judypatricia

First off, if any of you called me and kept saying "me" when I asked who you were, then started talking about cock-pushups, I wouldn't have hung up on you if I either actually enjoyed playing the "Who's This?" game on the phone, or if you'd just told me your name. Because usually, I'm always interested in cock-pushups.

So today is all about cleaning around my house and not setting foot outdoors. I had to look for my birth certificate, and luckily it was in the first big box I decided to check although at the bottom. I spent three hours ripping up and throwing away all the junk mail that was in there that I hadn't taken care of before, because that's just how I am, and looking at the stack of pictures I had in there that I almost forgot about entirely.

And I found my miniscule, decrepit baby book of photos. I remember when my mom had moved to Florida several years ago, I got all bent out of shape over her leaving it in a box in our old house. When I discovered she'd left it in New York, I called her and in true PMS-fashion, started crying about why she didn't take it and did I mean nothing to her. She laughed me off and said she wanted me to have it.

Here's what it looks like. Notice the tape holding it together, and also that the gold lettering (which reads "Mom's pride and joy") is fading.



These all look blurry because I'm low-budget enough to have taken pictures of pictures, since I don't have a scanner.

I have no idea how old I was here, but I love this picture because I was so anal about getting my hands sticky as a child (and as an adult), I ate that fucking donut off the table.



Awww.



There's me and my big guido dad. I was cute from day one.