Transparency is key, except when you have spaghetti burn on your nose

rezshotYou eagle-eyed regulars who haven't just stumbled onto the c-trix (ouch!) by accident, fodder for future issues of our regular Friday feature, Searches, We Get Searchesâ„¢*, will notice the new decoration on the sidebar. Yes, it's the communicatrix, out from behind the grease pencil (see right), for all the world to see.

It's a fairly accurate photo; in the world of headshots, it's positively uncanny how much the damned thing looks like me. I've had casting directors clutch me and weep with joy when I show up looking pretty much exactly like my picture. Well, not really. But there have been comments that some of my brethren might do well to stay within 10 years and 100 lbs. of their current "look." Caveat actor...

I'm still sustaining a gravy-related accident from last week**, and am currently sporting what is quite possibly the worst haircut I've sustained in years, so it doesn't look exactly like me. But it's damned close on a good day, with the right lighting and some piece of perfectly-hued clothing near enough to bust out the blue in my eyes. (Did I mention I own a lot of navy blue and red? I do.)

Anyway, for a year, I fretted over the horrible message I'd be sending about superficiality and the inside not being the most important thing and women-shouldn't-be-objects blah blah blah.***

Then I remembered how I've made my living for the past 20 years, and uploaded the damned thing.

A hoor is a hoor is a hoor.

But at least I'm a transparent hoor.

xxx c

*Sorry, but the searches have been almost overwhelmingly of the blue variety lately, and I'm getting weary of finding the #1 URL bringing people to the blog is 'filthy horny XXX butt sex chicks' 'who used to be in advertising'. I mean, I'm a good sport, but even I have my limits.

**During an extremely Lucy moment last weekend, I burned the exact tip of my nose with boiling-hot spaghetti sauce, a.k.a. "red gravy", a.k.a. "The Red Lead". As The BF said, it looks like I have a target on the end of my nose. Or, as my ex-boyfriend who was over meeting with the BF and I over a new creative project said, "There was no way I was going to bring up that THING at the end of your nose."

***Also, freaks. Let's face it, there are a lot of you out there sporting serious wood over the thought of a CHICK BLOGGER. Even a pre-AARP model like myself, we're just BILFs to you.