I simply can't get enough photoediting software. There aren't enough free programs for me, I NEED. The internet is my pusher and our relationship is steady and toxic. I can tweak the lighting, I can add text, I can cut my son out and put him in the talons of an eagle! Look baby, LOOK! You are flying! No picture is safe from my compulsion. Be it blurry, horrendous, or incriminating, I will fix it! I'd probably edit mugshots if the lovely people at the department of corrections would learn how to return a phone call. If there is a stranger in the shot, they get a flick of my wand and that bald patch in front is now a deep thicket of hair!
The most revolutionary element of my new found friend it the realization that I never have to look good again. Ever. Ever ever ever ever. I don't need to put on makeup, I'll edit it on later! Dark circles? What dark circles?! I have achieved fake awake by blurring out those hideous black rings and replacing them with alert, taught, 15-year old skin. There will NEVER be baby puke on my shoulder, my clothing will never again be wrinkled... hell, if I want... I can only be seen in designer duds. Who cares if you saw me in Target yesterday looking like the tail end of a donkey! It never happened. I looked marvelous in my DVF dress and my new, yet unreleased to the public Balenciaga bag! Cutting edge! Oh, and I can PROVE it... I've got pictures.
This is the best thing to enter my life since the long missed baggy sweatshirt trend. The 80's may have been largely about tight fitting pants (though, in elementary school... I could TOTALLY pull those off!) but they were just as into HUGE t-shirts and sweatshirts worn at formal gown lengths! Now, with a flick of a finger and the click of a button I have an aesthetician, plastic surgeon, trainer, stylist, and professional lighting expert following me around. I also have the glory that is "delete". Unflattering and unfixable.... UNTRACEABLE. Did I really fall off of a curb and onto my cushy derriere last Christmas thus exposing the secret to my seamless pant/waist line...NOPE. Never happened, you can't prove it, I'll KILL anyone who says otherwise!
I also never have to tend to my children again. Drool away baby, wipe that snot all over your cheek toddler. Go ape in that chocolate fountain. I'll just click it away later and we'll be the picture perfect vision of Norman Rockwell's better dreams. No goofy smiles, no gum in the hair, YES he's wearing a seatbelt! I can make ANYONE a couple. You want to see your wenchy hot yoga instructor out for a night of drinking and debauchery with the guy that "holds the hose" when cleaning out the portalets??? Give me a sec and it'll be photographic history.
I am now editing in my dreams. I dream of big hairy moles on the lips of hot young hussy's. I envision stretching out the ass and thighs of anyone who "claims" to like the gym. I swoop in and paste big, globby pastries in their shocked faces. I make my living room look clean. I will now rule the world from my laptop and feel the power course through my veins. I twitch just thinking about obtaining the ability to make myself a size 0. So far the obstacle lies in how to explain the void in background surrounding my amazingly petite frame.
So, in summary, you can't stop me. I don't want to be stopped, and besides.. there isn't even a photoshop rehab...yet. Let me have my delusions and false sense of sexiness. Let me walk around like my shirt isn't tucked into my underwear... my HUGE unsexy underwear. Tomorrow, I'll edit that picture and that moment won't have happened. In pictures I'll have it all together. Everything will match, the lighting will always be flattering, and my kids will always be well behaved. Perfection at my fingertips. I'll be the PERFECT MOTHER.... after I edit my hands off of my son's neck.
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1 comment:
Heart! You are just so stinkin' great.
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