Tag Archives: modeling

COVID-19 Chronicles: Days 47-56

I’ve spent the last week with Ormsby (or, well, he’s spent the last week with me), trying to get him situated.  We filed for unemployment for him (status is still pending… that could last a while) and applied for some things.  It was important to me that he not be on his own for the first week, so that he didn’t constantly have to look outside his window and see the place he used to work.  I don’t know if that helped, or if it prolonged the inevitable, because I did have to take him back yesterday.

Sometimes I wonder if he’d have been better off if I’d just left him in Louisville.  Possibly for the short term…at least he wouldn’t have had to have struggled for the first 2.5 years in a job hunt that he always seemed destined to lose.  But in the long term? I mean, this happened in Louisville too.  He’d have been in the same boat there as he now is here… there’s that.  I just wouldn’t feel so… responsible.

Even though I am not responsible.  I have to learn to stop taking all of this on myself. It’s going to kill me when it’s all said and done.  I have to keep telling myself I’ve done all that I can do.  And I have.  And then some.  More than many ever would.  That has to be enough… even when I don’t feel like it’s enough.  I cannot save the world.  I cannot, really, save him either.

The only person that can save Ormsby, is Ormsby.  That’s it.  I can help.  I can prolong what is, perhaps, the inevitable.  But I cannot be the only thing that keeps it at bay.

That is, after all, why we are living separately – so that I could stop being that wall.

It’s Mothers Day… I sent my mom and gift and then followed up with a card that I’d apparently had in my house for a really long time and had forgotten to send (or probably just found another one I liked better).  At any rate the gift arrived on time (because I ordered it 2 weeks ahead).  The card did not – but I also dropped it in the box on Wednesday afternoon.  So she’ll have that to look forward to.

I don’t usually go back up to Kentucky on Mothers Day, but that’s usually because I have plans to go up there at a later time – when I can stay longer.  There are no such plans this time, because I have no idea when I will be able to go back up there.  That makes this one harder.  I did talk to her (and to my dad) for a very long time.  It was nice.

They’re doing well… still social distancing.  I think their church is going to try to open soon, but I don’t think they will go in person for a while.  I don’t begrudge them going (even if I don’t) when it’s safe, but I don’t want them to take the chance that someone they know has it but doesn’t show symptoms and then one of them catches it that way.  That would be awful.

P.S. – This stupid disease is also why the ringer on my phone stays on at all times.

Florida has started opening back up.  I am not partaking yet.  I want to see what the case counts look like 2-4 weeks from now.  We did go to the beach one late afternoon down in Bradenton and we ate at Tibby’s on Friday (but it was empty).  But I am staying the hell away from everyone… like if there’s a human there, I walk the other way.

(This isn’t really that unusual… I do that even when there is no COVID.)

Good Stuff:

  • My mom LOVED her gift.  It was a wind chime that had a birds nest on top with a mother bird feeding her baby birds.  What’s funny is that I ordered it for her about a day before she called to tell me there was a nest of robins near their house that they were watching.  I smiled about that, because it was appropriate.
  • They started furloughing people at my office last Friday.  I was not furloughed.  I consider that a win.  For now.  I’m still not cracking into that stimulus money until either this pandemic has passed us, or until I absolutely have to for a personal emergency.
  • My sister and brother-in-law brought my nieces over to see my parents (from six feet away and with masks).  That was the first time they’d seen them in almost two months.  You couldn’t see anyone’s expressions, but you could seem my parents glowing in the photos.  I am glad that got to happen at least.
  • Aaaaand… finally… Ormsby and I turned my apartment into a photo studio while he was here and got some shots in.  I got back in heels for the first time in two years (paid for it a little later, but not too bad), and we got a few good shots.  I’m posting them below.

© IMJZ Photo

© IMJZ Photo

Internet Dating Escapades XXXIV

I know it’s been awhile, but this came across my Instagram account today and I had to share.  Technically this isn’t really Internet Dating at all (and I’m not single, nor dating), but it kind of falls in line with the other 34 of these so I decided it needed to fall into this category.

