Subtleties.

My dear friends, your eyes are not deceiving you. It is Tuesday and I did post a Polaroid. Hell quite likely is crystallizing as I type. In other words-- its been a damn while.
I didn't mean for it to be so long. I didn't mean to be a negligent mother. I didn't mean to lock my brain child in the closet. It just happened. And so it goes.
Now I'm done with school for this semester and am wandering around rather lost. I figured what the hell. Lets find that key and post a Polaroid.
The picture I chose might not, at first, seem to be all that amazing for the return of Polaroid Tuesday, but I can assure you: You Are Wrong. It is amazing and I will prove it.

First of all, It is amazing because I took it. As you can see, at a very young age, I was quite the Polaroid Protege. See how I snubbed the traditional placing of the subjects in the center and instead pushed them off to the left? It makes for a much more interesting composition. It is as if my brother and my dear little mother are actually in the camera, leaning against its view finder.

Second, by the look on my mother's face you can tell she wasn't quite sure if my non-traditional approach to arranging the photo was for the best. But she was wrong. I win.

Third, look at my brother. I mean, if you have eyes you can see why this picture is amazing. It is because of Evan and all his little boy charm. Look at that smile. I mean it, LOOK! Now. Okay, did you see that smile? Exactly my point, amazing. And, whats more, he is wearing his denim jacket with patches. Patches he earned. Himself. One says, "Just say NO." If you know him now you know how appropriate that patch is today.

Fourth, they caught a fish. And they are measuring it with a ruler. Charming. Charming and Midwestern.

Fifth, my cat. You can see my old cat Pitter. Pitter's name was "Pitter" like the sound the rain makes. I came up with that. I was a pretty smart kid. I loved Pitter.

Sixth, OK seriously. Look at my brother again. He's wearing a knotted scarf. Not like a winter scarf, but one of those gauzy pieces old women wear over their hair so as their set doesn't fall out. It knotted around his little neck. And that smile. Again with the smile. Exactly.

Back with a vengence.

Giraffe: What the hell are you doing giving me this sycamore leaf? Where is the good stuff? Those special animal graham cracker thingies they sell you naive zoo visitors to feed us adorable exotic animals? I want my fix.

Me: I'm sorry Mr. Giraffe, I'm po' and cannot afford to buy the extra "or" for the word po' let alone the expensive animal graham cracker thingies they have for sale. I spent every last penny on this snazzy outfit I am wearing. See my snazzy outfit? My bright, red, burn your retinas out turtleneck and my vest. I am wearing a vest just for you Mr. Giraffe, and it is embroidered. Do you see the intricate design Mr. Giraffe. I wore it especially for you! Please eat my sycamore leaf.

Giraffe: 'Scuse me. I am not eating that damn leaf, look in my enclosure, do you see all those leaves on the ground, it is like a leaf smorgasbord down there. I do not need you offering me a crispy old fallen leaf from the ground, I can get those myself. I want graham crackers! If you do not get me graham crackers I am going to lick you with my insanely long giraffe tongue.

Me: Mr. Giraffe, please, please close your mouth, your tepid breath is cause my face to curl up like this leaf. Ahhh, not the tongue, put the tongue away. Don't steal my soul with your tongue. If you don't want my leaf, and you won't admire my embroidered vest I am going someplace were I will be truly appreciated. I am going to the goat pen, where not only will they eat all the leaves I offer them but they will also probably consume this horrible vest I am wearing!

Love notes.

I know, I know. I am a slacker. Last week, due to the coma called midterm break, I totally missed Polaroid Tuesday. And this week I am not posting an actual Polaroid but an image representation of a group of Polaroids. Please don't riot. I promise next week Polaroid Tuesday will be better than ever.

This week's Polaroids come to you via our refridgerator. They are notes that I have left Josh on various days, after he reads them they get stuck to the refridgerator along with various other notes and pictures that I have scattered around for him to find. For instance above the Polaroids you can catch a glimpse of some fishies I drew, they are kissing, thus "Fish Kiss." There is also a picture on the fridge that Josh's little nephew drew of him. It is quite a remarkable resemblance. The fridge Josh has dark hair, side burns, a goatee, glasses, and three eyes.

When he asked me if I would move into a camper with him, I said can I have a goat?

I have a long stemmed passion for animals. If you have read any part of this blog you will know that. I have a weakness for fuzzy things. Things that nuzzle and burrow and look adoringly upon you. Once Josh asked me what I would do if I didn't have to worry about working, if I could do anything... I said, I would take lots of pictures, write lots of words, and own lots of animals. Therefore, for today's Polaroid I will bring you a bit of history concerning me and goats.
This picture was taken during a family vacation, in which we visited a petting zoo. I expound upon the vacation in this post. This, however, was not my first encounter with a goat. When we were young my brother and I were homeschooled and had a rather unconventional childhood. Our parents were kind of hippies to be completely honest. Instead of visiting a regular doctor we went to an Amish gentleman name Solomon J. Wickey. Instead of taking medicine we took herbs. Instead of drinking pasteurized milk we went regularly to the dairy to by our milk before they pasteurized it. We raised our own chickens and our own vegetables. And instead of having a pet dog we had a pet goat. Well, two pet goats. Sadly the first goat we had, a little billy goat named Spunky, did not live long. He developed pneumonia and passed away. While he was alive he got his kicks from butting my brother in his sensitive spots. It was kinda funny as Evan would run around screaming, trying to escape the goat. After Spunky we got Molly, aka the best goat in the world. Molly was black and had floppy ears. We got Molly from the Amish who said she would be producing milk. My mom wanted goat milk (see, hippies). However, the Amish lied (gasp), and Molly did not produce milk and therefore Evan and I gained another playmate. Molly would play hide and seek with us. In the tall grasses behind our country house we would duck down and hide. Molly, the clever girl she was, would stand up on a stump in the middle of the field and look down for us. She would find us and come running after us. Molly's bleat was quite unique, it went something like this, "Mmmm-baah." If you ever see me in person ask me about it and I'd be glad to show you how it went.

The emotive side of things.

Today, due to my current irritable and hormonal state of being, I have decided to devote Polaroid Tuesday to "The Early Years of Maggie's Emotional Instability." These pictures are best viewed after being off your meds for a couple of days, sipping straight vodka, and wallowing in personal displeasure.

Here you see Young Maggie in a state of utter distress due to an episode of Hair Too Short to French Braid. At this time Maggie was approximately six years old and she really wanted the mommy to french braid her hair, but, alas, it was too short and Maggie just fell to pieces. It did not help that the mommy and the little brother made fun of the emotionally agony she was experiencing. The mommy took this picture.

This picture was later in life (around age eleven) but we can still see that Maggie has carried on in her emotive state. I'm pretty sure that the tears were due the the utter and complete state of chaos poor Maggie's hair was in. Or perhaps it was the ruffles on the shirt. However, I know for a fact that this was one of her favorite shirts at the time, so even though the tear probably weren't for the shirt they should have been.

Ps. That was my bunny Flopsy. I loved her, she got her toes eaten off by some nocturnal varmint and died of shock a few days later. It was traumatizing. I won't even mention the other rabbit I had, Robin Hood, who was in the cage beside her, who got skinned alive by the same Beast From Hell and died. . . I'm not even making that shit up.