Behind the Photos: Double Corset Friday

DATELINE: Sevilla, Spain — an inside look from behind the camera as two women embark on an international mission to bring a deep, intimate appreciation of corsetry to a small corner of the blogosphere…

i was delighted to have opportunities to participate in photo shoots with the amazing, brilliant and edible smoking’ hot nursemyra while on holiday together in Sevilla.  Although several of you offered cold, hard* cash for “out takes” and/or video, i can only assure you that there were no bad shots of her, but perhaps a few that i ruined by being a bit of a novice, or simply getting in the way.

To help you appreciate how difficult this process can be, we decided to share a few “behind the scenes” photos. This in-depth report is intended to shed light on the complexity of the process, so that her weekly efforts receive the full respect deserved. 

The first hurdle? i’m an inept photographer. Took a few test photos to find the best location, lighting and camera settings. We settled on a orange wall in the living room, accentuating our Day-glo Fruit themed lingerie.

          

From there, we had to position the camera – far enough away to capture all breastages, yet close enough for us to tap the shutter. We used my clever “gorilla-pod”**, which was affixed to the back of a kitchen chair, precariously perched on the glass coffee table. i’ve said it before – “fashion is not for sissies”.

Giggling like schoolgirls***, we used the timer and took dozens of photos!  Some of which shall never be published – lotions, potions and other utensils may have been involved, but this shall be left to the imagination of the student!  Here is a sampling of our “props” collection.  Remember – we were improvising, and had already discovered that Sevilla had a limited selection of suitable shopping venues.

 

It wasn’t long before we were certain that there were several photos suitable for posting. Time zipped by – we literally spent hours on this endeavor!  Seemed like minutes.  Inevitably, a few shots were poorly timed, blurred or otherwise yakked up.

It’s not going to become a regular feature here at The Trailer Park, as i must return to my “mission” – hoarking up extended family issues in an attempt to get the worst of it out of my head – and provide warning to my children on how to avoid becoming mired in cavernous black holes of infinite human need…. But this has been a joyful diversion, and i am honoured**** that nursemyra encouraged me to explore the exposition of my boobages on the interweb*****.

So, back to our regularly scheduled programming…  at least until we meet up again for our next adventure! 

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* You know who you are… for shame, for shame…. Oh, and she said “hard”. Heh, heh, heh…

** Looks like either a sex toy, implement of torture, or some combination of the two, but it’s really a clever device, hopefully earning an assload of royalties for the inventor!

*** Not on the short list of ideas for future themed photo sessions, so don’t even ask…

**** as tribute, i’m even spelling a few words Aussie-style!  still working on installing the jets in my toilets to force the water to swirl counter-clockwise…

***** certainly provides yet another opportunity to send my children to therapy.  can’t imagine any of their friends mothers have plastered hooter-shots on the web.  On second thought… those middle-aged women on Craig’s List are some body’s mother…

Adrenaline

Some people sky dive.  Others bungee jump at carnivals, betting their lives on the math skills of those living on the fringes of society, with severely limited access to dental care.  Extramarital affairs and other risky business are at the top of the “thrill” meter for others.  Never mind fast cars, boats, double black diamond skiing and eating fast food on a regular basis…

Human beings are prone to do things that scare the fuck out of them, simply for the thrill that comes with feeling so very alive.

Mine is a 30 year old vice.  Involving a stage.  A sound system.  A guitar.  An audience of strangers – with varying degrees of musical abilities and fearlessness.

Seemed innocuous enough when i bolted from my “salsa aerobics” class a little early tonight to meet a friend at a bar for his “open mic” stint for the month.  He’d wanted me to come out to hear the jewel-tones of his new Martin, and check out the venue he’d recently discovered.

Less than half a beer under my belt, and i was feeling the “nerves”.  And i wasn’t even going on stage!  JG, one of my professional colleagues with talent and ‘nads, has a great sound – recently investing in the guitar of his dreams.  Oh, and it’s a beauty… custom* wooden sweetness.  We’ve farted around for a few years at office Christmas parties, doing the entertainment while playing with new sounds and harmonies.  Nice to have a fellow musician on the technology team… makes the social crap that much more tolerable!

Three songs into his set, fighting a sore throat, he just hands it off to me, saying “I’m tapped.  Daisyfae is here tonight, and is going to finish it out for me…”.  Fortunately, i had no time to think about it.  Unfortunately, i haven’t touched a guitar in almost a year. 

