Picture this ... my dirty bits ...

So, guys like to sext me pics of their dirty bits. That's a true story I wish wasn't ...

Boyfriends, just friends and even guys who are not my friends at all ... think that getting the digits is an invitation to telephonically  share the ugliest part of their anatomy with me.

Because the penis is what attracts me to a man first. Not his soulful eyes, playful smile or chiseled features.

Nope ... it's his naked package.

Like, I'm going to look at it and think, "Damn, that's a pretty penis, how did I get soooo lucky to get that ... package?"

Right.

What I'm really thinking is, "Is that the best angle he could take it at?" because I'm a photographer. Then the realist in me begs to ask, "Is this what courtship has evolved into?"

One of my exes loved to sext his dirty bits. He was (and I imagine he still is) very proud of something that performed better than it looked - and that was just most of the time. He didn't just share it with me, either, he sent his man bits to quite a few girls who pretended to be as impressed as I did. How I found out about that is another story. But I digress.

Honestly, there is nothing impressive about a penis unless it, or the person attached to it, performs exceptionally well.

However, when it's your boyfriend sending the pics, there is a certain, obligatory etiquette to be followed which includes a script of flattering replies to send after receipt that will boost the ego and ensure he will not try to overcompensate by making a lengthy 'performance' in leiu of his shortcoming(s). Pun intended - every single one that can be made from that statement.

And, I'll admit, I'd rather he send it to me and not a bunch of other women.

But, there is nothing like getting that random 'test shot' from a guy I've never even thought about sexually or in general. The one that's just accompanied by a smiley face followed by the awkward pause to see if you're gonna bite ... no pun intended. I've gotten so many of those, I could publish a coffee table book and call it "The Definitive Cockumentary." It would work because each one is so different ... ly ... ugly ...

Let's see, there was the one I thought was fake because his tool was ten shades darker than the rest of him; the banana split; shortstack; the bedazzler; and the boomerang - just to describe a few. I could make them all look like Polaroids, not unlike the ones serial killers like to take of their victims in all the movies.

Maybe once these tools see their tool from my point of view, it might dawn on them how silly they were to think it was sexy. At all.

Yes, I know it works both ways - chicks sext their girly bits all the time. Let's face it, fellas ... girls are just prettier. Unfair? Maybe. Fact of life? Absolutely.

When did people first start to think sending selfies of their dirty bits was a good idea? It's like smart technology has made the average person lose their mind and morality.  It's become sort of a phenomenon, with political figures and celebrities entangled in scandals involving the over-sharing of their naughty places accidentally on purpose. But technology has made it just as easy to call a douche out as well as to creep.

It's embarrassing, if you ask me.

So, if you are one of the many who gifted a pic of your junk to me, rest assured that I have deleted that nonsense from my phone. There won't be a 'cockumentary' or a dedicated social networking page with phone numbers attached to each photo as I so often joke to my friends.

If you're a guy contemplating sending his junk to a girl hoping to catch her attention ... let me suggest that flowers might work better. Unless it's me. I can tell  you right now, I'm not interested.  But if you insist ... be warned: I will take that as an open invitation to critique the anatomical value of your ... member - without mercy.

No place like home .. wherever that may be

"To be honest with you, I hated being in Fayetteville," ~ A.D.
"Funny, I thought I did, too, until I moved somewhere that felt worse than Fayetteville to me," ~ me

In one of my favorite movies, "The Wizard of Oz," Dorothy dreams of a magical place "over the rainbow" that's colorful and away from the black and white of her Auntie Em's farm. She gets caught in a tornado and is magically transported to the place of her dreams, but found something was missing. It took her 101 minutes to figure out what that might be.
 

We spend most of our young lives dreaming of moving away from the small towns where we grew up. Then, when we leave the town and our families and friends, we discover the outside isn't as glamorous as we fantasized it to be.

I was a 'military brat' and moved from place to place so often that by the time I had somewhere to call home, I was almost an adult. It didn't stop me from dreaming of the day I would leave the confines of my adopted hometown in North Carolina, my family and all the drama (real or imagined), for the big city. Which big city, you ask? Any city other than the one I was in and that offered instant fame as an actress, model or comic book illustrator.

No such city exists, by the way, and there is no mainstream fame in being a comic book illustrator - only the recognition of comic book geeks worldwide. It's not a huge demographic or a lucrative career. Acting and modeling wasn't in the cards for me either, however, that's another story.

But, I digress.

I stayed in my hometown well after I graduated high school and eventually got married, had a baby and found a career and a passion that I enjoyed - not in that order. But I never stopped dreaming of the day I would "get out of this place."

Well, two years ago, I finally did.

The guy I was dating was PCSing to Texas. I had been laid off and was working as a freelance photographer and collecting unemployment, and thought moving to explore this relationship and a new job would be the opportunity to get out of town that I had been waiting for all these years.

"Be careful what you wish for, folks, because you may get it."

I always tell people it's not where you are, but the people you are with, that make the place whatever it is you want it to be for you. It's a true statement. Home is where you make it, but there's no home without your family and good friends.

When I left for Texas, I left the most important people behind, including my daughter. It wasn't a permanent move. We were planning on moving back to my hometown when the boyfriend got out of the military, so I didn't even bother to settle in for the first year. I slept on an air mattress and the only furniture I had was a used futon and a cheap entertainment center I bought from Walmart for the TV I acquired from someone who was moving at the time.

It wasn't even a flat screen, it was an old RCA.

One of the first things I noticed about the town I had moved to was that there was a lot of stuff spread out over a great deal of space, but there was nothing to do. I drove around town the first few weeks I was there and the best description is that it's a lot like Fayetteville was 20 years ago. You didn't want to go downtown and everything you wanted to do was at least an hour away.

My boyfriend was deployed the first year and I made friends at work, but the only one who could do anything ended up leaving when her husband PCS'd to another duty station. Before she left, we traveled all over Central Texas, worked out and went to movies together - friend things. Once she left, I realized just how little there was to do on my own or even in the town I was living in.

A fact that I made clear to one of the city officials one morning while I was covering a story for the newspaper. He asked me where I was from and was curious to know about Fayetteville.  Describing it to him, I was surprised to come to the realization that the "most awful place on Earth" was all of a sudden not so bad in comparison to some other places.

And I missed it terribly.

I had spent so much time disliking my hometown for things I could change that I had made it my prison. A prison I felt I had broken out of when I moved. Don't get me wrong, it's not perfect, but no place is, right?

Maybe if I had been working towards making Texas my home, I would have felt differently, but I doubt it. Home is where your heart is and even though I had followed part of my heart to Texas, the biggest part of it was still in North Carolina.

 I didn't find a yellow brick road, Emerald City, magical munchkins or a salon that could dye my eyes to match my outfits in Texas. What I did find were the things that are important aren't always apparent until they are not in front of you anymore. And while I miss the few friends who became 'family' that I left behind in Texas, there really is no place like 'home.' Because home is where my heart is and right now, my heart is with me in North Carolina.