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Recently, I had some boudoir photos taken of myself. Why? Because at 32 I should love my body. I have a few of the photos posted on my Facebook page. The ones not posted on my page are shared between myself and the photographer.

I was shocked by the overall support I received from my friends, co-workers, and family (minus my father, he has not nor will he see them). In fact one of the photos I absolutely loathe, was one of my more adored photos. This leads me to believe that I maybe a harsher critic to myself than I realized. The best compliment I received was from a co-worker, she said I looked like Demi Moore. I don’t know about that, but it’s a sweet compliment. This is the same co-worker that says I sound like Joan Cusack. Ha! That one actually holds some merit. I’ve had a few people say I sound like her. And now you’re reading this in her voice.

The only compliment I become upset with was from a friend. He said “I like this one because it seems more like you because you’re smiling.” Gently put, I never fucking smile. How is that more like me? Huh? The guy rubs me the wrong way and I cannot put my finger on it. I deal with him in small small doses because of this.

I’m having more boudoir photos taken in 14 days. This time will be different. It’ll be truer to me, mixed match underwear. I may see if the photographer has room for a hula hoop. I can strip and hoop at the same time. It’s not a talent anyone is aware of or has seen yet. And who doesn’t want to see photos of a woman stripping to her underwear while hula hooping?