Naked Selfies: The New Little Black Dress

I met my husband back in 1998 before Social Media ruled the world…even before Bob Dole invented the internet, or was that Dan Quail?  Or maybe Obama?  Okay, okay.   Maybe the internet existed, but nobody used it…really.   Back before Twitter and, how did we snag our mates when we couldn’t text them and get an immediate response, when we couldn’t stalk their Facebook page for pictures of their exes, before they could “check in” and we could just “pop in” where we knew they were?  Well, I for one did it the old fashioned way.  I put on make-up and donned that short little black dress that showed off my legs for days (shut up I’m not short) and my 19 year old perfect ass.  And it worked.  Every.  Single. Time.  But things have changed.  Ladies and gentlemen, let me introduce you to the new little black dress:  Naked Selfies.

Her mom is very supportive.

Her mom is very supportive.

I recently learned that it’s fairly common practice for girls to send guys naked, (or half naked) selfies.  Wait, what?  Isn’t this along those lines of milk and cows and giving things up for free?  Not leaving anything to the imagination?  Right, mom would not approve.

Don’t even get me started on the demise of society through selfies.  I can go on and on about my antipathy for them.  In fact, I’m president of the club:  MAS.

But curiosity always kills the cat right?  My follow up question was, “Does this actually work?”

His response, “Naked selfies almost always work.”

He said almost:  Click here…do it!  Do it!  Do it!

Hmmmm…. So I started to ponder how this could affect my own life.  Being that I’m extremely self-centered, I asked myself:  How often do I pull out my “little black dress?”  Truth…almost never.  My daily uniform consists of yoga pants, a tank top, and sneakers…always sneakers.  I wear my hair in a pony-tail bun about 85% of the time.  Make-up gets used on weekends and when I have to volunteer at my son’s school, but most of the time, I’m simple, plain, and boring…a dun dun dun…housewife.

Back when I worked, I wore tailored business suits, pretty silk blouses, and even high heels.  My hair was always down, lipstick on, and I never left the house without accessories.  The only jewelry I ever wear now is my Ironman watch…sexy, right?  Back off, boys.

The truth is: there are girls out there sending naked selfies to guys in order to get laid.  Maybe I need to try harder.

Don’t get me wrong.  I take really good care of myself.  I work out a minimum of 3 times a week.  I eat healthy and avoid all of the junk foods, etc.  But the buck stops there.  I don’t spend a lot of time on my appearance or getting “pretty” even though behind my workout clothes and my pony tail, I’m quite sure a pretty girl still exists.

Yesterday I thought it might be fun to try an experiment.  The same dude who said naked selfies always work also said that hair is a big deal to guys, so after I dropped my daughter off at school, I decided to actually spend some time on my hair.  I got on Pinterest and found a tutorial on blow drying my hair. I know…those are out there.  I could have also gone on to learn how to apply false eyelashes, but let’s get real.  So after I showered, I spent (and I’m not exaggerating) 30 minutes blow drying my hair.  Then I “put on my face” as my mom used to say, careful to apply blush and bronzer.  I even wore lip gloss.  I chose a cute, fitted shirt and my skinny jeans, and I pranced around the house all day, wondering if my husband would notice.

This just in, he didn’t.

Finally, after the kids were comfortably tucked into bed, I said, “Hey, man, I spent 30 minutes fixing my hair for you today.”

He said, “Why?”  Then he smirked at me with his “I’m about to be an asshole” grin and said, “I fixed my hair for you, too, dude.”

I rolled my eyes and went to my bedroom where I changed from my skinny jeans to my much more comfortable pajamas and fell asleep on the couch.

I guess what I was hoping for was a spark….a little strike to a flame that often gets extinguished with the stress of everything on our plates:  sick parents, kids, work, life, etc.   I’m always looking for something, something that catches him off guard, something that makes him look twice, something so that I can, you know…get some.  Up next I guess is naked selfies.  Didn’t someone say that they “almost always work?”

Stay tuned….this could be good. Or really really bad.

