the art of pretending (bum bum bummmm...it's not that bad. I promise.)

So I decided I better not die and make this little bloggy (err maybe not) live on by itself so here I am, not fully dead, but not quite back to my usual self. That may be a good thing but we shall not dwell on that and instead let's dwell about why in the world someone would create words like dwell and shall.

(ticktockticktockticktock...)

ok. now that we have thought on that for a bit, let's practice the art of pretending you're not sick and how that all goes down while shooting an outfit for your blog. or just shooting in general.

With a camera. Leave the guns shoved up on top of your incredibly dirty shelf where they belong.

Sounds good? excellent! 

Let's get started...

1. Sit down for at least some of the pictures.

This way people don't see you about to fall down because your legs are too tired to hold you up any longer. I tried to tell mine that I wasn't that heavy. They didn't listen to me.

2. Take photos of your beautiful new shoes (so you can sit down just a wee bit longer).

Aren't they just the bombdiggity? (Thanks Nana <3)

3. Zone out. That vacant stare? yes. That's me. I was thinking about cotton candy and puppies.

Just kidding. I was hating on myself for letting myself endure the absolute torture of having myself photographed so myself could post them on a blog and write all about the photos of myself. 

4. Repeat! (just with a full body shot. You can tell your photographer Addie said so.

That probably won't mean a thing to them but that's beside the point.

And if you take your own photos...I'm pretty jealous of your fancy schmancy remote

or your incredibly ability of being able to post in front of a tripod with self timer.

I just find that much too awkward to handle.

Because posing in front of your all-too-cool, teenage little brother isn't awkward at all.)  

5. Dance a little bit and than promptly pass out on the wet grass that is wet and not snow covered because it's a disgusting 67 degrees outside.

. . .

I didn't really pass out. I'm not that graceful. I just sat down rather hardly on that wet grass and succeeded in wetting my pants in a rather unfortunate place.

(me: 'No, really! I didn't pee in my pants. gosh.')

6. Enjoy the wonderfulness of your wool poncho that you paid nothing for and than creep your way back inside and promptly pass out on your bed because who knew all that was so exhausting?

 Happy Eve of the Eve of Christmas Eve!

(me? excited? nawww.)