This morning I stumbled on Marlen James Photography – boudoir diary. I want this woman’s job. She takes photographs of naked (or near naked) people. Seriously. That is her job and dammit I want it. Her most recent post is a tutorial of sorts – how to take a decent “boudoir pic” (<— Yes, that means NAKED or at least in some fine underthings) of yourself without Photoshopping. If it doesn’t come out well, she’s offering her services to Photoshop the pic yourself (if you’re brave enough to send it to her!) for $10 each, which could be the cheapest gift that you give to your lovah this year, and the most appreciated. If you’re in Canada, you might be able to get this chick to do the shoot for free.
Since this is a lot cheaper than a surround sound system, you can bet what I’ve got planned for my husband this year. For every gift-giving occasion. Father’s Day? Naked pictures of your wife. Easter? Naked pictures of your wife. 4th of July? Naked pictures of your wife. Winter Solstice? Naked pictures of your wife.
You get the idea.
Anyway, head on over and read her quick & easy tutorial. It’s simple, but she offers a few tips and, most importantly, shares some damn sexy photos of herself. So you’ve got two poses to emulate, too! Unfortunately what she doesn’t explain is how to set the timer and get yourself over to the bed to pose while practicing self-bondage… anyone got a tutorial for that?
I won’t Photoshop your pictures, but feel free to send them to me, too. Or better yet? Submit that shit anonymously or otherwise to Boob Emancipation. OMG. Please. Yes. Now. Why is your shirt still on?!
So, we’re mostly all bloggers here. Not all of you blog, I’m sure, but a good deal of you do, in fact, bloggity blog blog your little heart away. And that means you’ve probably played that game where you look at your Feedburner stats, and your various page rankings, and your visitor tally from your stats, and the number of average comments on each post, and grabbed a calculator and a calendar and your old grammar school math textbooks in a desperate attempt to figure out JUST HOW MANY PEOPLE are reading. Because it matters, even if it’s only a little. We want to know. We’re putting ourselves out here, we want to know!
So.
I’m totally joining in on Rude Cactus’ Delurking Day 2010 today and asking – if you read here, regularly or sporadically, just say Hi in the comments. If you want to say more, cool. If you are a person of few words, that’s fine too. And if you have a blog that is public? PuhLEASE tell me about it, mkay?
I’d like to extend a warm welcome to Elizabeth of Boy Crazy [finding clarity in the chaos]. She had a heartbreak tale to tell for Girl Talk Thursday, but posting on her own blog wasn’t idea, so I’ve pulled up an extra virtual chair and let her be an author in this space for a day. Please keep all comments about this post right here, but make sure you visit her blog to see what else she has going on!
When Elizabeth wrote this, she was scribbling into a (possibly) tear-stained journal at 19 years old. She’s typed it up and published it here for our literary enjoyment. I’m so impressed with how eloquent she is!
Don’t forget to visit Girl Talk Thursday and check out the rest of the participants’ stories too!
~ xoxo MommyGeek
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(From the Vault) July 13, 1997
We sat on the bench at the end of the dock. It was around 1:30 in the morning, but we were wide-awake. We chatted for a while about the movie, using small talk to avoid the conversation that was lingering in the early morning air. I’m not sure if he sensed the urgency, but I felt so strongly that we needed to talk that a thick, heavy pressure squeezed my chest.
I asked him a question to lead us down the road we needed to go, but he sidestepped. Before he could take his tangent farther, I stepped in. The irritation and haste in my voice was more obvious than I intended, but I needed to make my point. He had succeeded at masking his recognition of our problem, but once I started talking he couldn’t hold back. He was on his feet in a matter of seconds; his face and body betraying his frustration before he even spoke.
I looked up at him, his features blurred through my tears. I wiped my eyes and nose with my sleeve, his borrowed shirt. I listened to him and watched his body against the midnight sky. The stars were sharp and bright behind his head, a backdrop for our act.
We argued back and forth, my captive tears finally set free. Two bodies, but one mind; we wrestled with the same fears and doubts. While I was relieved to know we felt the same, it stung to hear his doubts vocalized.
He sat down next to me, but too far away. I felt like we were actors in a play, that everything was over-dramatized. The waves washed over the pier, soaking my sandals. The water was much higher this year. I looked up. Thick clouds were creeping in and swallowing big swaths of the starry sky.
I moved closer to him, linking my arm through his and resting my head on his shoulder. I could feel his tension.
It isn’t supposed to be like this, he said. We should be returning from a movie, happy and in love, sitting on the dock seeing the same shooting stars. Everything should be picture perfect.
In awe of the irony, I sat silent, listening to the distant thunder rumbling its warning of the brewing storm. We sat for a few minutes, needing to speak but having nothing to say. Finally, he went inside, leaving our conflict unresolved.
I walked back towards the cottage, but I sat at the picnic table outside the door. In the dark, I cried with my head down on my folded arms on the tabletop. I cried for the confusion and for the understanding. I cried for the past I wanted back and for the future I feared. I cried for the present, upon which everything depended.
