Slice of Lime-Goofy Galore

First of all thank you all for your hilarious suggestions for names of rock bands. My sides still hurt from laughing. Hilary, your names were funny, but your symptoms are not. I hope you're feeling better soon.

Some time ago Suldog posted 15 goofy pictures of himself. I still haven't gotten the motivation to attack my computer to make it play nice with my good camera but I have a wealth of goofy pictures to share so I am shamelessly stealing his idea. I realize all you have to do is amble through my archives to discover no lack of goofiness but today I present never before seen examples of goofiness over the course of a lifetime.

Here we see early clues to my future lack of fashion sense and wild hair as well as my inclination to making faces at the camera.

More terrifying wardrobe choices. True confessions here, that shirt was my favorite in all the world. I can remember Mom asking me to put my hand on my baby brother to keep him from rolling off the changing table while Mom answered the phone. He was undiapered and the little squirt had a big squirt all over my favorite shirt. I wanted to roll him onto the floor myself. As for the slipper socks, well they were comfy. The hat? It wasn't mine. It belonged to the boy in the picture. I thought he was totally groovy. I mean look at his pants! I figured stealing his hat and wearing it would show him how groovy I was. Ah the course of love never did run smoothly...



Alas, even when I made like Napoleon Dynamite and caught him a delicious bass I couldn't catch his heart. Ok, so it was a sunny, not a bass. I did give his hat back and found my own.




Here's my brother and me one Easter with our chocolate bunnies and....bananas? What, did the Easter Monkey come visit our house or what?

This is what happens when you tell me I am not smiling enough. This face will come back to haunt you in later years.

I have no explanation for this picture. None.

Here is a bit of foreshadowing of gruesome zipline accidents to come. I'm the one in the blue coat; the one SQUATTING with my FEET in the rings from which normal people would hang by their hands. It's only the most deluded soul who has ever referred to me as normal. Upon further thought I wish I were still that flexible. If I attempted such a maneuver today and managed not to end up with bones poking out of my skin I'd be requiring extensive chiropractic work to be able to straighten up.

File this under "what was anyone thinking here?" This could sprain my synapses if I consider it too long. Who painted my face? Why does it look like they used a banana as a paint brush? What on earth made me consent to my mother's request for a picture and WHY did she want a picture of a child so awkwardly straddling the division between little girl who played with Baby dolls and tween who worshipped Andy Gibb? I'm pretty sure it had to do with blackmail plans so she could survive my teen years. The only thing I can look fondly upon in this picture are the cellulite free legs...which, by the way, would be an good name for a rock band.

File this under "why younger brothers should never be given cameras." This is nearly the last picture on a roll of ambush shots worthy of paparazzi being paid for unflattering pictures of celebrities for the front of the grocery store magazines which also publish pictures of Hilary Clinton's love child with Bat Boy. In fact, this may be one of those instead of a shot of me, now that I think about it.

Next, we have Lime as a giant panic-stricken carrot during a children's theater production. It was a moment of great personal identity crisis. Am I a fruit? Am I a vegetable? And how the hell did the costumer expect me to walk with my ankles bound by a drawstring?

Continuing my flare for drama and neurosis (another good rock band name too!) here I am after having a scratch attended to by the camp nurse when I worked as a counselor. The bandaid at my neckline was the only one really needed but I think the nurse and I were trying to make a point about aggressive campers and hypochondriac coworkers.

In college I worked in a nursing home laundry. I sorted sheets, towels, and clothing soaked in all manner of excretion and secretion the human body could produce. I did so in a tiny room that reached over 100F every shift. I had to wear this vomitrocious pink uniform when I performed my duties. I came home bearing the unmistakable stench of human waste, industrial detergent, stale tobacco (from the break room that had smog like Los Angeles), and sweat. Someone decided this uniform needed to be captured on film. I am trying to smile even as I threaten to insert the hairbrush I'm holding into the least accessible orifice on the photographer.

So, that toothless grimace a couple picture back...I told you it would come back to haunt you. What happens when 30 cameras go off in different directions and someone tells me I am not smiling enough for their liking? This is the response they get wedding day or not. Either that or I was trying to poop out a cantaloupe. Oh what will Honeydew if we Cantaloupe?

Yes, folks, lest you think Mr. Lime is saner than I am I present this evidence to the contrary. Three of us doing our Monty Python Gumby pose, two of whom chose to marry and reproduce. Be afraid. Be very afraid.

Yeah, here I am ready to spawn because when you've been on bed rest for nearly 5 weeks and your main form of entertainment has alternated between daytime TV and listening to your muscles atrophy the best pick me up is having your girth measured and the moment captured for all posterity. Oh and I was dressed ever so stylishly since I'd been laying on the couch at doctor's orders for weeks. I guess the ladies were lucky I had attended to hygiene that day. (In all truth I was completely surprised by the baby shower invasion. It was very lovely and thoughtful of all those ladies to bring the party to me since I wasn't allowed out. It was a good cheer up moment, but guess the girth? Yikes.)

Finally, I give you a shot demonstrating what happens when 2 former Gumbies procreate. This is our idea of a family moment in our Easter clothes.