There’s a lot here, but read through till the end. 🙂

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… And then… they went back and deleted all of these messages, not realizing that they have been screen-captured and are going to be posted online for posterity’s sake.

… Until next time, folks.

Wanna See My Panties?

I don’t think I’ve ever really talked about lingerie on this blog before.  I am pretty sure I posted some photos here that were taken at one point several years ago, but I’ve not really talked about how much I adore my lingerie collection.

I started early.  I was the kid who spent an inordinate amount of time agonizing in the local Wal-Mart about what kind of underwear I wanted to buy.  It usually had to have some sort of cartoon on it (back then it was probably Care Bears or Sesame Street or something), I needed lots of different colors, and nothing pleased me more than getting a new pack of Hanes Her Way (for girls) to wear.  It’s not like I went around showing everyone my underwear back then, mind you.  I think a lot of it was just the novelty of knowing I had something COOL on under my clothes that no one else knew about.

I grew out of my Sesame Street phase, of course, and we’ll bypass the awkward teenage years in this narrative too, because they’re not worth mentioning (except to say that I did not wear Sesame Street underwear to high school)… also I was an awkwardly shaped teenager with long legs, a nicely-shaped ass, but not much by way of a chest.  I may have gotten my period before anyone else, but tits?  Nope.

Then I hit my 20’s.  And my second puberty (of which there have been three… don’t ask me how I pulled that off, I don’t know).  I got boobs.  My ass remained awesome.  And I started modeling.  Photographers I modeled for would attempt to provide me with pieces they had purchased for models to wear, but I soon learned that most of it was pre-worn, still covered in vagina-gunk from the last model who wore the thing (despite the photographer swearing up and down that they were clean), and I wasn’t putting that ANYWHERE near my own vagina because there’s no guarantee what the photographer would DO with that pair of panties after I had finished with them.

So I started shopping for my own lingerie.  It needed to be… well… awesome.  Better than anything anyone else owned because I needed to save the integrity of my nether-regions and at the same time needed to (at least so I thought… then) preserve the fragile ego of the photographers who had spent all this time buying shit for models.  Looking back on it it was probably all the cheap shit, but I hadn’t hit my connoisseur-status yet.

Long story short, I amassed a HUGE lingerie collection.  At last count (and this has been several years ago), I owned over $5000 worth of merchandise in a rotating wardrobe (material wears out after a while).  Bras, panties, babydolls, fetish pieces, corsets, you name it, I probably had it (and if I didn’t, I’d happily purchase it).  I have professional photos of myself in nearly all of it… which was awesome, because I got paid for those shoots and the money from those shoots went to buy more lingerie.  An endless cycle of sexy undergarments that pay for themselves.  Every woman should be so lucky.

Anyway, when the opportunity came up to submit to the casting for the Luxe Lingerie Show in Tampa, I jumped at it.  I didn’t really dream I’d get in (because while I have been doing stuff like this for most of my adult life, I never have really quite grasped the fact that I am, in fact, lucky enough to GET to do this).  But I did.  And I’m very, very psyched about it – because, for a lingerie nut like me, what is better than to get to go get your hair done, your makeup done, and then get the excuse to wear your lingerie on the outside, where everyone (or at least those who purchased tickets) gets to see it?

It benefits a very worthy cause, too, which makes it doubly awesome – Hope Driven, a charity that provides services to help single parent families living in Hillsborough, Pinellas, or Pasco counties with children under the age of 13.  They provide services like short-term housing, job placement, assistance with food, electricity, and tuition… stuff that helps these families get out from underneath some of the burdens that make success sometimes seem like it’s really far away.

I don’t know how many of my readers live in the Tampa Bay area.  Or how many of you are lingerie fanatics like me.  But if you’re looking for something to do this weekend OTHER than watch beefy men in tight pants run around a football field trying to jump on top of each other, come out to American Social Tampa on Saturday night and take a peek.

You won’t be disappointed.