I don’t know how long I sat at that table. My eyes were heavy with sadness and sleep. Standing up, I looked at the sky, searching for at least one survivor star.
But they had all disappeared.
As I headed up the stone steps, I heard another rumble of thunder, but this time louder and closer. It was only beginning, and this could be one hell of a storm.
The boobalicious Chibijeebs has some work woes that she doesn’t want broadcasted at her blog, so I offered up my (albeit a bit dusty from disuse of late) space to vent away. It’s all in good fun, and where good fun is involved, you know you’ll find Girl Talk Thursday. If you have a post that you’d like to write but can’t write in your own space, feel free to email me or leave a comment here or at Girl Talk Thursday. I’d be happy to feature it here, and I know the other gals at GTT would be thrilled to have you at their spaces, too. And don’t feel like it has to be TODAY TODAY TODAY because it’s Thursday! We’ll be reading, commenting and dishing out the girl time fun all week until our new topic next week. xoxo ~ MommyGeek
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The lovely MommyGeek (seriously: love her) has been kind enough to lend me some blog space because I’m paranoid. Well, and because the set-up at work combined with this particular issue would make me VERY easy to identify by anyone who knows me IRL, and I don’t think I’m ready for that kind of exposure. *ahem*
I willingly and openly admit upfront that my complaint really isn’t that big of a deal — all things considered, I have it pretty good. But this is fresh and I’m still worrying over it and it spilled over into my personal life, so yeah.
The office is half of a very large shop on one of the owner’s property; his house and a pool house (where Grandma lives) also occupy space here. (I guess before Rob built the shop, the office occupied space in Wade’s (owner #2) basement, so they’ve always played it close to the vest, so to speak.)
Before the end of the day Friday, Rob asked me if I would be interested in house sitting for them. I sat there in stunned silence because I wasn’t sure just what this entailed — they DO have three kids and a dog: was it just house sitting, or was it really babysitting? I recovered by asking when. He told me that they were all going to Hawaii in two weeks for a week, then Grandma would be returning with the kids while Mom and Dad stayed on for an extra week. He told me I could stay in the pool house if I felt more comfortable, and mentioned something about the hardest part being feeding the dog (even at the time I thought, if it’s just a matter of feeding the dog, I could do that before I went home/when I got here in the morning). I told him I’d have to talk to The Man-Thing, and he assured me that it was no big deal if I couldn’t — that they’d find someone else — but that he thought I might like the “commute.”
Instantly, I was filled with dread: I can’t really give you a logical explanation, but the idea of house sitting makes me anxious to the nth degree. I’d being staying in a strange house. Alone. In the dark. I’d be sleeping in a bed not my own, when I already have “issues” sleeping in my bed. What do I do with my clothes? Do I bring a week’s worth? Where do I put them? What do I do about dinner? Are they going to make sure the kitchen is stocked, or is that up to me? Who looks after MY home while I’m looking after yours? (Obviously this was before I met The Man-Thing and/or operating under the assumption that he’d be house sitting with me.) WHY doesn’t anyone think about THAT when they ask you to house sit for them?!? This is now the third time I’ve been asked to house sit by a boss/superior; I don’t know if they think I’m trustworthy or a push-over. Or a trustworthy push-over. Either way, it fills me with dread and I haven’t done it for anyone yet. Hell, even my parents’ house gets cursory every-other-day visits when I “house sit” for them, and I lived there up until three years ago!
As I was leaving, he excitedly asked me if I wanted a tour of “where [I'd] be staying.” I really didn’t want to, because I was all anxious and had pretty much already made up my mind to not do it, but I figured I’d humour him. I totally felt like I was trespassing, especially considering Grandma wasn’t home at the time. It was rather awful.
When I got home, I brought it up to The Man-Thing, all pshaw about it and stuff. He waited until I was finished before suggesting I do it: he’d be fine for a week on his own, and besides, with Rob being the younger of the two owners, he’d likely be the one to continue the company when Wade retires, so if I do him a favour now, it might pay off down the road. I looked at him, aghast. First, the mere thought that this particular incident might possibly affect my future employment sent me into paroxysms of horror; and secondly, thanks for implying that I don’t think you’d survive a week without me — could you TRY to hide your excitement of a week in your underwear eating pizza, plz?
It SO wasn’t how I’d expected the conversation to go. I expected we’d discuss either me going home after work and both of us coming back to “work” at the end of the day, or him coming out here to meet me at the end of the work day. I certainly didn’t expect the damn-near Alone Time Happy Dance, simultaneously leaving the neurotic one (me) staying in a strange place ALL BY HERSELF.
For some reason, I couldn’t even articulate what was going through my head, other than to blast him for wanting to get rid of me (which, naturally, he didn’t take very well) and voicing shock and dismay at the thought I might lose my job for saying no (in his “defence,” he’s currently involved in a course that is examining networking, and he figured this would just be one more way to make a “connection”). He bristled and got defensive; I clammed up and cried. Then? We didn’t speak.
FOR TWO HOURS. (Simply because we’re both horribly stubborn assholes who wait for the other one to “crack.”)