The song had to be decided in the 45 seconds it took to walk to the stage.  Based on an hour in the club, and what JG had told me about the venue, it was a “country/bluesy” crowd.  Shit.  “What can i pull outta my ass, unprepared, that will hit this?”  Nails far too long to do any serious guitar work, it had to have strong vocals…

And then she arrived… the spirit of the “not quite dead yet, but how the hell would you know it anyway” Stevie Nicks.  And the Landslide took me down…

Alive.  Terrified.  Going with it.  Letting the muscle memory take over after dicking up the intro. Forgetting everything that had been crowding my thinking.  Blinded by stage lights.  Job?  i have no day job!  Feel it.  “i’m getting older too…”.  AMAZING FUCKING GUITAR!  Listen to that ring!  Audience got quiet.  C’mon.  Commit to it.  Belt it… Joke about the big finish – then drop it. Let it ring.  Let it sit there…

[blink… blink…]

who needs drugs?  are they smiling?  was that a drunken, celebratory “whoo-hoo” from the pool room?  pat on the back from the host as i left the stage.  “respect knuckles”** from the brother who sang the Coltrane before JG was up. 

Shee-it.  There is no substitute for this.  These people would not flinch at a 46 year old woman doing Joe Cocker.  Not to mention Leonard Cohen and Ani Difranco.  As if i don’t have enough on my plate***, the monkey returns to his “happy place”, resting comfortably on my back.  Just one sip of the demon drink and i’m right there.  again… still…

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* he plays left-handed – but has never re-strung the guitar.  that means, he plays upside down and backwards! and smokes it…

** also known as a “terrorist fist jab” if you’re a Fox News Anchor-Blonde.

*** buying a new place, moving my house, sending The Girl off to the Middle East in September while helping both kids move, preparing the existing house as a rental, working the pesky 8-5 gig, maintaining a lame workout schedule to lose the last 25 lbs, feeble attempts to support the theater, and finishing up my post-grad professional development certification… before October?  FUCK YEAH – I NEED TO FIND A BAND, motherfuckers!

Video Teleconference “Do’s and Don’ts”

Unfortunately, this is likely to be the first of a series…. i genuinely could not make this shit up

For those who haven’t suffered the joy that is the video teleconference (VTC), let me explain.  In a noble effort to save precious travel funding, and exploit benefits of modern technology, many organizations have invested in high quality VTC equipment*. 

This is a good thing.  Unlike face-to-face meetings, there are mute buttons.  If you can maintain the physical pretense that you are paying attention, you hit your “mute” button and completely zone out**, reflect upon the last time you exchanged body fluids with an attractive human, or fantasize about stabbing a windbag colleague with a spork (and naturally, plotting your subsequent escape… or frame your defense testimony should it go to trial.)***.

For “multi-site” VTC’s, participants often see two screens – one showing presentation materials, and one showing thumbnail video screens for each site “attending”.  Current technology will place the feed for the “active” site in a larger window, where the active site is the one where someone last spoke to other participants.

During a recent multi-party VTC, i witnessed the unthinkable.  A Senior Leader (ie: someone in a position of authority who makes a grotesque amount of money) was the lone attendee from his site, using a VTC camera from his office.  His feed, therefore, showed a closeup of his face to the rest of us.  Other sites?  Conference rooms, showing participants at a distance which barely made determination of hair color, gender and basic body shape possible.

The Senior Leader made several comments at the start of the meeting – none of them pertinent to the discussion (complaining that he couldn’t see this, couldn’t hear that, didn’t get read ahead materials, etc.), thus establishing his feed as the “active” feed. 

As a result, the giant screen in my conference room showed a 6′ diameter image of this man’s face to all in the room, with several smaller video thumbnails at the periphery.  There were approximately 50 people in my conference room. 

i was, however, the only one to laugh out loud when Senior Leader inserted his index finger into his left nostril.  Up to and including the second knuckle.  Audible groans resonated throughout, though, when he added the “twist” maneuver.  We all looked away in anticipation of the extraction, and subsequent inspection of, “the kill”.

i need to get started with bartending school… i am not long for this domain…

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* think webcam.  multiply cost by 1,000.

** i am the queen of “pretend note taking”.  laptop out, glancing up periodically with a thoughtful look on my face feigning interest, then back to whatever random item i’m writing… i know i’m not fooling anyone, but it makes me feel better.

*** there is danger.  you can be asked a question and not know it.  this is awkward.  when you look up and find that every other site is looking at their VTC camera, and expectantly awaiting your answer… must buy time, blame poor audio and ask them to repeat the question… oh, and don’t forget to calmly hit the “un-mute” button or you’ll look like even more of a doofus.

No good deed goes unpunished…

We are dog people. Not that there’s anything wrong with cats, lizards, birds, or the occasional adolescent boy, but my trailer has always housed a dog or two.

We are also “dog rescue” people. Not rabid dog rescuers*, we always “find” dogs that need a place to be…  For us, “two” was a good number of dogs. They had each other for company during the long work/school days.

After losing the last of our first pair of dogs, we acquired a black lab mutt**, Turbo, and planned to find her a suitable companion someday. We turned on our “doggie radar” when Turbo was about a year old, after surviving her ferocious “puppy-chews-through-household” phase***. About this time, there was a buzz throughout the neighborhood about a friendly, stray dog.