Luxe

Enter Lord Ormsby – A Flashback

In 2005, I was going to college at the University of Louisville, majoring in History, chosen because I liked the research, I loved the writing, and I wanted to teach it at the University level.  In November of that year, I had just turned twenty-three.

I had been modeling since 2001, though once I’d gotten older (and had moved to Louisville), I saw the amount of profit I was managing to get from it dramatically increase.  Freelancing suited me better – I liked finding my own work.  I liked negotiating and keeping records almost as much as I liked the performance aspect of it, and I found I had a proclivity toward it.  Between school and the modeling, I was a very busy girl.  And, professionally-speaking, I was happy… truth be told, in my professional life, I can’t recall ever being happier.

Relationship-wise, in the winter of 2005, I was living with a man I would later, in 2006, marry.  This flashback is not about this relationship, but it does explain some of the choices I made, and so this is worth stating.  He and I had been engaged.  We had broken off the engagement when I discovered he was cheating.  But, for a multitude of reasons I am not going to go into here, we were still living together.  I was not happy, but it was a choice I’d made, and I could not see any way out of it for the time being – he was all too happy to take the money I made modeling and spend it on poker while, in the privacy of the house, yelling at me for doing what I loved to do (the school and the modeling – he agreed with and supported neither).

Still, I’m not one to give up.  And I’m not one to stop doing what I love just because it’s not going “exactly” the way I want it to.  So I kept doing it.  I didn’t get to keep the money, but I got to manage myself anyway, and that was worth something.  He didn’t share my love for education, and books, and learning, but I got to be around people who did.  Home wasn’t great, but the time I spent outside of home?  It was spectacular.

Anyway, in 2005, on one of my modeling networking sites, I saw an ad posted by someone I did not know (which was rare, in those days, because having been around since 2001, I was familiar with pretty much everyone).  He was advertising for models, writers, etc. for a magazine he was starting in Louisville.  Now, I’d seen these before… most of them were scams, most of them weren’t legit, and most of them weren’t worth answering, but Finals were over for the semester and I was looking at a month’s worth of free time, and what else did I have going on except the occasional shoot… so I answered.  And he replied.  And not only could he write, but he asked if I could meet him at a coffee shop to discuss things.

I was still skeptical.  A little.  But after an email or two and after an exchange of phone numbers, I became less so.  Still, the first time I met the guy, I brought my then-boyfriend with me.  Mr. Ex didn’t say much.  I can’t remember what we talked about when we met.  Honestly it was a fairly standard discussion when it came to work.  Lord Ormsby was friendly and personable, completely professional, and he knew what he was talking about (which helped).  He was ridiculously attractive, too, but I was in a relationship.  And even if I hadn’t been, even then, I didn’t shit where I ate (or didn’t eat… but you get the idea).

Anyway, long story short, over the next several months, we worked on the new magazine together.  I became even busier than I had been before, once school had started back.  Not only was I carrying a full semester of coursework, but I was also modeling AND working with the magazine.  I can’t remember everything I did for it (2006 is a long-ass time ago when life happens to you), but I remember that there was an events calendar that required me to make a lot of phone calls.  Lord Ormsby and I were on the phone a lot… we had to be.  Project production doesn’t just “happen.”

It’s just that… the more we were on the phone, the harder I worked, the less time I had to spend with Mr. Ex.  At first he understood, or pretended to.  But, then, when I kept working and the checks weren’t coming in (because they didn’t come in until the project was completed – which is standard), he started asking questions.  Why were we on the phone so much?  What did we talk about?  Why did I have to call him every afternoon, and why did those conversations that were supposed to be only about one thing last such a long time?  Why was he inviting me to parties with him (forget that they were group events and others were going to be there too)?