Now, I’m off to find a Pinterest tutorial on the art of taking naked  sexy selfies.   Right after I blow dry my hair.

What do you do to keep the spark afire?  Are you guilty of letting it get burned out?  Do you try new things to keep the magic alive?  Anyone else want to join me in a naked selfie challenge?

You’re My Huckleberry

You are my Huckleberry.  Let’s define that, shall we?  According to the Urban Dictionary, (that’s a legit source, people) it means “I’m the man you’re looking for.”  (That’s a direct quote.  Anyone who knows me knows I would never end a sentence in a preposition, so there’s that.)

So in keeping true to my whole Friendship theme, I’m jumping onto the Ten Things of Thankful train, but I’m doing it my way.   I’m going to give you a list, a version of what my best friend and I created years ago… (Hopefully she won’t kill me for sharing this.)

A Top Ten List

My Top Ten Thankfuls for This Weird Funky Week

(We work our way to #1, so let’s start at 10.)

#10:  Lizzi because you are so full of love and light and encouragement and help, and you send me music (which speaks straight to my heart, my love language for sure.) And every time I see the little chat bubble with your smiley face, I smile back.  I’m so glad I found you, Lizzi.  Oozing thankfuls all over you.

#9.   The rest of my blogger buddies:  Don, Aussa, Phil, Dana, Sandy, Nicole, Kate, Mike (and Phoneix),  and so many more.  You are all so so so very awesome.  I love peeking into your worlds and reading your stories which make me feel like I *know* you, like I’m a part of you.  I’ve been in a funk this week, but your words were a step in the ladder that pulled me out of that funk, and today the sun shines bright in the sky, I’m well rested, and I’m no longer blue.

#8.  Also in the running for pulling me out of my funk:  my new cyber-besties, Hella Buzzed and Magpie.  What in the world did I do with my day before I met you?  I can somehow spend an entire day chatting away with you guys about anything and still be hungry for more.  My cheeks hurt from smiling, and my belly hurts from laughing, and my heart is so very grateful that Michelle ignited this flame.

My girls:  you know who you are.  (in no particular order)

#7. a) You coined the name “Mandicap” which still haunts me.  You pushed me to class in my wheel chair.  You introduced me to my forever.  You stood by me when I married him.   I’ll never forget the day we walked around Manhattan together and the walk through Central Park….sigh.  That was one of my favorite days of all time.  Soon you’ll become a mom and welcome your baby girl, and I hope she has even a spark of your humor, your love, and your beauty.

b) You’ve been my mommy go to, the one who always tells me that I’m not crazy.  You wait for me in Carl’s Corner with a scented candle and a smile.  You can sell me anything just by saying, “You love it.  You do.” Even if it’s tofu. And when I hear Dave Matthews Band or Sublime, I imagine your little red eclipse and spending hours driving around our college town in it.  Without our talks, I’m not sure I’d still be sane.  Oh wait – I’m not.

#6.  We didn’t hit it off right off that bat, which had nothing to do with who your ex-boyfriend is.  Very few people get me on the level that you do.  You are almost as funny as I.  Ok, ok.  You’re as funny.  I will always admire your eyebrows, and when you asked me to stand up next to you as your matron of honor because I “represented a happy marriage,” you stole more of my heart than you know.  You’re a great mom, a great friend, and a trivia wiz.  I’m so glad I met you, even if you hated me that day.

#5.  Mi amor, you will always be….esta es siempre en mi corazon.  You bring me wine and other stuff and sit outside  with me until our lips are stained purple while we talk through every inappropriate topic and piece of gossip until the wee hours of the morning.  Squelched laughter, rule-breaking chat sessions, and Freaks of the Industry will always remind me of mi amor.

#4.  You are my wingman (you can totally have a vagina and be a wingman).  You helped me make the rules to Drunk Around the World.  You’re my Dust in the Wind, my synchronized swimming partner.  Our friendship began as a seed planted by our husbands to get to spend more time together, but it’s taken root and bloomed into something so much more.  I adore you, but this you know, and the friendship between our children makes my heart swell.

