As those of you that gave my birth to me have noticed, I have not posted pictures of myself in some time. Perhaps this reeks of some mighty setback in the recovery that I am trying to cover up--Don't Tell Mom the Babysitter's Dead! Also don't tell her that my nose collapsed.
So, without further ado, I am going to empty out my pictures folder, entitled "Day 4 and Beyond." This is an intimidating amount of views of my face for a mirror to handle, much less a human being--scroll at your own peril. I'm going to keep commentary to a minimum.
To save space, pictures "After the jump," which, for the uninitiated, means you have to click the "Continue reading" link just below this paragraph. Also, shame on you for missing Initiations, they were super fun.
A common theme is going to be my failure to smile in a picture, followed by my attempt to smile.
Also, I would warn you that a majority of these pictures are going to feature a shirtless J-Dawg. Well, it's misleading to say "I would warn you," since I just did and I'm not qualifying it with anything. Oh, idioms!
As you can see, I don't keep my bed one half of my bed very tidy. And with a face like that, why bother?
Bravely toward the sober future..
Sometimes I don't understand the emotions that go into making the faces I make.
Basically my default face. This is what I look like when I wake up in the morning.
I have really pretty eyelashes, and a less pretty eight-hour mustache.
Fastidious observers will notice that my television is a cowboy.
The cocaine-binge eye-baglets are slowly receding.
...my inability to take a picture where I don't look like I'm vomiting, however, is not.
With just a sprinkling of chest hair.
..to round out the motif...