Being good citizens, my ex and i checked out the dog, looked for tags, and talked with neighbors to get the history. She’d been hanging around for a week, was friendly – following the neighborhood kids everywhere. We did a “parental pow wow”, and decided to contact appropriate agencies, list her in the “Found” classifieds ads to see if we could identify the proper owner – while taking her in, cleaning her up, and seeing how she’d get along with our primary mutt.

Oh, but first the naming! Considering that this Chow was covered in dried mud? “Krusty” it would be… Krusty got along fine with children and primary beast, but she demonstrated Houdini-like prowess at escaping the back yard fence. My ex and The Boy decided to install an “Invisible Fence”, and went to work.  Soon after, we took her to the vet for shots and a general health assessment. And the “stray rescue train” derailed…

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Double Corset Friday – El Segundo*

On my final night in Spain, nursemyra and i had a festive pajama party to celebrate – fully documented, of course!  We had a marvelous time with the “neonphoto shoot on our first night together, but the farewell party had a “black and white” theme. 

Now that i’ve had two opportunities to apprentice with the corset mistress herself, i believe i’ll be able to go back to the regularly scheduled programming.  There may, however, be a “Behind The Corsets” post in the future.  This isn’t an easy process.  Fashion isn’t for sissies.  

Once again, my disclaimer for those random professional colleagues who visit The Park who could be damaged by seeing daisyfae exposing girl-flesh.  And my kids**: 

WARNING – if you work in the same geek-o-sphere as daisyfae and would find a glimpse of her breastages disturbing, DO NOT read past the break.  This one’s gonna hurt…  Also, if daisyfae gave birth to you, avoid future therapy sessions and go back to the “Girls With Guns” website where you can surf until your eyeballs fall out of your head…

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Icky Girl Stuff

As a woman in her mid-forties, ineligible for hormone therapy once menopause strikes*, i’m acutely aware of my aging ovaries.  They are my friends.  i try to take good care of them.  Although the eggs nestled within are dwindling in number, and are desiccating and shriveling on a daily basis, the hormones they send surging through my body represent the receding tide of my sexuality…

In other, far less poetic, words: i’m terrified of drying up like so much fem-dust.

As a result, i listen to my doctor and nurture my ovoid parts.  This morning, i started my day with a visit to the Gynecological Imaging lab for a routine ultrasound.  Normally i can amuse myself during testing by asking questions about the equipment, grilling the technicians on techniques and protocols or just watching things happen on the monitors**. 

Today?  Couldn’t get past the unfortunate word choice uttered by the ultrasound technician as we began the examination.  She hands me a large*** condom-covered probe, and asks me to “introduce the instrument to my vagina”. 

Exercising all the restraint i could muster, i followed direction, at which point she takes over “driving”, and i focus on the monitor to keep from succumbing to a terrible case of the giggles.  “Vagina?  Meet Buzzy McTwatprobe!”

the translator must be quite proud of this bit of work….

* breast cancer.  not even the soy-based “natural” hormone replacements are an option.  breast cancer likes estrogen, even things that mimic estrogen.  [note to self:  no more Richard Simmons ‘sweatin’ to the oldies’ aerobic videos]

** my tumor biopsy was done via needle aspiration using ultrasonic imaging for guidance.  i didn’t feel a thing because i was mesmerized by the monitor.  This helped me detach from the procedure at hand – and pretend i was watching a medical documentary on The Discovery Channel. 

*** i’m being generous.  it was 6″ – average at best….

New career options?

While in Sevilla, i had the opportunity to tour the stunning cathedral with nursemyra.  This breathtaking structure (Catedral de Santa María de la Sede), third largest in Europe, behind St. Peter’s in Rome and St. Paul’s in London, is a gothic architectural masterpiece.

One of the main reasons i travel is to broaden my perspective on the human condition.  And one area where perspective is helpful for me is “old”.  As in “what is old?”  In the United States, “old” is relatively new in the grand scheme of things.  A house over 200 years old can be named an “historic” site, whereas the same house in Europe would simply be considered a “fixer upper”. 

My trip to Cambodia last year, which included a visit to Angkor Wat, helped me internalize the concept of “old” in terms of human civilization.  The visit to the Cathedral in Sevilla also helped, as the structure was begun in the 12th century, first as a mosque, and later evolving into a cathedral during the 15th-16th centuries.

Based on a brief conversation with the lovely nursemyra during our visit, i came to realize that Australia shares the architectural newness with the United States.  As we gazed in awe at incredibly detailed, ancient carvings inside the cathedral:

nursemyra: That’s fucking old…

daisyfae:  Yeah… really fucking old…

It was shortly thereafter that we decided we should write our own tour book. 

Coming soon to a bookseller near you: “nursemyra and daisyfae’s guide to really old shit”.

