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02 October 2004 - 10:29 pm

I'm getting back into photography. A couple months ago I was busted at work for "improper use of company email" cuz they caught me being snatchy to a co-worker about another co-worker. So I started thinking, "Is this really what I wanna do for the rest of my life?" And the answer is, "Emphatically NO." So then I have to ask myself, "Well, what do you wanna be when you grow up?" And the answer is, "A photographer." So I start to seriously consider what I'm gonna need to do to make this work. I start hearing about "business license" and "DBA" and "LLC" and realize I have no earthly clue what to do. So I check online and one of the first things to do is get yourself a lawyer to make sure you're not doing anything ... well, criminal. So since I'm paying for the Group Legal Plan at work, I get some info from them. I have to call between so and so time between this day and that day. And I start stressing out because I'm realizing how much work I have to do, and contacting a stranger to teach me what to do about my future is a scary prospect. We're talking major stress. I got a massage the other day and my shoulders were one big giant huge mass of muscle. It took her an hour just to get down to the big knots in my shoulders (I go back to see her next week so she can work on those).
So I'm online chatting with Fuzzy and my Favorite Asian Lesbian yesterday, and it finally hits me. FAL is a lawyer. And she does business law and has a degree in business. I almost cried. Partly because I was happy, and partly because I felt so friggin stoopid. So she gave me some tips and told me what to do, and I'm getting all the excitement back! I wish I was a lesbian so I could plant myself ear-deep in her hoodie-hoo and go NUM-NUM-NUM-NUM-NUM-NUM-NUM-NUM-NUM-NUM-NUM.


A couple of days ago there was a knock on the door. I opened it and there was a boy on my doorstep, who immediately goes into his spill. I didn't realize it at first ... he started talking about how this was a challenge to help himself get better at public speaking ("How am I doing, by the way?) and after about 30 seconds he pulls out a magazine list. {sigh} So I ask him how long he's been on mag crew, and his head whips up and he gets wide-eyed and he grins, "About 3 months. Were you?"
"No. Roommate was."
So he gets back into his groove and we get to the part where I choose to purchase a magazine subscription or slam the door in his face. Usually I choose the latter and get on with my day. I tell him I don't need more crap cluttering my apartment and he says that I can donate the subscription. At this point I choose to purchase a subscription - for two reasons.
1. Fuzzy's relentless in her promotion of Operation Smile, and the thought of donating a Nickelodeon mag to the St. Jude's Children's Fund makes me warm & fuzzy inside.
B. His smile suddenly reminds me of S19YOA.

Perhaps I should pause at this point and describe the young man on my doorstep. He's 18 or 19 years old, 5'8" - 5'10", tan, light brown eyes, dark brown hair, pearly white smile, and there's a peek of a tattoo running up the back of his right arm. In a word = Yum. His name is Sonny.

He asks if I have a table he can use to write on, and I ask him to hold on and I close the door. I check the room, then open it and invite him in. He sits on the couch and I apologize, explaining that I had to make sure "things" were put away. He asks, "Are they 'things'?" and makes a scooping motion towards his nose. I reply, "No, they're things that make straight boys run screaming." He laughs and takes a seat. He begins filling out the form and then notices the hunk I have as my computer wallpaper. "Hey! How'd you get a picture of me?" I flash him a smile and tell him that he's much prettier. He pauses then returns to filling out the form. I give him my info and the next time he looks up, my screensaver has kicked in. I have two folders that I use for screensaver pics. One is "G-rated pics" and the other is "Not so much." Right now, it's set on the folder with the naked men doing naughty things to each other. So he looks up and says, "Wow. That's a really big penis."
"Yes. Yes it is."
"Um. Anyway, please sign right here. Wow. Lookit that! He's really going to town on it, isn't he."
"I would say so."
So I finish signing, I write a check for the total and he gives me a receipt. And he hasn't stopped looking and the Parade O'Penis that's marching across my monitor.
At this point, my thoughts run along the lines of, "I wonder where I put my camera. I think it's in my bag. Hm, it might be in my room. As a photographer I need to work on my people skills and hone my ability to put people at ease. I wonder if I can talk him out of his clothes. Gods, I hope he's at least 18. Crap and a half, there's absolutely no way I could explain that to Greg. {sigh}" I shake his hand and show him to the door. As he's walking away, I notice that the entire time he was on my couch, I was standing so that if he looked up, there's no way he could have missed my screensaver. Suddenly I felt like I'd spent the day in front of an elementary school with a van and a bag of candy.
Five minutes later (I swear by all that's holy, 5 minutes) Greg walks in the door. I describe what just walked out the door and tell him to go out on the porch and smoke, hoping he'll catch a glimpse.
Well, Greg got distracted by porn and I got distracted by a video game, so if Sonny walked by, we didn't see him.
Greg got SO laid that night.

OH! I forgot ... Sonny's from Virginia. HA!

 

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