do I look THAT crazy taking pictures of myself?  Probably.

Well one day in particular, I had planned to take a couple of snaps of my super cute outfit during my lunch break.  I hopped in the car, drove to what I thought was a rather secluded location and parked.  Before I get out, I always scan my surroundings for the usual suspects, you know, the sketchy guy sitting in his car smoking a cig, the teen couple making out when they should be in school somewhere, the randy on a bike just out on an afternoon ride with absolutely no place to go.  Coast was clear.  So, I gather myself, apply some gloss, grab my camera and hop out the car.  To my surprise {insert sarcasm font} just as I set my timer on my camera and the flash begins to flicker, here comes Lance Armstrong peddling along at a glacial pace just slow enough to ask if I needed help.  Of course, I immediately do what every blogger caught taking pictures of herself would do.  I act as if the camera isn’t even there and I’m just very casually fiddling with the huge non-existent hangnail on my finger.  But, ah, too late, I’m caught.  He saw me taking pictures.  Immediately, I get a mega attitude in my head and say under my breath, do I look like I need help?  Probably.  Politely and audibly, I refuse.  He pedals on, but only after he makes a couple of oh-so-not-suspicious circles and after I continue to pretend to remove that pesky hangnail.

Timer set….go.  Snap.  Snap.  Snap…and right on schedule,  the slowest car known to humanity comes creeping down the street.  If I’d have offered to give the driver a piggy back ride I think we’d have made it down the street faster than her driving.  I’m talking molasses people.  I began to wonder if she had run out of gas.  Immediately, I attempt to remove the dreaded hangnail all the while peering through the top of my sunnies to see just how slow she’s really going to drive down this street.  As I’m looking at her, I realize she’s looking at me.  Nope, not looking at the road in front of her…but me.  Geez, at this rate my hour lunch break will be over by the time she gets to the corner.  Clearly, I have to assert myself so that she knows that I know that she’s staring at me minding my own business.  Commence stare down!  She wins.  Back to hangnail.  Finally, she manages to crawl down the street and stop at the stop sign from which point she turns the corner at a normal human speed.  Of course.

Alas, alone again.  I now have to up the blogger ante and get to snappin’ double time.  Timer set…Snap.  Snap. Snap…and there goes the battery.  For heaven’s sakes!  Luckily, I have new batteries in the car.  I scramble, remove, replace, set up.  Now, if I can just manage to take four more snaps I should be able to salvage at least a couple of the 384,456 pictures that were snapped already.  Ready…go!  Snap…Snap….CRASH!  That’s right, the camera falls to the concrete in lady-driving-her-molasses-car-down-the-street slow motion.  Is gravity absolutely necessary, Sir Issac Newton?  I mean really!  That feeling you get when you drop your brand new cell phone for the first time, that was me.  Praying and pleading with God to please let it just have a scratch or two and please don’t let it be broken, I rescue my camera from the evil pavement and assess the damage.  Are there scratches…doh!  Does it turns on…yes! {in my Napoleon Dynamite voice}.  Memory card still in tact…nope, which means my pictures were erased… forever, never to be seen again…ever.

Some days, it’s just inevitable.  Just thinking about this really cracks me up.  Oh well, I didn’t like this outfit anyways.

jacket: {similar} | scarf: c/o MimiBoutique | top: thrifted | jeans: Imperial | booties: H&M | sunnies: c/o MimiBoutique | purse: c/o MimiBoutique