So I was cleaning out my junk drawer the other day, and amidst the deflated Madonna Confessions Tour balloon, $2.00 bill, penis candy, myriad of business cards and a “Sexy Bitch” bachelorette party button, I struck gold when I came upon these most beauteous photographs to behold. So rather that make fun of others as per my usual modus operandi, I thought I’d level the playing field a little and put myself on blast because if you can’t laugh at yourself then who can you laugh at? The following pictorial is listed in chronological order so as to accurately portray my metamorphosis into the Bucky Nasty butterfly I am today. Don’t hate me cause you ain’t me.
Circa 1987 – 4th Grade – 9 years old
Check me out, bitches! I’m the #1 chick when I step out on the scene at recess on the jungle gym or playing four-square in my hot pink kool-lots, matching turtleneck and feathered bangs. Jesus, I really hope my hair is in a ponytail and not actually that short. Between my brawny stature (yes, I already had boobs in the 4th grade. In fact, I remember beating up Steve Barone that year at the bike rack for telling me that all the boys were talking about my boobs at Chris Galley’s birthday party) feathered hair and flannel shirt, I look like a suburban lesbian or a bottle of Pepto Bismal. Just looking at this picture gives me heartburn, indigestion, upset stomach and diarrhea.
Many other questions come to mind when looking at this picture, like why are my bangs taking up half of my head? And what’s the deal with the white knee socks and white flats? Was my mother trying to color coordinate this picture with her petunia flower bed to the right? Why does my brother look so constipated? Does it hurt his balls to have his pants hiked up to his neck with those suspenders?
Circa 1990 – 7th Grade – 12 years old
Oh, the anorexic years where I was so skinny that I suffered from the same big head syndrome as Nicole Richie. I mean, I look like Kip Winger, but I’m not even close to 17; I am 12. Pretty soon my hair will start falling out from the eating disorder, resulting in the Molly Ringwald-inspired do I’m rocking in the next photo. You’ll notice that I’m wearing the same white shoes as in the picture from the first day of fourth grade three years previously. I was so preoccupied with food that even my clothes have fruit on them. I distinctly remember listening to Knockin’ Boots by Candyman on Z-95 while I was preparing myself for my big unveiling at 7th grade after losing 35 lbs that summer because that's how every well-adjusted kid spends his or her summer vacation.
Circa 1991 – 7th grade – 13 years old
I’ll bet you didn’t know that girls could have blow-outs too? One look at this bad boy, and Pauly D will fist pump a load right into his Ed Hardy underpants. Props to me for being so fashion forward. My friend, Stephen, told me that my head looked like a Dorito, which of course made me think of that They Might Be Giants song, “Particle Man”:
Triangle man, Triangle man
Triangle man hates particle man
They have a fight, Triangle wins
Triangle man
Triangle man
Damn right Triangle man wins! Who in the hell could make it past this fortress created by 20 cans of Rave Mega 4X hairspray? I think I single-handedly kept Salon Selectives in business during the early 90s.
And for the love of God, why am I wearing another turtleneck? It’s not like I’m a fucking Frenchman. I also have no visible teeth thanks to my braces. They irritated the shit out of my gums to the point that they swelled over my teeth, and all you can see is gums and braces. Charming!
The other thing I can’t get past is my eyebrows. My mom always told me that I had Brooke Shields eyebrows, but they look more like two caterpillars about to mate on my forehead. This really makes me wonder if I’m somehow related to Eugene Levy…
Circa 2009 – 30 years old, and absolutely no excuse
For a limited time only, Glamour Shots by Deb are 75% off.
This picture was taken by my mom on our spring break to Amelia Island, Florida in April 2009 with my aunt, uncle and cousin, and even she doesn’t know what I was doing.
All I can say is that this picture bears a striking resemblance to the chick on the box for Massengill douche. Mom, do you ever get that no-so-fresh feeling?
Enough said.
