I have always hated pictures of myself.
I never know how to pose or stand or smile.
I don’t know my best angle or side or whatthefuckever.
One of Too’s friends thought she was paying me a compliment when she said ‘You look so cute when you smile and your eyes go all like SQUINTY and tiny and stuff’
Yeah. Thanks for that.
Last week I had to have my work photo updated for my ID.
I managed to dodge all the regular photo sessions over the last YEAR but eventually I HAD to get it done or I wouldn’t be allowed in the building.
Well LEGALLY anyway.
And I don’t have the right shoes to scale concrete walls to the second floor balcony.
So a photo session was booked. Just me and two blokes trying to operate a camera that they clearly had never looked at before.
The usual is point, shoot, get the fuck out of there.
Oh not for me. Twenty minutes and TEN pictures later I was back at my desk wondering how bad they could possibly be for it to take TEN GOES to get it right.
Fast forward to today when one of the Facilities dudes arrives at my desk (I didn’t even KNOW that they were allowed OUT of their area, so to say seeing him was a surprise is an understatement) and wants to chat with me.
‘Um, Kelley, I think we need to set up another time to take your picture. They didn’t turn out well’
Now for a BLOKE to look at a picture – after photographing 300 other people – and think ‘yeah, no… this picture is BAD’ is a pretty big achievement. ESPECIALLY when said dude took NINE EXTRA PHOTOS.
Now, in my defence, they had NO CLUE how to operate the newly purchased camera and the BEST shot was half in shadow… but the half that wasn’t looked like I had spent the last couple of months decomposing on the bottom of a lake.
Bloated and blotchy.
Seriously, THAT is not what I see when I look in the mirror.
I see awesomeness, and fabulousness and rainbows and well… NOT THAT.
I need me some lessons in posing for the camera before Friday. Cause the dude has booked a room for my next photo shoot and basically if you can see my face that is what is going on my ID that I will have to carry EVERYWHERE.
Maybe from teh school of Gaga.
Just gotta get past security wearing all that metal…
Or should I break out Saint Kelley?
Nah, I don’t think my co-workers could handle the Saint.