My life as a cover girl? No. My life as an ugly girl.

After many phone calls with Dell.com, we finally got our printer yesterday. Hooray! I had forgotten how convenient it is to be able to print something when you want it, instead of saving it to a flash drive, then opening it up on our dinosaur computer, and then waiting for the system to move, and then print it. The wonders of technology. However, our printer is also a scanner and copier. What fun! I scanned in a few already. I debated whether or not to post some of them, knowing I will get ripped for the rest of my life about them, but hey, that was me--what can I do about it now? Let me take you through a little tour of my life....

We start out at what was a turning point in my life. I was playing tetris on the original Nintendo, when I realize I couldn't really see my score that well. Cut to me at the eye doctor, learning I need glasses, and me picking the biggest, fattest, bluest plastic glasses ever created. Seriously, they take up more than half of my face. Keep in mind I am in 5th grade here, old enough to know that one should not wear glasses like this. But what did I know? I loved them. By the way, where were my parents or my friends on this one? Why didn't they tell me they were hideously ginormous? It was 1992 I suppose, but still, is that really an excuse??



Fast forward 4 years and the arrival of my first stake dance. My mother is lucky enough to have "wash-n-wear" hair. However, her daughter was not blessed as such. But she did not tell me this. Does this look like hair that can just be washed and left alone?? Even my own father commented that I had "Brillo-pad hair." Real nice. Hence, I will spend the next several years of my life having no clue what a hair dryer is, or that hair can be silky and smooth. Oh, and don't forget the fact that from my neck up, I look like a mushroom.



Somehow, despite all of this, I manage to make a friend. Please note my two lower appendages. They are like toothpicks. How they managed to support the upper half of my body is beyond me.



Even more miraculous is I manage to score and secure a boyfriend in high school. He wasn't even in the A/V club. The time comes for our first dance, Silverbell. With a mouth full of metal and the notion that center parts are acceptable, I go and have a decent time. And no, just for clarification, that is not my date.



I survive high school without any public stonings or shunnings and make it to BYU. Time for another dance. This time, it's Homecoming. I wear an old prom dress,and with the addition of a jacket to hide my bare shoulders, have a terrible night with a terrible, creepy date. The mushroom is back, but this time more subtle. Again, where are my friends?



At this point I realize dating is futile, and do just about everything possible to avoid being asked out. Including:



And the lesbian cut:



This truly was a mistake for the ages. Do I look even remotely decent with short hair? No. The answer is no. So anyone who even suggests that I should cut my hair short should really be shot. But moreso than the cut, is the growing out process. I suffered with a mullet for longer than anyone should.



Luckily for me, my friends still wanted to hang out with me despite my terrible choices. We always had a great time at the football games. I always cheered along with the cheers, but no one ever asked me if I was ever a cheerleader in high school. It was obvious I wasn't.



Living with girls started to have a positive effect on my appearance, and I started to get asked out on some dates. Even if they were with hicks. Actually, these guys were our really good friends, and told us to dress up nice b/c they were taking us something really fancy. They showed up wearing Wranglers and cowboy shirts, and took us to the Sizzler. It was pretty funny.



Eventually my transition to a reasonable looking person somehow led to this:



Our escapades to Club Access, a private club for members, were frequent. It wasn't long before this guy showed up:



Luckily for me he didn't show up a mere 1 year earlier, or I can pretty much guarantee we would not be married right now.

There is one thing I'd like to point out, however. My eyebrows. Yes, those are eyebrows, and not caterpillars hanging out on my forehead. How is it possible that I never attempted to tame them before college? It's truly astounding. My eyes were opened to the invention of tweezers, and before long, they were almost non-existent. Step in threading, and now I live a life where eyebrows are a normal size and look identical to each other.

The moral of the story is: Help your child out. Help a friend out. Help a sista OUT! I know every kid has their awkward phase, but with your help, it can be less awkward. Please. Do it for me.