Portrait........Portrayal posted 5/3/2008 10:25:48 AM | 22 kudos what's this?     report abuse tagged: profiles, honesty, pictures, truth

LaughTillYaPuke

It's those pictures. Those darn pictures. They say that one is worth a thousand words. They tend to conjure up a larger image of a persons life. One still frame taken out of a movie. I see a picture of a man sitting on his motorcycle looking tough and I think to myself......do I really want to be tooling around on a bike on weekends with a man who never smiles? The endlessly washing and waxing of the damn thing holds no thrills for me. Click. Onto the next profile.

Granted, we all want to put our best foot forward, and maybe part of us worries that we really should put up something fabulous as the competition is fierce. And I am as guilty as the rest when it comes to how I want you to see me. Now don't get me wrong, I HAVE made an effort to portray myself honestly. (to a point) I currently have posted pics of me on a recent travel venture (something I love to do) a pic of me laughing at a family get together with snarly hair from playing football. A pic of me dog tired after a girls night out wrapped in a blanket. But in the grand scheme of things, a picture can't really capture all the facets of a persons personality. And NO, none of us want to be posting bad shots of us with our eyes closed, eating corn on the cob, or having a wrestling match with the garden hose.

After my step dad's memorial service last weekend we found ourselves looking through family photo's. We hauled in BOXES of photo's. We have too many to even begin contemplating putting them into books. And in my family, we are thieves, every one of us. Picture whores. I don't care if it's the only picture my sister has of Andrew losing his first tooth, I WANT IT! Big grin, holding that bloody thing out like it's pirates treasure, hole in the front of his face. Fabulous moment in time.

Screams, laughter a few tears here and there as we all sit on the floor grabbing gnarly piles of photo's and secretly making stacks behind our back to take home when no-one is looking. And as I wallowed in those curly edged pieces of paper, I saw glimpses of the real me. And it made me think about how honest I have been with my profiles.

My nephew Jacob scarfed up a picture of me working on my house. It was horrific to say the least. And I think that little shit took it for comedic relief if nothing else. Me in my bra and panties holding a belt sander, bandana on my head, bandana covering my nose and mouth, goggles pushed up on top the bandana. And there I stood, completely white, covered in plaster, and the room looks like it's in a haze. And it was. I was belt sanding off all of that ugly and dangerous to small children meringue texture someone decided was needed to cover the cracks in the plaster. It looks like a black and white except for the red bandana's and my blue eyes.

But my sister found one that captured me just as well. Pair of jeans slid half way down my hips and wearing dads red flannel shirt. My upper body is laying on top my kitchen table sound asleep. Ashtray, piles of paper and notebooks scattered among the coffee cups and dull pencils. You can clearly see my face, the cat sitting on a notebook swatting at the pencil still propped in my hand. Just me on another writing bender.

Some pictures have gone on to become family treasures. Me and my toddler daughter laying on our picnic table together. Her wrapped in a blanket with one chubby dimpled hand pointing straight up at the sky. And I remember that night. Whispering to father moon with her. And her talking to the stars that were really just fairies flying too fast to be seen. This was the picture that would go on the cover of her adoption book that I wrote for her.

Numerous pictures of me with my daughter, two nephews and telescope on the lower roof of my house. Andrew hogging the telescope, his little brother wrapped in a blanket drinking hot chocolate and my daughter being fiercely guarded by me so as to not roll her fat pre-school body down the roof like a pine cone right over the gutters.

But the worst is a picture of me sitting on the edge of a 3 foot ditch that I had dug along the side of my house. Huge fieldstones scatted around the edges. I had decided that the foundation had to be re-done (and it did) I am in shorts and a bikini top, mud splattered all over my body, cement glued to what little clothes I am wearing, and of course the proverbial bandana on my head. It is very obvious in the photo that I am crying. In way over my head. And I remember just wanting to crawl out of that ditch and throw a for sale sign on my front lawn.

And I remember yelling at my brother-in-law when he took that picture. How I hated this house. That I would get married RIGHT AT THAT MOMENT if a man would come along and grab that trowel out of my hand and finished throwing cement along what was left of that 30 foot long ditch. My daughter grabbed that out of the pile and slipped it into her back pocket. I was forced to warn her that she is not allowed to show that thing to anyone. No, it's for her she said. How she sees me. Invincible. Over the top. Dangerous to stand too close too. She says she wants to learn how to be fearless. And that one shocking statement got me to thinking about our profiles. How in that photo, there is nothing fearless about me. I look on the edge of defeat. Maybe I should scan and post that pic of me sitting on the edge of that ditch. Really show people how I look on the edge of insanity. Because, in many ways, that is the real me. Leaping before I really grasp the totality of a situation. Little to no pride in my appearance. And really, the title of that picture could be the story of my life. "In too deep".

So how honest am I willing to be with all of you strangers? This is pretty much it. I can describe those less than flattering photo's to you, but show them to you? Never. You don't love me enough. But still this question begs an answer....How can you ever love me if you never get the opportunity to see me as I really am? The conundrum. The catch-22.

Last year I began camm'ing with a man who had a certain image on a dating site. He was considered the "hot" unattainable player. But I honestly felt that the reality of this man was much more fascinating that his fancy pictures. When he smiled, you slowly grinned yourself. He was real. A man's man. And I really felt that he had done himself a disservice by portraying himself so one dimensional in his profiles. That the real man was ever so much more attractive and appealing.

And what if that is the truth for us all? That we are only beautiful to those that love us. So maybe it's time to get real. You really want to see what I look like? Just ask, I'll give you the link to my flickr page. BYOPB. Bring your own puke bucket

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Blogs by LaughTillYaPuke: Colors The Most Beautiful Place on Earth Mother Barn In The Beginning TESTIFY!!! She's a Real Mother Alright..... Sharp Dead Toe Nails Melee Come to Life The Game....Part III The Game....Part II The Game....Part I Portrait........Portrayal Cold Puke in Blog Land