Lonely Vinyl Picnics

I could never rely on my brother to hang out with me in the summer.  Usually I was the loner 6 year old begging him to play, and he'd be refusing because I was little and boring.  I wanted to play dolls.  I wanted him to bounce me on the trampoline and push me on the swings.
What's not fun about that?

So, I'd pack up my vinyl crew in a basket, grab a piece of bread, coat it with butter, and slide out of the house with tablecloth in hand.  Picnics were the life.  Just me and my girls all laid back in the sun, eating our delectable fare and enjoying the grass.  But it was lonely, and I would start saying the word "picnic" to myself for fun because I wasn't having fun.  And then I would marvel at how the syllables of "picnic" lost their meaning after saying them 53 times in a row.  And I would then wonder how many other people had discovered the lost meaning of overly said words...if other 6 year olds thought the same way as me.

Probably not.

Back to the pictures.  We've been having a downpour of rain all week.  Our grass has turned into a flooded wasteland complete with rivers.  But this afternoon started to brighten up.  In fact, it turned out to be around 70ºF by noon.  So, visiting old childhood memories,  I grabbed a couple dolls, a tablecloth, and a basket for a picnic.

 This is me at six

This is my imaginary friend

These are my toys

This is my imaginary friend grabbing Rex

This is me and my imaginary friend playing with the Toy Story characters

Another thing I'd always do was build forts.  Except we never really had sticks big enough to make a tent as awesome as this one.  So, I'd stick to pillow castles.

I did have my group of imaginary friends, which is kinda pathetic.  There were three.  A good one, a troublemaker, and a weird, clumsy, unintellectual one with the name of a clown.  Funny to think about them now, as I haven't in awhile.  

I can't say that I miss their company, but at the time, they were good friends.  

Darn Oscars

I drew a picture of Shirley Temple.

There, I said it.  I just spent ten minutes failing to come up with an opening sentence for this post.  

I drew a picture of Shirley Temple and entered it into a contest. 

There, even better.  Using "and" as the conjunction, I've gotten my complete thought across the web to you this evening.  Though, you're probably watching the Oscars what with all the prestigious announcers and long flowey dresses and Leonardo Dicaprio who just happens to not ever have won an oscar.  So don't pay any attention to me.  I'm not important.  Eat your pizza and laugh at Ellen's jokes.

I'll just sit here, alone, with Shirley, and be sad because I can't eat your pizza.  

Catastrophe's Result

I have returned!  I'm floored by how quickly this month has gone by.  Our entire family was hit with the flu at the beginning, so that cut off a couple weeks.  My youtube has been neglected, my blog has been sad, and my poor dolls have sat on the shelf unnoticed.
That is, until now.

Today, after cleaning my room, I had a brilliant idea.
"Why not tear all my doll clothes out of their neat little spots and take some pictures."  Great.  What a smashing thought.
However, it wasn't a complete disaster.  I managed to locate several items I'd given up as "gone with the wind."

Oh, hello Kit's Rick Rack Dress.  So good of you to stop by.

Customly made by my dear mother, starring Caplin. 

So that was that.  I thought I was done.  My one outfit had been found, my doll had been posed.  My room was an earthquake surviver.  

I had fulfilled my duty.

But...but what about the other dolls?  What about the million shirts and pants and shoes that could be made into new outfits and new photos?  

It's not fair.  I had so much to do, yet this little voice kept shooting my brain with guilty signals.

You've neglected them for so long.  Play.

I began to feel like Andy at the end of Toy Story 3.  

Alright-fine-okay-swell.  I'll play.

This outfit is beyond my favorite.  It is sky high and outta here.  Her suitcase, the penny loafers, the sweater...I'm in love.

Ru was walking a dog, but he ran out of the picture.  Sorry little Bennet. 

I love this one of Ramey, however.  Except for the brown dent in her head.  Funny, because my girls never had any dents until Christmas of last year.  And now...now three of them are sporting scratches and face plant engravings.  

Ha!  I made it through an entire post.  Oh, I learned how knit this month.  Just thought I'd throw that in there.