#3.  Beth…where do I begin?  I still can’t believe how many play-dates we wasted being polite.  I love the weird bond our sons share and the fact that they brought us together.  I don’t know where it finally happened, but we sparked, and I’m so very grateful that we did.  I truly cherish this friendship.  I love our Big Truck Tuesdays, that we share a sick dirty mind, and the pictures we send back and forth…le’ sigh.  I love your humor and your brain, and I cannot even comprehend your talent.  I believe in your book, and I sit on the edge of my seat and wait for the rest of the world to get to read it.  #threechapterthursday is my favorite day of the week.   How lucky am I that you trusted me with it first?  And now I love beards, and trees, and tattoos, and tattoos of trees.  (But I love you even more than all of that.)  What have you done to me?

#2.  Nikki, my kindred, my soul mate, my fellow lover of books.  You are beautiful and funny and smart, and so very talented.  (She’s published two books.  Rebound & Resilient)  The fact that you’re about to publish a third book amazes me to no end, and I squeal with delight every time you post a new teaser.  You have become so much more to me than a friend.  I look forward to our Thursdays and relish the memories of sitting for hours in a bookstore on the floor talking about these fictional characters as if they’re real people.  You win best hugs ever, which says a lot since you know I’m not a hugger.  You are so dear to me, so very special.  You make my heart smile.

And the Number One Friend for whom I say thanks each and every day:

Kimberly (yes I’m using your name.  Suck it.)  30 years ago as I sat outside in my backyard literally eating mudpies, my mom called for me and made me come inside, wash up and change out of my mismatched “boy” clothes and go introduce myself to the three little girls who moved in next door. I huffed and argued, but she urged and insisted and finally shooed me out the door.  She had no idea what an impact that introduction would be to her little girl’s life and the inseparable friendship that would result from her insistence.  Kimberly, words cannot describe you.  You’re brilliant and brave and funny and weird like me and so opinionated and full of red headed stubbornness.  You’re a wonderful mom, an amazing principal, a devoted wife, and the absolute “dearest” friend, my full moon.  I have to stop, or I’ll cry, and you know.  I. Never. Cry.

So there – my weird attempt at TToT.  You can join, too.  Just grab the button and follow the rules.  We’ll see if I get kicked off of this one, too.


I’m Your Huckleberry

Your BFF,  your bestie, your confidant, your wingman, your amigo, and most often, I’m your best friend.  I wear that badge proudly, with a smile and my chin slightly tilted upward, my half of the golden broken heart charm dangling on my chest.  You know the necklace.

Best Friend Necklace

Best friend…that’s not just any term…BEST.  That’s a big deal, and I don’t take it lightly.   One of my hidden talents is my ability to climb right up the friendship ladder to the top…the BEST spot, and I. LOVE. IT!!!

I surround myself with a huge circle of friends, one that continues to grow now that I’ve joined this world of blogging, and I love each of them/you dearly.  I do.  That’s part of it.  When I’m your friend, I truly love you.  I think about you.  I remember things that you say you like, your favorites, the kind of music you listen to, the little things that fill your world with light, even if it’s yoda undies, and I pull out little pieces of my secret stash whenever any of my friends needs a little sparkle.  I love to make people laugh and smile and just be happy, so people tend to gravitate to me.  I’m good with this.

I make myself available, whether it’s via phone call, which anyone who really knows me knows I absolutely loathe talking on the phone. After years of sales and being on the phone all day long, it pains me when it rings…seriously, but I will pick it up and put it to my ear, and I will discuss what an asshole your husband is or whether or not you should start working out (yes, always yes), and what to say to your teenage daughter who may or may not be having sex, or simply talk about the news.  I will answer.  And sometimes, an hour will slip by, and I’ll still be there, listening, and talking with you because you need me, so I’m available.  Period.  When you’ve had a shitty day at work, I’ll chat with you online and try to make you feel better, even if it’s just to say, “that really sucks, man.”   I return annoyed texts with snarky remarks, or sometimes, I just send you half naked photos of a hot guy or a weird whacky video that made me laugh,  just to let you know you crossed my dirty little mind.  Because I’m your friend, and that’s a big deal.

