EastGirlsWest

To be fair, it started with an innocent drive to the country to buy a pumpkin. It ended with two women in fetish gear on my couch.

You’re dying to know, right?

A few weeks ago:

Friend - “So, I have a friend, blah blah blah photographer, blah blah blah fashion shoot, blah blah blah favor, would love to use your house.”

Me & The Betrothed – “Sure.”

Last night:

Friend – “So thanks again, blah blah blah Suicide Girls, blah blah blah I’ll be there at the shoot.”

Me & The Betrothed – “Suicide Girls???”

The Betrothed, silently, in his head – “Oh yeah.”

Today:

Photographer – “Before the models get here, wanted to warn you, blah blah blah nude, blah blah blah fetish, blah blah blah riding crop, ball gag, you okay with all this?”

Me & The Betrothed – “Um, sure.”

The Betrothed, silently, in his head – “OH YEAH.”

So the girls showed up dressed for the first shot. Which involved them strutting down the middle of the street, in front of our house, with one of them leading the other by a leash. They were each wearing corsets, thigh highs and five-inch vinyl heels, and I’m pretty sure our 80-year-old neighbor had a massive heart attack. (Hopefully, because of the date, he thought they were just your average SDSU sorority girls dressed up for Slut-o-Ween.)

Of course, there was an audience indoors, as well. In addition to The Betrothed, the friend who set this up came over, along with another lucky gentleman. So just to review – that’s me, one photographer, two hot Suicide girls, and three men who were suddenly incapable of remembering their own names.

Now back to the pumpkin. We got up early and drove out to Bates Nut Farm, which is probably the least punk rock thing we could have done in preparation for this photo shoot. We returned with a lovely specimen, ready to carve. And carve we did! Once the photographer started snapping, we were obviously keeping an eye on the shoot. But, we didn’t want to stare, and after reviewing our iTunes libraries, surfing MySpace, and fully discussing the previous evening’s show (SoftLightes and Van She at Beauty Bar), the four of us not involved in the photo shoot had to find a way to keep occupied. So, like the wholesome, crafty people that we are, we carved our Halloween pumpkin while one girl tied the other one up and shoved her down onto all fours a mere 20 feet away.

We really did manage to distract ourselves, but every once in awhile a slice of conversation would cut through the din and silence us immediately. Something like “Well, why don’t we try a shot with me holding the whip and her licking my nipple?” Then the boys would all lean over in unison to get a better look at the scene. Hell, I leaned over right along with them.

The girls were lovely and quite sweet. By the time they finished the shoot, we were all chatty and it seemed quite normal that our living room couch had just seen some serious girl-on-girl action. And then, as they were packing up to leave, I noticed their ball gag lying on the coffee table, right over my copy of Martha Stewart Weddings.

I heart beef jerky.

On the way to Julian yesterday, we stopped and bought some at a roadside stand. Yummy.

I’ve been writing this blog long enough that it’s surprising I’ve devoted very little time and space to one of the most important things in my life - food.

The first time The Betrothed joined me for Hanson Family Vacation (a week at my mother’s house in Cape Cod) he was stunned by our daily, family ritual. It goes something like this:

8am - wake up, drink coffee
8:30am - starting talking about what we’re going to make for dinner
9-11am - further refine dinner plans
12-3pm - shop for dinner
4pm - cocktail hour
5pm - begin cooking dinner
7pm - eat dinner

Next day, repeat. Unless we eat out, which requires just as much research and planning, minus the shopping and preparation time. When I say “family ritual”, by the way, I mean me, my mother and my sister.

Left to my own devices, I’m not that bad. And let’s face it - only during vacation does ANYONE have that kind of time to focus on dinner. The Betrothed appreciates a fine meal, good cocktail, and civilized dining in general. But he made it quite clear that he would not participate in discussing dinner before mid-afternoon. We were on our own, he said. There was no reason to spend an entire day thinking about dinner.

Now my sister lives with us, and she’s a true partner in crime when it comes to food obsession. She’s also an excellent cook, and has graciously taken over much of the dinner preparation…which me and The Betrothed have become quickly accustomed to. Our nights have gone from just dinner to a culinary event. One night we might sit down to fresh spring rolls with home-made sauce. Another night, seared ahi with black sesame seeds. Every salad has fresh fennel. Every salad dressing is made in the kitchen moments before we sit down. Food used to be important. Now it’s a delight.

Two weekends ago, at the early hour of 10:30am, The Betrothed turned to me and asked, “so what’s for dinner?”

Note to readers: during my long, inexcusable absence from writing, I hope you’ve at least been looking at Angela’s phenomenal pictures! Hearst Castle, The Madonna Inn, freaky squirrels, adorable infants, cute felines, presidential candidates and even a shot of Yours Truly and The Betrothed.

I love having a friend who takes photos. And is really, really good at it.