And I answered those questions… truthfully, and honestly, or at least as honestly as I dared.  It didn’t matter what I said.  He would still get pissed and, at the end of the day, it was one more reason to fight.  If I talked to Lord Ormsby excessively, it was because he was kind, he did not yell at me.  He was fun and he made me laugh.  Although we really never spent a lot of time in each other’s physical presence, we got to know each other.  And yes, I DID think he was attractive, but, then, so did everyone else.  I would never have acted on it then.  I was engaged.  And I do not cheat.  Ever.  Not even on a man who was cheating on me, and who gave me every reason to do so.

Regardless, though, the more I got yelled at, the more strained I became.  When the magazine was complete, I had to break off ties with Lord Ormsby.  I did not want to.  But my wedding was coming up.  I didn’t see any other option.

The wedding changed a lot.  Now legally bound to the man that had, for several years, taken every penny I made, restrictions began to be placed on what I could and could not do.  I could continue to go to school, but what work-study money I made went to that joint account that he watched like a hawk.  Modeling was out of the question.  Respectability was expected.  All I had left was the amount of time I spent in the classroom and studying (and I made sure that was over half the day).  My cell phone, once autonomously mine, now was shared with Mr. Ex, who kept a careful eye on all of my incoming and outgoing calls (but conveniently forgot to give me the password to the account so I could do the same for him).   I couldn’t even call Lord Ormsby anymore…

I saw him only one final time after the wedding (and before the present day).  In the fall of 2006, after the wedding was over and the honeymoon had been taken, as I was struggling to settle into a new “normal” where my days were filled with work-study and classes and my nights with cooking, cleaning, and dissatisfactory sex.  He and a couple of girls were making their rounds around the common area where the students took their lunches, distributing copies of the magazine.  I was standing in line at the Chick-Fil-A, getting lunch before my afternoon classes.

He did not see me.  A part of me wanted to go to him, to talk to him, because I missed my friend.  But I remained planted, stagnant, not even knowing what I would say if I had approached him.  I wasn’t angry with him (though I think he thought I was), but I didn’t know how to explain what was happening without giving more details than I felt were appropriate to give.  He, the magazine, all of my friends, the modeling, those things that had once defined me, those things that had made me happy, all of them now belonged to a life I was no longer permitted to live.  I wasn’t happy in this new one, but I’d gone into it anyway, and I was determined to make the best of it.  When Lord Ormsby left with the other girls, I sighed.  Not out of relief, really, because I wasn’t relieved at all.  It was a sigh of resignation; resignation that everything I had been – the last essence of who I was once – had disappeared out of the Student Center door.  And I hadn’t even tried to approach it.

You would think this narrative would end there, wouldn’t you?  If I were you, I would.

But it doesn’t.  Not by a long shot.  Oh, sure, we lost touch.  He went on with his life.  I went on with mine.  Got divorced.  Moved to Tampa.  That stuff, if you’ve been following along, you know.  But, then, last Christmas, seven or eight years after we had met in the coffee shop, I saw his name pop up on the “People You May Know” finder on Facebook via a mutual friend.  On a whim, I sent him a Friend Request.  He didn’t respond right away, and I forgot about it, to be honest, until he accepted it a couple of months later.  I figured we’d leave it at that.

But, again, that’s not the way it happened.

Because in February of this year, my sister got engaged.  I did not want to go (but, of course, I had to).  And I figured I’d make an unpleasant situation a little more pleasant, so I posted something about going Ziplining in the MegaCaverns under Louisville.  He “Liked” that status.  We started chatting on Facebook again.  One thing led to another, and we made plans to meet up when I got into town, maybe go to Kentucky Kingdom (Louisville’s amusement park), have a drink somewhere.  I figured we’d do that, catch up, then go our separate ways and, again, that would be that.

But I was wrong.  Oh fucking Lord Jesus Christ on a bike was I wrong.  But sometimes being wrong?  Sometimes being wrong is a million times better than being right.

Retrospect

In a little over a week, I will have been posting to this blog for a year.  And in a little less than a week, it will be my birthday again – the start of another new year for me.  New adventures.  New resolutions.  New goals.  And when my birthday draws this close, I like to remember where I’ve been – especially as I start trying to work out exactly where I want to go.

