Wednesday, January 29, 2014

My Senior Moment

Most of the time, I do apply a bit of makeup before I leave the house.  A little blush, mascara and blistex.  That is, when I can find one in the bottom of my pocketbook.  Maybe some lipstick if I'm feeling particularly festive.  And when I look in the mirror these days, I find myself thinking, Eh, not bad.  I'm okay with this reaction.  I try to go easy on my equipment.

When I was young, I piled the make-up on pretty thick.  I left the house in the morning, a dewy, fresh faced teen.  I stopped in every rear view mirror and store window up Zerega Avenue, slapping on the war paint along the way.  By the time I got to school, I resembled a 35 year old prostitute.  I was convinced this was a terrific look.

The first time I had my Senior photographs taken, my mother was so horrified by the proofs, she immediately called the portrait studio and scheduled another appointment.  Then she stood me at the kitchen sink and scrubbed the shocked expression right off my face.

Big Mare made the mistake of letting me go to the photo session, unsupervised. A bunch of us girls met at McDonald's, then we took the bus to Olan Mills on Bruckner Boulevard.  Each of my friends was given an opportunity to enhance my exotic Irish features with the careful application of as much eyeshadow and lip liner as my skin would tolerate.  Of course, without collapsing under the sheer weight of their enthusiastic efforts.

Although I didn't want to admit it at the time, the original photographs were quite hideous.  Consider this scenario - An amateur mime is performing on the sidewalk in front of a cosmetic factory.  Suddenly, Kaboom - an explosion occurs! She staggers into the adjacent building and is immediately swathed in a black graduation drape.  Ready?  Say cheese!

During the course of my countless adventures, I've lost and left behind many sentimental items, including my high school yearbook.  I wasn't particularly upset with regard to this souvenir because the initial photograph, with my headshot ready for the Kabuki Theater playbill, was chosen by default to represent me forever at that particular moment in time.  A friend lent me her yearbook recently so I could refresh my memory after all these years.  I barely recognized myself.

The image below is the result of Take Two.  My mom came with me the second time around.  She snapped her gum and smoked several angry cigarettes in the reception area while she waited.  As pissed as she was that day, she loved this photograph so much and kept it on the nightstand in her bedroom always.

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