Posted by: nastypen | January 30, 2009

Shuddering at the Memory

So I am perkier than usual because it is a Friday. I can’t wait for Saturday because I will do some art and have a photoshoot. Addie calls me to say I should check my mail. He sent me a photo. I opened my email at the faculty room and I screamed.

Addie said, he found this posted in one of my close friend’s facebook accounts. I remember this photo. Look. I was one-eight my current size, and I wore a cross, for God’s sakes!


Oh. My. Lord. I have not seen this photo for YEARS. Look at my megawatt smile! I did not know how to smile demurely. I must have been sniggering at the idea of us having a photo at a goddamn studio with that hideous backgound.

Oh…..brrrrrrr……..memo to myself, go home and seek these photos and burn them. I remember my mom screaming when she saw me burning a photo of the infant me shitting in my diapers. I did this when I was grade 6. My mom was exasperated asking me why I did it.

I couldn’t articulate the words “I want to leave a fabulous legacy of sparkling divahood and a photo fo me sleeping with shit in my diapers is not going to help!”

but first a musical interlude to celebrate me looking at my young self:

…that song, by the way, was a hit on the very year this photo was taken.

God, a studio pic. It’s so not glamorous. I prefer my photos when I was in college with two classmates of mine having nasal sex in front of me. Don’t ask.

Well, so, this is the day when the past is staring at me as I enter the final stretch of my 30th year.

Just recently, I was chatting with Livs, the guy beside me at the photo above in stripes, and he brought back fond memories. You see, some people keep tabs on their high school batch with questions like “How many lawyers do we have?” or “Who is a doctor now?” or “Who got married and has how many chidren?” and that awful, very low class question “How much is he making?”

Such queries are brought about usually boring heterosexual doodads. Such comparison via material achievement and marital conquests is so enervatingly stupid to me.

We are more inclined to ask “Who is in prison now?” or “Who commited suicide this time?” or “Who is the wife batterer now?” or “Who was ‘experimental’ with the gays?” And Livs once proclaimed, “Whoever is a tranny in our batch should be the best alumnus.”

Last time I checked, nobody in my batch can out-gay me. So, I told Livs “I’m sorry, Livs. I can’t be that tranny. I’m not scrawny fabulous. I’m not pretty enough for such an honor.” We did proceed on to point out some batchmates of ours who will make beautiful Trannies, you know….Pattaya beach-level beautiful Trannies.

Ah well. I guess my batch will disappoint in that regard.

I can’t even be a drag queen! I just love my beard so much. And last time I checked, I am pretty hirsute with the facial hair and not some like of my batch mates who attempt to have a goatee; instead they end up looking like a having a pudenda patch on their jaws.

Well, a girl can dream eh? I still dream that one day I am brave enough to sing one of the hits from the year the above photo was taken:

Can’t stop the flood, bitches.



  1. Oh. My. God.

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