Sarcastro: Boob Freckle Photographer

So, I went over to Sarcastro’s so that he could take a picture of my boob freckle for the winner of his contest.  It was obvious that Sarcastro has an innate talent for pissing folks off, but holy shit!  He’s also got mad boob freckle photographing skills.

I changed into a button down shirt, sat myself in his kitchen chair, followed his boob arranging directions–"Push them together more!"–and he leaned in and took it.

I really, really like how it turned out.  It’s a little trashy, kind of hot, and the boob freckle is faint but visible.  I have to tell you, I don’t really think of myself as particularly sexy, by any stretch, but I look at that photo and think, "Yeah, that’s a girl to look at."

It’s kind of strange, to see myself that way, but it really delights me.

Thanks, Sarcastro!

Anyway, if it doesn’t end up on the internet some other way, I may post it.  Is that tacky?  Okay, so I’m tacky.

Holy Shit! Do NOT Interrupt Mrs. Wigglebottom when She’s Listening to Springsteen

After our walk, we ran some errands and as a treat to myself, I picked up the new Springsteen album along with the new White Stripes.

Sadly for Springsteen’s anti-piracy efforts, his CD does not play in my car, thus meaning I’ll have to burn a car-friendly version as soon as I get around to it.

Anyway, I put it on here at home and went upstairs to take a shower.  I came down, went to turn it down, and Mrs. Wigglebottom woke from a dead sleep and let out this loud, alarmed bark like someone had just stepped on her.  She then sat up and stared at me, with one ear kind of cocked up and a look of grave distress on her face.  I turned it back up and she let out a long sigh and went back to sleep.