Hello.

Welcome to BurningBuilding.com

Some you may have noticed something recently. The website has been broke. And by broke, I mean broken. And by broken, I mean it don't work. And by don't, I mean doesn't. You get the idea. The website was "down", as they say on the Internet. Tech diffs. That's Abbrev for "techincal difficulties". It was "down" for several days, in fact, the worst catastrophe in Burning Building history, besides Hurricane Katrina and that time where I didn't update for like 3 weeks.

So what happened? Why did it break? Well, it went something like this:


http://www.#$%#%.org.gov//<error>&l t;/b>www..http://dns.DNS..setting/error@burningbuilding.com--= "internet.com
http://=internet@bulshit.gov<htm l><computer h4x0rxs>="http ://godaddy.com/settings/blogspot.html<error>))<>((
=website="broke"></a>http:// www.websiteburningbuilding.com=" </working> <not
work> </a> </b></br>


Can you believe it?

But the good news is, all is fixed now, and all is well, and I'd like to tell you about a very uncomfortable conversation I recently had with one of my clients. (I supervise visits between foster kids and their bio parents.)

So, every Monday and Tuesday I take these two kids to the Seattle Center park, where we have the visit with mom, let's call her Geraldine. Geraldine is no beauty queen, she's plain faced, dumpily dressed, and substantially overweight. One day, she shows up looking a little better than usual. Her hair is "done"--all long and wavy--and she's wearing makeup. I'm curious, but I don't ask questions.

Later, she mentions that she has to leave a little early because she has a "photoshoot". She's doing some "modeling".

"Oh, cool," I say. "For like a catalog or something?"

She smiles a little. "Something like that. I'm not really sure."

I stare at her a moment, then keep walking. Soooo....nice weather today....

I want to believe....I want to believe....Target....Lane Bryant....something...

But no. At the next visit, she tells me how her boyfriend is not speaking to her because he's mad at her. I just nod and say nothing, but she's compelled to explain.

"He's mad because I wouldn't give him any of the money I made from the photoshoot. I did some amateur photos for this magazine. Have you heard of a magazine called Plumpers?"


Oh God.

No, Geraldine. I have never heard of that magazine. Nor do I wish to. But thank you. Thank you for sharing with me the most intimate details of your life. Can you please take your developmentally delayed children over to the other side of the fountain so I can return to this copy of McSweeney's Quarterly Concern, Issue #23 I'm reading, and possibly scrub my brain out with soap?




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