2007-09-19

Greatest Photoshop (S)Hits.

So, now that the emphasis is OFF my chichis for the time being (I do have to go in for a followup mammogram in 6 months, since according to my Mad Russian Primary Care Physician, poor li'l Frick-n-Frack are loaded with "ceeeests" that will need to be monitored), I can go back to studiously ignoring the remaining boxes in the new place, hoping -- with the same mad hope I applied to packing them a month ago -- that the Comment Faeries will come do this for me. I mean, MySpace is loaded with them. You know -- them glittery little faeries that say "Have a GREAT Friday!" or "Sending U Some LUV" or "I'm Too Lazy To Actually Write Something, So Here's A Stock Graphic So You Can Believe I'm Thinking About You." What else are they doing, really, besides being all purple and glittery and taking up space in your comments section?

Yeah. I've pretty much lost it.

This summer has been about tits and boxes. And not in the good sense. Not in the "money shot accompanied by wah pedal" sense. We have probably about a dozen boxes left to unpack, mostly in my office. I know I have to deal with them. I should probably have a party, because that will FORCE me to deal with them, or at least shove them in the basement. But I come home from work and -- God -- I just want to eat cereal and watch VH1 Classic. What's in this box that's so important? The important stuff -- the computer and the television and my vibrator and the "Funny Face" cups -- was unpacked long ago. I have no wants.

I came home tonight and sat at my desk, which fortunately faces AWAY from the still-packed boxes, and started going through my Photoshop files. There was a time once when Photoshop and I were TIGHT, yo. I'd stay up late into the night making STUPID pictures that made sense to NO ONE, and I'd giggle and think myself incredibly clever indeed. I give to you some of my Greatest Photoshop Hits (Because I Don't Want To Unpack These Boxes Behind Me):

This was the series I like to call The PK Poop Collection, in which I inserted a small, crocheted turd into a number of Paula's photographs.

Really. I'd sit there at my computer at, like, 2 in the morning laughing like hell as I made these. Because I'm basically seven years old.

But then I figured -- why should Paula be the sole beneficiary of my insanity? I began to expand out into my circle of friends:

Nowadays, I bust into the 'Shop only to crop something, or erase a zit. I just haven't been inspired the way that little turd inspired me.

lisamcc at 10:41 p.m.

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