Action shot (Taken with instagram)
“Mom, take a picture of my teeth. They’re really sharp!” (Taken with instagram)
Mila’s Violent Art entitled “Octopus Dolphins and Sharks; Little Dolphins eat the Octopus” (Taken with instagram)
My Dual Nature
A quick thought before I watch Breakfast at Tiffany’s for the very first time.
I was trying to get Mila to sleep just now for her afternoon nap and our neighbor girls (three of them) were outside singing “At Last I’ve Seen the Light” from Disney’s “Tangled”. It was cute, but after the third rendition in a row my thought process was like this:
SHUT THE F&CK UP.
My daughter is trying to sleep.
But then I thought, you know it really could be worse. Instead of having over zealous neighborhood Disney fans I could live in a rapey drug den where bullets and sirens were my daughter’s daily lullaby. So their little voices are more sweet than annoying, I’ve decided after all.
Also, I just closed my window and problem solved.
Shawty is a 10
I had an interesting conversation with my lady friends last night. It stemmed from a comment made earlier in the evening about a mutual ne’er-do-well acquaintance being a “3” in terms of looks. We all had a good, albeit cruel, laugh and continued with the evening.
Worth mentioning is the fact that I think it’s safe to say that between the three of us, none of us truly believe a person’s worth is something that can be measured. It was just a comment made over drinks that we had some fun with.
But later in the evening, it got me thinking….dude, what’s my number? I brought it up. I told my friends, I’m probably a solid “7”. That seems like an average, safe number to me. My own self image conjures up a blending of the Geico gecko and any horribly awkward Kristin Wiig character. So “7” seemed most accurate to me.
My friend gasped and said that my number had to be higher. Feeling like maybe that was one of those knee-jerk friend reactions in responding to negativity, I asked both of my friends what they thought their numbers were, mostly if they thought they were 10s. (Which I did expect them both to think they were).
But to my surprise neither of them thought they “10s”, but closer to “8-9”. So what the heck. If the people I love and admire and think are totally amazing still don’t think they’re 10s….then I’m definitely a solid “7.”
Kind of a weird conversation but I’ve been thinking a lot about self image lately so this sort of stuck with me. I mean, I know I’m awesome…but I don’t know if what I am projecting always is (I know it’s not).
But maybe I’ll just decide that me living in and loving my solid “7” is what it means to be a “10” to me. That sounds much easier than becoming an actual “10.”
IF NONE OF THIS MADE SENSE THEN JUST KEEP SCROLLING.
Also, I loved this song by The Dream one summer when I was hugely pregnant. Being a stick pregnant person actually made me feel closer to a 10. Thanks The Dream!
Moonrise Kingdom by Ookah
(Source: blackroseparadise, via discoglamour)
