Blackmail photo. Just give it 15 years...

Otherwise known as the gratuitous nephew bathtub shot...

A feat I never imagined...

So I'm somehow turning my girlfriend into such a girly girl. I never imagined that statement would come out of my mouth, but there it is...

Anyhow, it all started with the pedicures. The first time I took her, she chose to glaze her toes in a clear shade. Next trip, she chose a very innocent, pale pink. By the third venture to my beloved nail-place-upon-Montrose, she had selected a boisterous magenta-purple shade.
I was so proud.

Our most recent accomplishment is of the upper undergarment area. I, personally, have been a huge fan of the Lane Bryant cleavage enhancer for years. I never imagined we'd end up there, but after unsuccessful ventures to Kohl's, Avenue, and Catherine's (other big girls stores), we wound up at Lane Bryant.

She tried on bra after bra, even offering to try *gasp* underwire. Eventually, one of the clerks approached us to inform us that one of the girls working that day was a "bra-fitting specialist. "
After some significant whimpering and "no-way-in-helling," I got my girlfriend to submit herself to the woman' specialty. I even gave it a go myself.

After nearly 3 hours and way too much personal exposure to a perfect stranger, my girlfriend now owns underwire! Mission accomplished! Getting her to wear it, however, may be another feat entirely...


~~~~~~~
Sidebar:
Both of us were often in the same dressing room along with the "Bra-Fitting Specialist." Just in case the Bra-Fitting Specialist wasn't aware that we were "together," my girlfriend managed to point out to the woman that I "looked funny" donned in a certain style of bra I had never worn...

Beet red is such an apropos descriptor...

My butt hole

I have a butt hole. Okay, so everyone has a butt hole, but I guess technically I now have two.

I just got back from visiting my brother and his family of small boys in Virginia, and one day while there, I decided I would get down on the floor and play with my 14-month-old nephew among his infinite sea of "little people" toys and his brother's Thomas trains.

Unfortunately, the floor was a literal sea of wood and plastic, and while I thought I had identified a spot in which I could wedge my rather large butt, it turns out that I vastly underestimated the size of my ass.

I plopped on the floor with full force, with my left cheek landing squarely on an upright plastic traffic light of terribly obelisk-y proportions. I rolled on the floor, wimpering in misery, and my little nephew soon followed with his wimpering cries. We were quite a sight to see.

Eventually I stood, and let my fingers probe my newest injury. There was a definite hole on the layers of fat in my ass, even though the skin was only mildly punctured. The next morning, my pain was rewarded with a large circular bruise of the darkest purply-black hues I've ever seen on my flesh, surrounding the still pale point-of-contact hole.

I've had difficulty sitting for days. My 3-hour return flight was torture.

My butt hole just hurts too badly.

Get your motor runnin'....

Alright, so I seem a bit hung up on this suburbia thing, but get used to it... I'm having difficulty admitting that I'm settling in to Suburbia quite well. There are still a few things I miss about Xanadu and it's neighborhood, but that's to be expected...

Moving on, it seems I engage in some mundanely bizarre hobbies, one of which is driving. I absolutely love to hop in my car with a bottle of cold water and just drive. (As much as I do love driving, this does not mean that I'm pleased to be subjected to the nightmares of real traffic, nor do I relish fighting that distressing a.m. crunch...)

Anyhow, it seems that I simply crave the solitude of just plopping on the body-worn leather in my Toyotan respite-on-wheels and driving. I usually go in the evenings, whether it’s after sunset and the threat of rush hour has passed, well after midnight, or any time in between.

I do my best thinking alone in my car, absorbing the softly grooving Moby on my stereo (there's another story there...) as the wide open sunroof allows the mild evening winds to wisp the hairs on the top of my head into a tangle. Forget therapy. All I need is a smoothly paved road with very little else on it to do the trick...

Especially now.

While living in the city, being able to just go for a drive was a chore. There is always traffic. Even at 4am on a Tuesday... If I wanted to get away from it, I had to drive on a freeway, which didn't really seem to have the desired effect, never giving me the serenity to which I'd grown accustomed while living in Suburbia when I was younger.

Now that I've returned to Suburbia, I get to do those awesome nighttime drives again. I recently took a 45 minute drive heading west and north of my new home. I'm way the hell out here, as I passed several actual pastures on my adventures. (Not just the handful-of-acres-and-we-got-some-cows-here places you see sprinkled along the edges of Suburbia... Actual pastures...)

I think I might like it here. I feel better already.

Random observations upon The Best Day Ever...

I really am having the best day ever. I got up early this morning and have been amazingly productive this morning. I have drawn many heavy dark lines through the exponentially growing, ominous and omni-present "To-Do list," all in the comfort of the bummiest of my attire. I can now feel free to have that "I'm gonna sit on my ass and do very damn little for the next s-e-v-e-r-a-l hours" kind of day I have so desperately craving for the past month (and summer is more than half over... grrrgh...) I'm so psyched. I make even bake. (I love my kitchen...!)

On a side note, Ken Lay died. How convenient. I wonder if he killed himself. It must be fairly easy to set up a major heart attack... On a less likely note, perhaps he faked his death...

Hunh.

A day in the life of my ass crack

I’m exhausted. This summer is really wearing me out. When I finally got up this morning, I realized that I must’ve had a some what tortuous night sleep, because my panties were all askew and my hair was a mess. I could have sworn that I’d put my hair up before I went to sleep, though…

Anyhow, after 2 hours of hitting the snooze, we finally crawled out of bed to run all those errands we need to run today. I had shed my clothing and stood by the shower door, waiting for the running stream of revival to warm up, and my girlfriend stumbled by, turned gave me a peck on the shoulder. She quickly pulled away, and with a terrified look on her face, slowly uttered, “What in the hell is in your ass crack?”

I was a little freaked out, thinking I was a total gross-out with something like crusty toilet paper still lodged in my rear orifice from my previous night’s gastronomical discomforts (Not a fan of El Palenque, just FYI). Slowly, I reached behind me and felt my ass crack.

I knew I had put my hair up the night before. My rubber band had worked its way down my back in the night and found itself a snug new home in the safety of my ass crack.

And that is how my weekend began… can’t wait for the rest of it…