That was all resolved… blah, blah, blah. I then had to come in on Monday and tell Rob that it wasn’t “going to work for us,” making up some BS excuse about The Man-Thing starting another course that week, and… <enter petered-off babbling here> He told me it was no big deal, again repeating that they’d find someone else. *phew* Awkward and guilt-inducing (because I swear to Ceiling Cat I have the deadly combination of Catholic AND Jewish-mother guilt), but done…
…until Grandma came by with the mail Tuesday. I guess Rob hadn’t told her that I turned them down. She asked if I was going to be “staying over”; when I explained why I wasn’t, this look of panic overtook her face as she started worrying out loud about who they were going to get — ALL the (extended) family was going to be away/unavailable at that time. She started talking about how she KNEW she should have waited and gone when Rob et al got home.
Oh, fuck. Hi, Guilt! SO not nice to see you again. *sigh*
(I haven’t changed my mind, but I still feel ridiculously bad about it. Oh, and I didn’t tell The Man-Thing the latest with Grandma because, well, just because.)
This was written by Danielle, and originally appears here.
On several occasions over the past few weeks, I have read or heard people complaining that they can’t be absolutely and completely honest on their blogs, for a variety of reasons. Maybe your mom reads your blog. Or your grandmother. Or you have co-workers or clients who have found your blog. Maybe your spouse doesn’t like you telling “strangers” about the concerns you may have in your marriage. Whatever it may be, I’m pretty sure at some point you have been afraid to post something. And who can blame you? Who wants your grandmother to know you are testing & reviewing a dildo? Who wants your co-worker or boss to read about how stabby you get in the office?
Whatever it is, it would be nice to rant, bitch, complain, vent, get it out already, without the negative consequences. It would be great to get some feedback from other smart people out there, without worrying about losing readers (or your job).
Thus, The “When pills aren’t enough” Sessions! (As in, “I took a pill to calm my ass down, but I’m still stressing/pissed/panicking.” And I can’t take credit for the name; Holly is fabulous with stuff like that.)
Basically, this is how it works:
You send me an email [at dlwinkler (at)msn (dot)com] telling me you want to participate. Go ahead and give me the link to your blog as well. Let me know if there is anything you do not want posted on your blog.(such as sexual content)
Then you send me your post [dlwinkler(at)msn(dot)com]. It can be about ANYTHING. Nothing is off-limits here.
I will send your post to another participating blogger to be posted on their blog next Friday, August 28th. We will all post the guest posts that day.
If you wish to have an under-the-radar, sneeky pen name for your post, go right ahead. Just put it in the email. If you want your blog to be linked on your post, let me know.
Here’s the great part: It’s a round-robin sorta thing, so if your guest post goes on Participant #1’s blog, Participant #1’s guest post will not go on your blog, but on Participant #2’s blog. That way, no one that normally reads your blog (like your mother or your nosy secretary) will be able to find your guest post!
Am I fabulously smart or what? (Don’t everyone answer that all at once).
So! Pretty please send email to dlwinkler(at)msn(dot)com if you are interested in participating! I will need your guest post by Wednesday night, August 26th.
Now I just need to decide what I’m going to write about first!
**You may see this post on several people’s blogs today. Just trying to spread the word. Feel free to do the same!!**
Hi. How are you? As we approach BlogHer, I’m reminded of just how much I love this new* obsession hobby of mine. You’ll notice that I usually only post here 2-3 times a week — if we’re lucky – and that’s mainly because I spend all my time online tweeting and reading you!
Though it does occur to me that perhaps I am NOT reading you! Maybe you don’t comment here often, or I don’t realize you have a blog because I’m super-dense, or whatever. The point is, that I want to know, now, in the comments, who are you?
If you’re going to BlogHer & wrote a “get to know me” post, I’d love to read it. If not, just link up the blog! No blog? What’s your twitter? Mine’s @mommygeekology and I realized yesterday I don’t have it linked up here. I’ll get a button.
If you aren’t going to BlogHer, I still want to know who you are! Pretty please, with cherries on top – tell me a little about yourself? Even if you don’t participate in a single social media outlet or blog.. I still want to know you.
Oh, and just in case you are going to BlogHer or you happen to live in my apartment building and we just don’t know it yet, this is what I look like at my best (which, please, I hope is the way I look when you see me):
Picture by the amazing Ashley (@akatc518)
Also by Ashley. See how sexy I am?
There is, however, a slight chance that you will see me when I am not looking my best. In which case, look for this:
Ok, perhaps not puffing my cheeks out like that. Unless there was a buffet close by.
I'm MommyGeek - married to DaddyGeek, with two soon-to-be-geek daughters, Cupcake (3.5 years old) and Geeklet (15 months). This blog chronicles the life and times of our GeekFam, in addition to serving as an outlet for our other geeky and techie loves. It's all part of the iGeneration profile. Oh, sorry - is our Geek showing?
If you want to say more, cool. If you are a person of few words, that’s fine too. And if you have a blog that is public? PuhLEASE tell me about it, mkay?