Boredom, Trailer Park style

i was delighted to find that both The Boy and The Girl had the holiday weekend off, and that we could enjoy some quality family time together over the weekend.  Nothing special, just that quiet “hang time”* that often leads to more cherished memories than pre-planned events and organized adventures.

After a jeep run to the local Whippy Dip for some wholesome ice cream treats, the kids and i settled onto the downstairs couch** to relax, watch “Harry Potter Meets Mad Max” and vegetate.  Shortly after going horizontal, i was dozing.  Bundled up under a blanket, it was a happy early evening siesta.

Not long after, i was awakened by gentle “tapping”.  Random boinks, as small objects hit my blanketed head and body.  Carefully poking my head out from under the covers, i learned that my dearest genetic products were using me for an impromptu game of “pitch and toss”.  They continued to distractedly target various parts of my body, as they explained the “point system” they’d devised.  100 points for landing a penny on my exposed big toe, 50 points for hitting the brim of my baseball cap, 25 for my ass/thigh***, and 10 points for any other horizontal surface.

i’d been turned into a carnival game:  Old Lady Cornhole****.  So proud.  So very proud…

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* in our case, this virtually always includes screwing with The Dog, gaseous emissions, or some combination of the two.  yesterday was no exception, as The Dog was enjoying company after too much “alone time” and The Boy was doing digestive battle with a burrito as big as his head…

** This is a large, leather L-shaped sectional.  i’ve seen as many as 8 people and 2 friendly dogs nestled comfortably on this couch.  Room for all of us to sprawl…

*** This value was later reduced to 10 points as they quickly realized that my ass/thigh region provided a very easy target.

**** From the realm of “Seriously, i could not make this up”, comes the game of “cornhole“.  Bean bag toss with a scoring system, it’s been all the rage here in the midwest for a few years.  Often played at barbecues and picnics, it has a distinct advantage over horseshoes and lawn darts, in that drunken participants are unlikely to kill or maim innocent bystanders.

The Welcoming Committee

Left London this morning, and encountered absolutely no travel glitches*.  Miraculously managed to hook an earlier flight home from Philadelphia – being allowed to board even after the gate agent had closed the door!  Quickly sent text messages to the kids to make sure one of them could get me from the airport almost 3 hours earlier than planned.  Quick confirmation from The Boy that he could come to get me, and a text from The Girl to “Save Room for Tacos”**.

Sailing smoothly through the doors at baggage claim, i had to wait a bit until they arrived.  Spotted them pulling up to the curb a few minutes later…

The whole entourage came to get me!  The Boy at the wheel, The Brown Dog slobbering in the backseat, and The Girl riding shotgun… Holding a cardboard sign out the window as they moved slowly along the curb…

“Mom?”

Except it was upside down…  i love my kids… they always know how to make me laugh my ass off!  Great trip, great to be home…

* Well, not counting my failed attempt to stock up on single malt scotch at Heathrow’s Duty Free because i wouldn’t be checking my bag homeward.  Have to exit security in Philly after customs… Bastards…

** They had come home to a very sparsely populated pantry.  Even worse than usual.  The Girl was in charge of dinner, The Boy responsible for dessert.  Hence, vegetarian tacos and jello pudding cups on the menu.  What The Girl called a “hobo meal” – the “shit you eat when you don’t have money”.  Over the meal, they decided they should open a taco and pudding restaurant – to be called “Taco del Pud”.  Pronounced “poohed”…

What? No donkey?*

The day started with a walk to the bus stop in Sevilla.  Thirty minutes on a bus took me to the airport, where i boarded a plane.  Arriving in London a few hours later, i hopped the Gatwick Express train to Victoria Station.  Caught a taxi to bob’s upon arrival.  Meeting up with his friends for a birthday dinner, we then jumped the underground, taking us to the O2 Center for a concert**.  The return to central London was accomplished via the Thames Clipper (water taxi).

Feet.  Bus.  Plane.  Train.  Taxi.  Subway.  Boat.

It’s not the destination, but the path.  It’s how you get there.  The journey can be thousands of miles, or it can be a trip to the library.  Not so much where you go, but that you go. 

As the London skyline played out before me from the river Thames, i fought tears.  How did the droopy-drawered, pig-tailed kid from a virtual trailer park, who grew into the dumpy geek (voted “most likely to be found dead in a gutter” in the unofficial high school poll) end up here? 

Luck.  Pure and simple…

Remember, no matter where you go, there you are – Buckaroo Bonzai

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* i was informed by the birthday boy that if i couldn’t find ass in London on a Thursday night it was simply due to lack of trying…

** Simon LeBon can still “rock out with his cock out” (a lovely Australian term for “Party hearty, duuuuude!”).  Duran Duran playing for a home crowd of 20,000+ enthusiastic fans.  Big, big fun…