I’m your biggest fan.  When you need someone to cheer you on, I’m there, doing my best herkiewith my pom poms out , shaking them and screaming:  You can do it!!!  I encourage. I motivate.  I rally.

When someone wrongs you, I hate them with you, with passion.  I will rant with you about what a bitch she is and  how much more awesome you are than she because I am always on your side.  Always.  I will help you come up with ways to get back at your boss when he’s being an asshole, even if it’s just lowering his office chair every morning before he comes in, and I’ll stay on the phone with you and laugh when he plops down and looks around to see if anyone noticed.  When a man or woman breaks your heart, I go with you to the voodoo lady to make the doll, and together we stick it full of pins and laugh, and laugh, and laugh.


I run to you when you’re sick.  I cry with you when you’re sad.  I celebrate with your happiness, and I pick you up from the floor when the world sucks out your steam.  Because I’m your friend, and that’s a big deal.

People always say, “You can’t choose your family.” But my friends choose me, and I don’t ignore that, and when he or she uses the term “best”, I commit to the title.  I tackle it, and I make it my bitch.  One of my hidden talents is being a best friend, and I’m really good at it.

I’m hopping on the “finish the sentence Friday train”.  You can, too.  I don’t really know the rules.  Copy that cute little pic below and see what the other talents are out there.  We’ll see if I get kicked out….


Lovepocalypse Take 2

That phone call set my heart to flight.  Brendon, who I had a huge high school girl crush on, just called me at my mom’s house and asked me on a date.   It was Friday.  He suggested that we go to dinner on Saturday night, but I had to waitress at the piano bar, so I begrudgingly said “no.”  He thought for a second and then told me that he already had plans that night with some friends to meet at Blues, the bar next to the hospital.  He invited me to join them.  He didn’t know my age.  18.  He offered to pick me up, but I told him I would meet him there.  I was nervous and socially awkward, and I wanted my own car in case I needed to bolt if my anxiety got out of hand.

I drove to my apartment giddy with excitement about our impending date.  I appealed to my best friend/roommate to find me the perfect outfit since I had/have zero fashion sense, and Brendon had never seen me in anything but my hospital uniform:  Green polo shirt and khaki Dickies.  She found something she said was perfect “first date at a bar” attire that most definitely would make him swoon.  I looked at the outfit, bit my lip, and shrugged my shoulders.  I had only been on a few dates and had very little experience with men, and Brendon was a man.  A beautiful Latin man.  So I took her advice and donned something other than my usual t-shirt, jeans, and sneakers.

I walked into the bar feeling out of place without my normal gang of hospital friends, tugging at my shorts that I was certain were at least 2 inches too short and pulling at the shirt that hugged me a little too tightly.  Then I saw him.   He was sitting at the bar, drinking a Bud Light wearing a white Nike baseball cap, a perfect contrast to his tawny skin.  He turned around and noticed me standing in the doorway.  His smile reached all the way to his dark eyes as he walked over to greet me.  He pulled me into his chest in a surprisingly comfortable hug.  “Wow.  You’re here,” he said offering me that killer smile.  “I wasn’t sure you’d come.”  What?  He wasn’t sure I would come.

He guided me to the bar, his hand barely grazing my lower back.  He ordered me a Bud Light and another for himself, and we sat side by side sharing familiar and easy conversation.   We talked about college and classes.  He told me he was 23 and almost finished.  I hesitated but told him I was only 18, that I had just completed my second semester.  He looked at me and said, “You’re just a puppy, Kiddo.”   “Kiddo” would become his pet name for me, a name that I would grow to love being called.