I don’t always catalog my year in photos quite as well as I have this year.  I blame the smartphone craze.  And, I suppose, being in a relationship with someone who was overseas for half the year (and during the duration of the relationship) had a lot to do with it.  You learn to manage with what you have. So here it is… for retrospect’s sake:

Botboy Daily Series

While Botboy was in Afghanistan, before we’d ever met, I’d decided to send him a photo a day until he got back.  I started with the older stuff I’d done when I was beginning my modeling career (years and years ago).  But, after his second extension, I realized that I didn’t have enough sendable material and needed to make more.  I plunged my way back onto the scene, and created, in total, 130 files that were sent to Bot over the course of 130 days.  Here are some of my favorites (click to enlarge):

Day 74  Day 122  Day 125    Day 62  Day 63

Botboy Assistance

You’ll find here photos of the Botboy adventures.  The Priority Mail box on my kitchen table is one of the “coffee” shipments that he enjoyed.  I think this was the March one.  The box in my floor (and the one Satine is sniffing) is his first and only shipment to me of his things from over there.  The TransFormers and Nerfuls are part of his collection, which was stored at the top of my closet (at climate controlled temperatures and with the greatest of care) and which he promptly cleaned out when he returned.

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Staying Busy

I kept myself busy while he was away.  I reorganized my apartment and got it ready to accommodate a second person.  I bought a new car.  I did the shoots.  I also redecorated my bathroom – and did all of the artwork for it myself (except the clock and shower curtain).  I even went to Ohio and went to the Broken Hearts Masquerade of 2013.  My outfit was awesome.

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Healing

After his return (and prompt, abrupt departure), I was lost for a little while.  I filled my time with Gatsby, and Gatsby’s almost nightly parties.  I started drinking again.  I rode a motorcycle for my final shoot of the year.  I learned to read Tarot cards and figured out who I was and what I could do.  I even found a twin for my stuffed rabbit that I’d had for 27 years.  In essence, I healed completely.  Not just from Bot (though the larger part of that was from Bot) but from the leftover shit that was left behind from Gatsby/3.0 that ended as my year started in November 2012.  It had to be done.  No matter how painful, these things had to happen.  I understand that now.

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Re-entry

And finally, whether I was really ready or not, I put myself back out there.  I started simply; I went to the Military Ball with Metalhead.  I gothed it up for work.  I celebrated my 16th birthday in Ybor with Metalhead and took a selfie in the bathroom of the cigar shop (drunk, of course).  I’ve been on dates with others since then.  It was hard at first.  I wasn’t really ready.  But it’s better now.  And it gets easier every time I do it (even if I get disgruntled with all the failures).

20130720_133942  20130802_220711 selfie

And now, I’m here.  Staring down the barrel of 31.  A birthday I assume (and I say “assume” because my world changes very quickly) that I’ll be spending mostly alone.  But you know, I’m okay with that.  I’m okay with that because it is preferable to spending it in a relationship that is fragmenting just a little more by the day.  It’s quiet.  It’s relatively drama free.  And it gives me the peace I need to make the new resolutions I need to make.  It gives me the quiet so that I can figure out what I want for 31.  It gives me an opportunity to set my intentions, which I’ve learned, is a very important (perhaps the most important) part of the process.

Granted, I didn’t end this year quite the way I wanted to.  I don’t have the rock-solid relationship I wanted and I’m not really any closer to having one than I was at the end of May after Bot left (and honestly, looking back on it, I’m not sure that what I had with him was really as rock solid as I was led to believe).  But… thanks to Bot and the ones that came after (and even Gatsby… a little), I am much clearer on what I want in another person and, ultimately, in a relationship.  So, even though things didn’t end quite the way I wanted them to, I don’t feel as though any time has been wasted.  Isn’t that how things go, anyway?

As of next Sunday, it’ll be a new year for me.  A new beginning… with new goals…new resolutions.  And a whole new way to handle all the shit that gets thrown at my head.

It may not be pretty, but I got this.