Some of you may have noticed that I changed my gravatar/profile picture. If you haven’t, kindly disregard this post and find something better to do with 3 minutes of your day. I totally understand.

My therapist has been on me to make myself look nicer lately, which I wrote about a few weeks ago. It could have been only a couple of weeks ago, time flows as fluidly as a waterfall in my world lately.

She asked me to take a selfie of myself this week with my hair done and makeup on. I rolled my eyes a little, although I did agree to the idea. I have to show her the photo the next time that I see her, which is this Saturday.

So the other evening, I went upstairs and did my hair first, using some of my daughter’s hair spray. After I was satisfied enough with the results, I put on a little makeup.

Eh, I looked okay, I thought. Not too heinous.

Then I put my glasses back on.

How can a 42-year-old have a zit on her forehead?


I went to my bedroom, turned the lamp on and started the torturous selfie taking process, which lasted about 15 minutes total. I gave each the thumbs down and quickly deleted them. I’m seriously self-conscious about what I look like, especially nowadays. I haven’t given a rats pa-toot about my appearance in ages.

A long ass fucking time, you guys. Like, longer than Pinocchio’s nose.

Then finally, like some sort of miracle from heaven above, one of my selfies didn’t make me want to puke in my mouth.

I made it black and white (it hides imperfections), put a lipstick filter on it and…lo and behold, bada bing, bada boom.

I had to crop my cleavage.


So there. I hope you’re happy, J.

I’ve shared it here and on Facebook, albeit temporarily. Tomorrow, I will go back to my regular cartoon face on my blog and go back to my tripped out hippie photo on the book of faces.

I’m not comfortable with this selfie, it makes me feel pretentious, like I’m looking for compliments to stroke my nonexistent vanity.

This is really just an exercise that shows how far I’ve come in rediscovering myself again after 6 years of living in my own personal Twilight Zone, with a quite insidious Rod Sterling hosting.

Now that I take a better look, I actually do like my hair. Go figure.