He introduced me to his friends and his brother who met up with us later, and we all talked and laughed, and I found myself floating in his attention.  He was smart and funny and unbelievably sexy.  We closed down the bar.  He insisted that I let him drive me home…in his jeep…with the top off, which took his hotness D&B to a whole new level.  On the drive home, we learned that we shared a passion for music of all kinds.  When we got to my apartment, we sat in his jeep in the parking lot, listening to Fleetwood Mac.  When the last song ended, I reluctantly said, “I better go in.”  He walked me to my door where he planted a soft, sweet kiss on my lips and said, “Goodnight, Kiddo.” He pulled me into him in a warm embrace and let out a quiet sigh that went straight to my…ahem.   I wanted to invite him in, but I didn’t know how.  I was young and dumb, and incredibly naïve.   I opened the door and walked into my apartment, trying to summon the words to tell him that I didn’t want the night to end, but the words never came.  Instead, I just said, “Goodnight.”  He winked and turned to walk to his jeep.   I went to bed smiling, with his scent still lingering on my skin.

The next morning, my roommate drove me to my car.  I started to pull out of the parking spot when I noticed something on my windshield.  A note.  From him.

Can’t wait to see you again. –B        

Just like that, he hooked me even more, and I was in my first “grown up” relationship.  We took advantage of every free opportunity we had to spend together. It was challenging since I worked most nights, but we made it work.  We didn’t see each other often, but when we did, we cherished the time.  We shared a twisted sense of humor and spent most of our time together laughing.  He had the best laugh, and anytime I said something funny, he would grab me either by my arm or my hand, and hold me while he shook with laughter at something witty that I said.

His touch ignited my skin.

He told me I was way too funny to be a girl, which was even better than all of the times he told me I was pretty and smart and perfect.

He took me to his childhood home, introduced me to his mom, and called me his “girlfriend.”   She made us jalapeno muffins and told Brendon to be nice to me when he made fun of something that I said.   After she went to bed, we cuddled on the couch and watched some old movies on her big screen TV.

Another night, he took me to an abandoned mansion rumored to be haunted.  We crawled through the window and crept through the dark empty rooms, waiting for a ghost to jump out at us, my heart pounding in my chest.  But nothing made my heart stutter more than when he pushed me up against the grimy wall, wrapped his arms around my waist, and kissed me.

We spent countless hours at our favorite music store, standing side by side at the listening stations, ears covered with huge plastic headphones, smiles plastered on our lips discovering new music together…all before iTunes and immediate internet downloads.   Our love of music became our bond, another pull to my heart.

He often surprised me and showed up at the piano bar to listen to me play, which was a huge adjustment for me since I preferred to play for strangers.  That first night, he sat at a table by himself.  He didn’t order anything to eat or drink,  just sat there.  Listening to me.  I forced myself not to look in his direction.   I didn’t even notice that he left before I finished.  I was hugely disappointed when I discovered his empty chair until realized later as I counted my tips that he snuck  a comment card in my tip jar that said:

I didn’t think it was possible for you to be more beautiful, until I heard you play. ~B

That night, when I left the bar, he was waiting by my car.

“I got you this,” he said and handed me a CD.  George Winston:  December.  “It’s really a Christmas album, but I think you’ll like it.”

I suggested that we hop in his jeep and go for a drive to listen to it.  As we drove through our West Texas town, the sound of George Winston’s piano mingled with the warm summer breeze.  Then I heard a familiar song, Variations of Johann Pachelbel’s Canon.  He said that he loved this version and that it was his favorite song to hear on the piano.  We drove for hours that night until he took me back to my car.  He gave me a simple kiss, and said, “Goodnight, Kiddo,” handing me the CD.

I drove home listening to my new album and made it my mission to learn his song.   I listened to it incessantly, always playing it in my head.  I spent hours at my parents’ house practicing it over and over.  When they went to bed, I went to the one place that I knew never closed, the hospital chapel, and I banged my way through it until it was…perfect.

The next time he came to listen to me play, I surprised him and played it for him.

That night, I didn’t have to invite him into my apartment.  He practically pushed me through the door.