Part I.

Part II.

“Okay,” Josh said, “Give me your ‘I want you’ face.”

Immediately, I started laughing – I’ve known Josh for close to ten years, and the very idea of giving him a Come to Aunt Becky face was beyond comical. I’m not even sure I have a sexy face – when I want to have sex, my idea of foreplay is this, “Let’s have sex.” Occasionally, “I want to have sex now.”

Let’s face it, my idea of a “romantic evening” involves a 12-pack of condoms and a bottle of bourbon.

So yeah, back to my “Come Hither,” face.

Eventually I stopped laughing, but I’m not gonna lie – it took awhile. It’s not that Josh isn’t attractive – he is* – but it’s just not like that. Plus, I had both Dawn and The Guy on my Couch, Ben, sitting there, watching me as I tried to twist my neck into positions no porn star should consider.

Every time I grimaced, Josh said, “Turn your neck farther – I don’t care if it doesn’t go that way. DO IT.”

So I did. For thirty minutes I did. While listening to death metal. Because shit, there’s nothing like thrash metal to get you in the mood to get down and dirty.

Bow-chica-wow-wow. Awwww-YEAH.

After the music began chanting about killing someone, I asked him to change the selection to something more porn-y. It’s hard to be all sexy while you’re listening to Motorhead.

It seemed to take hours for him to finish shooting my pictures. Hours I spent wondering:

1) Why I’d chosen to get pantyhose without an easy-access crotchal opening (for PEEING, you pervs)

B) What the German death metal song was ACTUALLY saying – it sounded like they were screaming about bratwurst.

3) How many digits of pi that I could rattle off (3.141536…) before I was told to “make the sexy face” again

i) Why the fuck my dress was giving my arm rug burn.

C) If my arm looked like a hunk of ham.

II) How far I’d go to get a diet Coke – murder? theft? drive-by?

D) Why two – but only two – of my toes were cold.

But mostly, I wondered how I’d gotten myself into this damn mess in the first place. It’s not that I don’t like having my picture taken – to me, it’s as natural as breathing. See, Pranksters, I was born at a time when my father (who maaaaaay be a bit Aspie), grandfather (likewise, Aspie) and brother were into photography. I may be the most well-documented child on the planet. Every family shot was arranged, then rearranged, then rearranged again, by which time those of us in the shot were ready to take the camera and insert it neatly into the photogs rectum.

So photos? Not the end of the world.

Finally, after I’d been contorted into positions that would make a stripper blush, I was done. Immediately I slipped out of my bastardized Beyonce dress and back into my happy pants before sitting my ass on the couch while The Guy On The Couch** got his snaps done.

We all considered keeping me in the outfit just to see if I could get any cash working on the side (the demise of the Craig’s List personals have left me with no extra income), but we realized no one had a pimp stick. So back into my PJ’s I went.

What the fuck were we all doing there? I can hear you, Pranksters, wondering, the wheels in your head turning. Certainly I’m as narcissistic as the next blogger, but rarely would I willingly drive into the Ghetto to further my obsession with myself. Why, I can look into the mirror and have the same results.

So let me take you back a year, Pranksters, where this all began.

Amy, from the site formerly known as Blogger Body Calendar, approached me – she was overwhelmed by the whole project and very sweetly asked if my site, Band Back Together, would be willing to take it over. Of course I agreed – I mean, part of what we do is to break down stigmas through stories of mental illness, rape, trauma, child loss, infertility, and anything else you can imagine. We always take submissions (hint, HINT) so that none of us will ever feel alone in our struggles.

So of course I was willing to help her out. In turn, this year, we’d be doing our own calendar.

Which we are.

For our 2013 Band Back Together Calendar, we are doing, “I Am The Face Of…” Rather than head-shots, each of us is going to shoot a picture inspired by an actual album cover. This is either going to be the most brilliant – or most horrendous – idea ever.

At long last, The Guy On My Couch was done with his shoot. I wondered aloud whether or not the car would still be there when we got back – I mean, we HAD parked in front of an abortion clinic and those are known hot-beds of violence. Apparently, we are not only suburban, but stupid, too.

