Hey kiddos
I'm doing a project, who wants to add a little input on male/female friendships? Do they work? Do they not? Do they work if sex is involved? Can girls ever be one of the "guys"? I need the ladies and gents to put their vote in on this one, you know you all have your stories
I'll give you my input once I've got all mah data collected.
For now, vintage nude of me.

2007 (?) nude

2006 nude

2009 nude
annnddd

Knocked up nude

Edited to add: Just for the sake of it, nude me today:

Sometimes it's hard to admit that I'm nothing special.
Harder to admit that that's okay.



*Edited to add: I didn't mean that statement in a negative light. Just that we aren't all as special as people tell us we have to be. That we don't have to be amazing or perfect or shine the brightest. It's okay. It's okay to breathe and tell yourself that maybe you aren't "special", and that's okay. To be honest, it takes a bit of a load off of me.
Just be happy. That's all. You don't have to be extraordinary.

Sometimes this whole job situation feels so damned hopeless. For everyone. I mean, it's not possible to make that many jobs for this many people that need them. There just isn't enough work. It's so sobering. The even more sobering idea is that you can't live without it. I wish that by some magical occurance I had land bequethed to me and I could live on it and build a home and grow my fruits and veggies and trade for the rest. I do and I don't. I like that idea, but maybe not the reality. I like being alone and trying to take care of myself and growing veggies and learning about foraging, but I also like buying yummy treats from the grocery store and going to art festivals and parks and open mic nights.

It feels like the older I get the less I have it figured out.
The more I see the less I know, right?

A lifetime ago.

Sometimes everyone needs a little vanity. If you ever wondered what I look like in the morn:


See that swollen eye? It won't fucking go away. It is, I believe, a mixture of allergies and oak pollen and a possible infection. I've been treating it by rubbing it with dirty fingers at least a thousand times a day. It obviously makes me beautiful.

Despite the ruthless eye, this weekend brings adventure. I'll be headed down south with my best friend to see our other best friend with my little boy man in tow. We'll be bringing videos and toys and snacks. It should be pretty fun. I have yet to pack, though, and I have yet to head to the mailbox to check for my paycheck from last week, All in due time, children, all in due time.

The book that I mentioned last check in is still sitting about where it was last week. I know where it goes and I know what it says and I'm already in love with all the people that I've birthed from my words and all those that are being pieced together lie heavy in my heart, but I can't stop myself from editing and second guessing what I'm trying to say. I read fiction and non-fiction on literary sites nearly every day, and some of it inspires and encourages and I think "I can do this, I can make it, I can actually make writing my profession", and then others are so brilliant and beautiful and still haven't "made it" that I cry inside and think to myself, "If they haven't made it, and there are milllions more like them out there, how the hell will I ever make it?". I guess everyone goes through that though, in their careers and their life ambitions, second guessing themselves. Just do it, Myrtle, just do it.

Easier said than done.

P.s. My life is filled with beauty still, and last night brought fun and laughter and good talks and good sushi. Thank you

I'm working on a book that talks about sex and destruction and magic. Isn't that what the world is made of? Maybe I'll finish it, maybe I won't. That seems like how things go lately and I like it.
I work with a hilarious older man writing his novel as well. I'm editing my grandfathers book as well.
Busy.

When I'm not doing those things, I volunteer with a middle school that is full of these beautiful and terrible children who I work to teach how to write and express themselves. Some of them love it, one in particular who raises her hand and answers all my questions and asks intelligent questions and writes sweet poetry about toy buffaloes. Some of the boys are sweet and intelligent, but I wonder if their questions are more about writing and creativity, or if they're more a ploy to bring me over to their little desks to smell my grown up teacher perfume.

Whatever the case, it's fun. I'm having fun. I get to spend almost all my time with my baby face and I get to write and I get to take long walks in the sunshine. Life seems to be working out well.

This is what I looked like on Valentines day before teaching my excited little kiddins and making them make each other friendship bracelets. Sometimes I think that I've looked the same since the day I was born.

So, little kitty has taken up residence in the garage. Good, because I don't have a heart attack every time it rains, and he/she lets me a little bit closer with each feeding. Bad, because little kitty leaves poops and pees in the garage that smell terrible and will have him evicted by my parents.

I've decided that the best idea for capture to transport to the vets is to place the food in a pet carrier with a soft towel at the bottom for a couple of days. Once he gets used to that I can take steps to close the carrier and transport him/her to the vet.

I have a blog up for all that are interested.
I'm also selling some of my vintage clothes in SG sales, and on fashion blog.
The vintage clothes have been a kind of passion for me since I was very young. I grew up fairly underprivileged, so I learned to sew at a young age and my sister and I would spend hours picking over thrift stores to find the most fashionable finds. We dressed eccentrically. We looked hot. This is for her and for me. I want to donate a portion of any proceeds I make to different charities.

I can also negotiate on price, if anyone is interested in an item who doesn't necessarily have the funds. Like I said, I grew up poor. I'm still poor, and I believe everyone should be able to express their own personal style, regardless of economic standing.

I hope you're all doing well in SG land.

So, some of you may have read that I lost my dear dog, but a kitten showed up in my backyard paralleling his loss. I have been persistently attempting to lure this kitty to my breast with gourmet kitten food, but no such luck. He is true ferrel kitty, and will only let me watch him eat, but not touch.

I want what's best for this kitty. He is small, probably around 6-10 weeks old, stripped. I'm trying to get him to trust me, as I need to get him to a veterinarian for tests, shots, spay/neutering, but I can't even reach out to touch him. I would like to do this with as little traumatic an experience as I can ensure for Kitten.

Any tips or tricks? I also worry about him when it rains. There are covered areas, but no where where it is completely dry. I know he's been fending for himself all this time, but I still worry.

More musings in the blog

I had to put my sweet dog down yesterday after he went into congestive heart failure.
And it was the 3 year anniversary of my sisters death.
I feel like the universe wants me to feel terrible constantly.
In my Blog

I feel as though I'm only really sexy when I drink.
Case in point, I don't look this good in everyday life:



Maybe in real life I just don't feel bold enough to make sexy face poses. Or my lips just aren't as red.
Or I just don't look as mysterious and loose and fun.

In everyday life I just look innocent.


blog

I want to shoot a new set. It seems nearly impossible, though. For some reason it is difficult to get people to take pictures of me in the buff.
Boo.
So, if one of you out there has a good camera and good ideas, hit me upppp!
As always, My Blog