Marrying George Clooney

I like reading schlock as much as the next person, and i admit i read schlock. i have never read an entire issue of the national enquirer, nor have i ever bought an issue, but yes i do skim while standing on line at the grocery store. who doesn’t? okay fine… live in denial. but yesterday i did read an excerpt from the interview that rielle hunter gave to GQ about her love child with her sexy, mr. love-bubble, john edwards. she doesn’t want to be called the other woman, she finds it demeaning. fine. fine, I won’t call her that. you’re THE WOMAN. and she doesn’t want anyone to think that their baby, their love child, wasn’t conceived out of a deep love and passionate night and profound desire while steam was coming up off the carpeted floor. i can buy that. sure why not. although i do think steam works better with say wood, and or tile. but thats just me. carpets seem to hold – soak – the steam in. but when you start talking about how you thought you were doing a “head shot” photo session when in fact you were barely dressed; a hand-tailored shirt and a pair of hanky panky panties, sitting indian style surrounded by sesame street stuffed animals kinda makes me wonder what you think a head shot is. perhaps this is where we part company. say adieu. clearly, we have a different opinion. for instance, i think a head shot is when a photographer shoots you from the neck up. hence ‘head’ shot. maybe, and i could be wrong here… maybe you thought that this was the “giving head” shot – hence the cleavage, and the crotch shot.

a direct quote:
“Hunter reacted to her own interview and the suggestive photos that went with it in a call to ABC’s Barbara Walters, saying she was “repulsed” by the photo in which she wears only a man’s shirt and panties.”

nothing like trying to rewind the tape.