Do You Know Who Has Photos of You?

This blog has been a learning experience for me.

I've reconnected with friends.
It allows me to write every day.
I get feedback and I love the good and the bad. I also know who the wimps are that send me an email instead of posting a comment.

Once I started posting a few photos, it became an obsession. I've ripped up tons of albums and I've only just begun. I have boxes and boxes. I love this information age.

Here's a terrifying thought: People let me know that they have photos of my youth and college days. Bad hair days. Cigarette in hand. Me draping myself over other people.

Employers now routinely search Google and MySpace. Jobs have been lost and careers sunk due to some bad choices.

My little blog is not likely to wreck anyone's career. But, I am extremely careful to ask permission before I post a photo. I also try to let someone know if I've floated one out there. I've never had anyone ask me to remove a photo.

My mother used to tell me that a lady does not allow herself to be photographed with a drink or a cigarette in her hand. Ooops!

But, I can say with confidence that no one has photos of me nude. No one has photos of me doing anything illegal.

Sometimes boring pays off.

It Never Hurts to Ask

At the Indiana State Fair today, I bargained my way through. My alma mater was giving away cloth bags. I got some for all of us and several for my mother's friends. I think I was making her nervous.

I bought some sunglasses but asked the guy to lower the price and throw in some extra cases. My aunt found this funny.

A young man walked by in an IU shirt that said, "Cheerleading." I asked him to do a flip. He did.

We went through the horse barn -- something I usually don't do, but it was fun. The horses were beautiful and my aunt who adores horses was in horse heaven. I wanted a picture so I asked the owner to move the horse. He did.

I talk to everyone... security people, vendors, police officers. I want what I want and the worst that can happen is they'll say no.

Let Me Check with My Husband

Have you ever tried to master a new language? I took Spanish in high school and college but I learned very quickly that I did not master it. At best, I can do Pig Spanish.

I'm trying to learn a new language and behavior. It's called, "Ask the husband." This is as foreign to me as you asking me to speak Latin. My brain doesn't go there. The good news is this -- neither does his. We're not permission seekers; we're announcers:

Oh, by the way, I'm going on a golf trip next week.
Oh, by the way, the girlfriends are going to the lake and I'm going too.
Oh, by the way, I need you to show up for this dinner or XYZ event.
Oh, by the way, the oldies have this appointment and it's your turn.

On Saturday, I made an impromptu decision to invite some friends over on Sunday to watch our local football team. Chili and sandwiches. Easy enough. I started calling a few friends and they each said, "Let me check with the husband and I'll call you back." The husband in this house did not have a clue that I was planning this little shindig. I knew he wouldn't care and I was right. He thought it was a great idea.

The husband likes it this way. He keeps track of his office appointments and band gigs. I keep track of the rest. Like clockwork, he asks me every morning, "Do we have anything on the schedule for tonight?" Or he announces, "I have band practice." Sometimes it's dinner with a client or some other function. He has never asked, "Do you mind ...?"

But, sometimes our schedules are not in sync. Or one of us will make a decision that the other disagrees with. It's frustrating and I don't like it. So, I decided to try a new behavior. I'll check with the husband. I've only done it twice and both times, he looked at me like I'd just flown in from Pluto.

"Why are you asking me? I don't care."

The oldies discuss everything to death. It's futile and slightly ridiculous. She's going to do it her way. Still, it's probably more polite than our way. So, I'm going to take baby steps in learning this new behavior. I'm not sure I have the stamina. Plus, when the husband gives me that puzzled look, I want to whack him.