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What’s In A Name, DickFace?

I’m a little upset with The Internets right now and here’s why:

1. AntiDuckface. An entire site devoted to denigrating what is arguably my favorite pose EVER.

DuckFace and I have a long and proud history dating as far back as 2005 (which, P.S., is like six years before this site was even INVENTED thankyouverymuch), and  probably even earlier except I don’t have photographic proof right now.

(At this point I wish to share that I have typo-d Duckface as “DickFace” like twelve times, hence the title of this post.)

Witness, 2005-era Duckface:

                                     

                                      

I did DuckFace while in Australia:

                                   

I did DuckFace when I had a nose piercing:

                                  

I do DuckFace when posing with my sister:                                                  

                                  

I’ve done Duckface while taking boredom shots of myself on long car rides:

                                      

And y’all just know I busted out some good ole DF for the Glamour Photos

                                     

Do you know how long it took to find all of those photos? About ten minutes.

Why? Oh, because there is at least one DuckFace shot in EVERY SINGLE photo album on our computer (It would have taken five minutes except I had to find pictures of myself doing either solo-DuckFace shots (considerably more rare) or DuckFace shots with people who probably wouldn’t mind being published on my blog in a post with the word “Dickface” in the title).

And you know what? In MY day we didn’t even call it “DuckFace” , we called it “KissyFace” which sounds far cuter. Look, all this preamble is not trying to say that I invented it or anything, but my god Internets, please don’t take DuckFace/KissyFace away from me. Don’t let this website kill DuckFace.

IT’S ALL I’VE GOT!

Thank You, Amen.                                      

(moving on…)

2. A few days ago I was musing that once this blog starts raking in the millions (I’ll wait while you stop cough-laughing) I might want to drop the .tumblr.com and just move to .com, you know, streamline things a bit like Beyonce or Madonna. So I tried to go ahead and reserve that domain name (just in case) but, EGADS! the name was taken!

“By whom?” you might well be inquiring. I wanted to find out too, so I let my fingers do the walking all the way over to www.SweetMadeleine.com , and what should I find waiting for me there?

Why, Sweet Madeleine, the Cocker Spaniel of course! (Or King Charles Cavalier?…some sort of spaniel anyway)

                  

Guys, my blog domain name belongs to a dog.

And, I mean look, she’s a very cute dog who is obviously very loved and adored (Do you see that awesome life jacket?!) but also, clearly not very well acquainted with her namesake.

Um, yeah, hi, Dog-Madeleine? I am a famous blogger. I have like 150 readers! Yeah-huh. I KNOW! One-five-oh baby.

Don’t you know who I am?

                            

Who am I kidding, no one can stay mad at a Madeleine. Carry on, you sassy little minx.

(Also, in case you’re counting (I am) I now know two gorgeous shopgirls, one kitten and one Cocker/King Charles Cavalier Spaniel named Madeleine. I’m bringing it back, baby!)

and finally, the last of my grievances with The Internets:

3.  When I started to search around for alternate domain names, THIS was also taken.

WHY IS MY LIFE SO HARD?

                                   

DickFace DuckFace on the outside, crying on the inside.

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I spoke to my dear mother the other day and mentioned my plan to become a ginger in order to more effectively woo Ryan Gosling when I’m at TIFF next week. 

She poo-poohed the ginger plan (worried about me becoming a soulless devil no doubt) and said instead that I should re-visit my bangs era (I believe it’s called a “fringe”, for those of you over the pond. God, I can be so culturally sensitive sometimes. You’re welcome)

“Go back and look at the pictures,” she said, “You looked adorable.” and yes, admittedly the above picture is pretty delightful. However, this gratuitous self-shot doesn’t show the other 364 days during the ill-fated and short lived bangs-era when my “fringe” was pinned back from my forehead in an unhappy, greasy mess, the days where I would stand before the mirror, round brush and hairdryer in hand just sobbing and curling, sobbing and curling. 

Enjoy this picture guys, because it will NEVER HAPPEN AGAIN.

(p.s. I kind of want bangs now. GODDAMMIT.)