Syddie

Low Key Lighting

I don't pretend to know nothing about lighting.  It just comes naturally.
Honestly though, I'll latch onto an idea of how to make a photo look groovy, and then stare blankly at my keyboard while trying to come up with what tutorials to search for.
Excuse me.  I just ended my sentence with a preposition.  For which tutorials to search?  Whilst searching for with which the light hath come?  With tutorials?
Never mind.

Besides, that's what big brothers are for.  They know stuff.  They look things up and buy things and have things.  Mine happened to have a couple lights on hand, and I happened to stumble (very accidentally) across a term called "Low Key Lighting."
Picture a scary Hitchcock movie scene at night.  Dramatic, contrasty, and very dark.  Lovely, don't you think?  That's low key.  It's much more interesting than high key lighting which looks like a toothpaste commercial.  Bright background, bright smiles, bright teeth.
I prefer the former, and tried a hand at duplicating the effect.

Her face is a bit too bright in this one.  Too reminiscent of Colgate.  

I love the above, however.  The colors are muted just enough.  

You're thoughts on my experiment?  I'd love to hear a second opinion, considering mine is slightly biased.

A Chicken in Saddle Shoes

Life is wonderful.  Yes, there's the occasional kiss from a 10 year old boy on a roller coaster, and those Algebra 2 tests that phrase things just to make you  pull out your hair, but despite that, I'm quite happy.  

You see, I have saddle shoes.  And a chicken.  

So go try on your saddles shoes and hold your chicken.  You might find out that life is wonderful too.

Deerstalkers are Cool

I had the vague dream this afternoon that I might be able to actually clean my room.  All hopes came abruptly to an end, however, when I discovered some old poster board behind a bookcase.

Never mind.  I didn't stumble upon anything.  I just didn't want to be my own maid.

These pictures turned out beautifully, however, and I'm quite liking my new mix and match wardrobe.  Cozi's sporting my deerstalker cap.  Mumsie made it for them last year and it completely delights me.

The sweater was a Christmas gift, as was the blue shirt she's wearing underneath.

The skirt is from American Girl Mia's Meet outfit, the leggings from Lindsey's Meet, and the boot from  ebay seller.  

Yes, she did change sweaters.  How very quick of you to notice. 

The red seems a bit too red, perhaps.  But that's why we're here, right?  To bring a little color to the world?  Yes?  

In other news, my birthday is Sunday.  Yes, sweet sixteen and never been kissed.  

Actually, that's not exactly true.  6 or so years ago I was kissed on the cheek at the fair by a random ten year old boy I met at in the line for the roller coaster.  He was very odd, and I was quite afraid we'd have to get married.

We didn't.  

Enjoy your weekend of bliss and no homework!  Specifically biology.

Syddie

Happiest of New Years to You!

Hello to you all!  Let me wish you a very Merry Christmas and Happy New year in one dramatic swoop!

Now that we've got that over with, I'll bring you up to date with more important things.
Me.
Such as my very own hippy pappy bthuthdth thuthda bthuthdy.  It is quickly approaching, and to be fun a spontaneous, my family took a road trip up to AG place yesterday to gaze upon the new blond beauty.  Ahh yes, do excuse me.  I suppose you wouldn't know who I'm talking about since there are so many blonds already.
Her name is Isabelle.  That better?  Good.
Though she does have hazel eyes.
Curly hair?  No my dear, that was Lanie.  She was thrown into the archives years ago.  You're getting quite confused.  Let me clarify.
This one is a dancer (Yes yes, I know Marisol); a ballerina working her way up in the world of the arts.  Her mother restores ancient artifacts (how positively exciting) and Isabelle designs her own clothes.  At nine.  And then sews them.
Her father spends his days at a hospital and directs his very own jazz band on the side.
And you'll never guess what she named her cat.  Oh.  Oh you knew about him.  Well never mind.  At any rate, the white fluff ball didn't come home in my shopping bag.
Still, all of this could not keep me away from snatching up the newest vinyl smile.  The sparkliest gold shoes.  The designer herself!

Her name is Izzy and she doesn't like cats.  No questions.

To be perfectly honest she's quite allergic.
Did any of you brave the stampede of screaming girls to bring your very own Izzy home?  Do tell all!
-Syddie