Boob News

That Nyquil I guzzled the other night? Not so much working. My brain? Replaced with a huge amount of flem. The part of my brain the knows how to spell “phlem”? Very ill and doesn’t care about the little red squiggly line that says I don’t know how to spell. Right now I’d be happy to just know how to breathe through my nose. I like to keep my dreams reachable.

So today was interesting.

We are coming up on the Stripper-palooza I mentioned earlier. It’s all very exciting. I went to the strip club today to work out the details with my photographer and videographer and the club owner. And can someone please explain the lure of strip clubs? I get that men like boobs, this is not a new concept. In fact I’d say that boobs are in the top 3 things that men love in this world. What I’m having trouble with is why on earth one would want to be that close to the thing you love most, and not actually be able to touch it. Does this seem like some sort of sick self-torture to anyone else? Wouldn’t that be kinda like going on a diet and then putting a huge-ass cake in front of your face (or on your lap) and then just having to look at it longingly, but not actually touch it? Who would PAY to put themselves through that torture? My boss said today that he thought maybe some of the men might be the kind of guys who would never have a shot with hot girls, so that’s why they go to the strip clubs, so they can be near them. But I think that’s even worse. What if I’ve never seen a cake up close and then all of a sudden it’s placed in my lap and I can’t really do anything about it? I am worried about the health of these poor men, this can’t be good for their hearts. Or several other parts really.

Later in the day I spent a couple hours calling all the strippers to schedule them for the shoot. How many other people spend their days calling 30 strippers? I have chosen an interesting career.

And coincidently I’ve also chosen an interesting place to work. Today I was at the an office where I do graphic design. I was asked to burn some files onto a disc for a client. When I went to put the files onto the disc drive I saw that there was already a folder waiting to be burned. The folder was titled “Me”. I have a folder titled “Me” on my computer, and it’s mostly just personal files. I wondered why this was somehow getting ready to be burned to a disc. I opened the file, to see what was in it. Guess what, it wasn’t me. It was someone else.

A girl in the office has a “special friend” in Iraq. She wanted to send him a “special gift”. She wanted to send him movies and letters. I told her to send him playing cards with naked women on them, I said he would be the hit of the middle east. Another lady in the office advised the girl to send him Playboy. (Weird thing is, this particular office has nothing to do with the other stripper gig I’m working on. Apparently I just run in boob-friendly circles.)

So anyways, this girl had taken our advice of sending provocative photos. Only she had decided to send provocative photos of herself. And she had decided to save them in a file titled “Me” and to tried to burn that file onto a disc using my computer. This is all fine and dandy, but a girl needs a warning when she is going to open up a folder and see many a “friendly” picture of her co-worker.

It was an interesting day.