ass adventure part iii. omen #1: the mannequin butt-and-leg i found on the street last fall and installed on our fire escape never enjoyed the seasonal decorations i'd planned: on a stormy night a few months ago, it went missing. joe blamed high winds for its disappearance, while i figured the building manager's aesthetics clashed with mine. i considered asking an earnest local government candidate about it at "drinking liberally" awhile back, but the mystery went unsolved. omen #2: i joined my boss and a few co-workers for tag-team visits to the guys selling $40 jeans from a truck on friday. after quick changes in my office / 'dressing room,' i sized up to a pair that, by the time i'd worn them around town on sunday, was several inches too large. where'd the ass go?

the signs became clear today, as my ass was dropped from the magazine. it's not my fault, the photo editor explained: initial cellulite wasn't there, my treatment didn't produce results, and (in a sense) my ass was cut for space. better to focus on big ticket procedures like acupuncture and lasers than on humble butt cream.

i feel a bit rejected, honestly. it took some nerve to offer myself up, raging insecurities and all, for a national publication, and come on, sticking those pictures in a scrapbook with my other 'published' stuff would have been somewhat awesome. then again, i mistook my ass for yet another co-worker's as i paged through the proofs in production today. what ownership can i claim of a body part i can't pick from a lineup?

at the end of the day, the adventure was still worthwhile. i won't have big glossy photos with which to people my grandchildren's nightmares, but i'm not planning on having grandchildren anyway. more importantly, i don't have to worry about future mutations of the college episode when lukas's co-workers found my column about him and pasted it (with author photo) all over the office. those? weren't pretty.

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