But there she was, my natty suburban SUV, sitting there, probably with a bomb rigged somewhere (I, apparently, have been watching too much 24) so we’d die when we got in. Alas, it was not to be.

Sorry, Pranksters, you’re not that lucky – I’m still alive and ticking.

I begged Ben to stop at the side of the road, where some guy was selling “Tide” from the back of his pick-up truck. He refused. He also refused to stop for the guy selling cotton candy. I love me some cotton candy.

Back on the highway, we breathed a sigh of relief. We’d made it out alive, even if I DIDN’T get any cotton candy out of the deal. I don’t have any pictures of the photo shoot yet – I’m scared to death to see what they look like – but I’ll let you know when I do.

To stop me from pouting, Ben and Dawn took me out for gloriously suburban cheeseburgers.

Now, I just have to figure out how best to dispose of the fug ass dress. I’m pretty sure Goodwill will ban me for life if I try to drop that shit off.

*Shut the fuck up, Josh. I will never admit that I said that.

**The Guy on my Couch is named Ben (my kids call him Big Ben)(hehe). Ben works with me on Band Back Together and has relocated to Chicago because it’s truly the best city on the planet. As far as I’m concerned “Chicago” should be labeled on a map and the rest of the world should be labeled, “Not Chicago.”

15 thoughts on “Three Dumbasses Drive OUT Of The Ghetto

  1. What an awesome idea!! Can’t wait to see how the photo shoot comes out and the new calendar!! I’ll be keeping my eye out for it!!

  2. I can’t thank you enough for explaining about The Guy On My Couch. A friend of mine and i were oh so confused. We thought your son Ben was The Guy On My Couch for quite some time 😉

  3. Sounds similar to my day yesterday. Thank heaven for my lovely friend Jonathan at Stormfall Studios. Except we’re not even close to done yet. I had to traipse up a stairwell that smelled worse than a prison bathroom (trust me, I know how bad a prison bathroom smells) to get to the green room. Once there, we used all the lights and did the blowout shot against the black side of the room. Once we finished that, he made me pose for the obligatory shot against the green screen, just so he could show me how horrific the green screen made my complexion look. He’ll probably post that picture somewhere out there on the internet to pay me back for tweeting a picture of him carrying my purse (which totally didn’t match his outfit). I wound up wearing Jonathan’s pajamas because my pants were wet. Which has nothing to do with the calendar (or Jonathan, for that matter. I played in the fountain with a little kid after the blowout shot was finished). Jonathan made the dark circles under my eyes go away. Also, all the other ugly parts. I went to sleep with the Gabriel & Dresden remix of the Engine Room’s song that became the theme song to Nip/Tuck; “make me beautiful”. At least your pain is over. Mine is just begun. We only managed to get one of the album covers done yesterday. He is insistent that we do the Shakira covers on different days. Yep, I’m still going to have to put on an approximation of an ivy-leaf bra-top and go out in the forest to get mah picture did.Why the fuck am I doing this again? Oh, yeah. Because I can’t say no to Aunt Becky.

    I hope like hell you never ask me to rob a bank. I know what the bathroom in a prison smells like, and I’d rather not smell it again.

  4. 1. So glad I’m not the only one confused about TGOMC aka Big Ben.
    B. SOO glad you’re out of the ghetto and alive, albeit not with Tide or hooker cash
    Z. I can not wait to see the photo shoot. I bet you could sell it like a peep show if ya wanted to.
    Rock on girl!

  5. I love the word Aspie, says the woman who grew up with 40+ clocks in the fronch room, and a model train in the backyard (and not just ANY model train).

    So where do you get your glorious suburban cheeseburgers? We are Alfie and Country House fans in this house :).

  6. By the by, this is me tooootallly volunteering to be the face of chronic pain and disorders you can spell or pronounce. Cause I totally am

    Also, I have several picture of me in the smexy mermaid costumes I made for us to wear in the Coney Island Mermaid Parade that I was told resemble some Wilco album. Not that I care enough about Wilco to have ever determined it that was true.

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