I debated even writing this entry, due to the position that I am inevitably going to create for myself because of it, however, I seriously find it humorous before it's even happened so I want to keep y'all in the loop.
I got a gig this weekend. As some of you may or may not know, I do some modeling on the side for extra cash and a narcissistic fix. Usually it's $50 here and there, but this weekend is a huge modeling event. For a horse-betting website. Yes, I'm modeling alongside horses (at least I won't have to worry about having a huge ass, maybe just posing with one).
I got an email from the casting agent, and met with her a couple days later at a coffee shop in the trendiest part of town. I made sure to wear my stilettos to the appointment so that I would stand out (and tall -- at 6'4"). Apparently, it worked. The casting agent was fit, blonde, and just had the look of someone not from the midwest. She slid a piece of paper across the table toward me and the two other models and I glanced down at the first asterisk: ** PLEASE ARRIVE CAMERA READY WITH HAIR AND MAKEUP FULLY DONE **
Crap. This is when that whole "being a girl" thing would really come in handy.
My eyes moved down the paper to the next bullet point, which vaguely described the "looks" we were to be modeling for the weekend. Some of the highlights:
*Auto Racing
*Evening Wear (hopefully these aren't in immediate succession of each other)
*Hockey (Cancels out the next two, but barely)
*Soccer (If my hockey team finds out, I'll never hear the end of it)
*Swimsuit (Yeah. Right.)
*Lingerie (YEAH. RIGHT.)
All of them seemed relatively reasonable until I got to "Sexy Western", which would not have been nearly as funny had it not been two list entries away from just regular old, "Western". Apparently I am going to have to tone down the sexy when "Western" comes around, as not to penetrate the "Sexy Western" look parameters.
There was a laundry list of things that we were supposed to bring to the shoot, and photographers vary; some have their own wardrobes and some have nothing for models to wear and ask them to choose their clothes for the session. It was clear that we were expected to furnish our own expertise not only in hair and makeup artistry, but in completely bizarre "just in case" sport-themed outfit selection.
I skimmed the list. T-shirts and tank tops? Check. I've got those, no problem. Nude g-string and strapless bra? Got it. Normal so fa--. Selection of booty shorts? Um.Selection of bathing suits? How many bathing suits am I supposed to have on-hand for a normal girl? I mean, I'm not a swimmer and it's not like I go every day or that the suit really even gets wet. I mean, I only have one and like most cheap suits as they pertain to 6' girls, it's really unfortunate-fitting. Fuck this, man. Any jerseys you may have of the following sports: Football, hockey, baseball, basketball? I am going to guess most of the girls chosen for this don't even know the first thing about half of those sports, let alone have buckets of sexy, un-numbered jerseys. Hell, I'm a college athlete and I barely have any. I scoffed at the last entry, but it was too soon. I squinted my eyes to make sure I was reading the last entry correctly.
Car Racing outfit?
I'm considering bringing my giant #3 logo shirt that all-too-appropriately reads, "God Needed a Driver".
Hey. It doesn't say, "Sexy Car Racing Outfit".
Wednesday, June 21, 2006
Tuesday, June 13, 2006
Intergalactic Gala
13/06: Intergalactic Gala
I've never even seen Star Wars. I mean, I may have caught bits and pieces of it to satiate the need of men everywhere to force it upon unseen eyes, but I never really enjoyed it. I mean, I have boobs and social skills which prove to be Kryptonite to things like "sci-fi". Sorry.
So when I was offered a ticket to the "Intergalactic Gala," a black-tie event celebrating the opening of the Star Wars traveling exhibit at COSI, I was a little skeptical. But, as social experiences past have dictated, you never turn down a $200 ticket to anything. So I went. Alone.
I walked in through the doors into a ring of costumed Storm Troopers, which I thought were statues until they all started to collapse in toward me as I moved past them. I don't know if the feeling is particularly "normal," however I get very apprehensive when surrounded by costumed characters, especially if I can't see their eyes. Freaking creepy.
I turned to my friend Nathan, who works for the science center (and was able to score me the ticket), and pointed to the Troopers, "What's up with those guys anyway? They getting paid, or what?"
He shrugged, "I think there are like, groups of Star Wars superfans in legionsregionally throughout the country and they just... do this."
"For free?!" My incredulousness was genuine.
Nathan answered on the slow exhale while turning his palms outward and again shrugging, "Yeeeah."
I tried to think about whether there was anything I had ever felt so connected with that I would lend my dedication to for solely personal gain. Oh yeah, beer.
The Star Wars exhibit would've been awesome for someone really into the movies, and included all sorts of things that were so geeky I don't even know the words for them, probably because they don't really exist outside of Star Wars movies and message boards. I did, however, know these guys:
All right, I'm lying, I have no idea who the creepy dude on the left is.
Andrea Campburn (Channel 10 news) emceed the event and she looked like she might actually have a negative percentage of body fat. One thing is clear: Andrea Campburn could kick my ass. No question. That beyotch is ripped up to where it's almost difficult to look at her face if her arms are bared. I mean, it's just almost unnecessary. I met her once back when I was in middle school, though, and I can vouch for her. She's really overly nice. But she's just a freaking beast.
Anyway. The event was catered by Cameron Mitchell's finest, and included various meats and sauces, and of course they were all excellent because as a caterer you are not allowed to disappoint a roomful of people that are paying $200 for dinner. I was pleased as well, even though my ticket was free. We were offered a few complimentary beverages, none of which were particularly memorable except for theYodatini, which contained Apple Pucker that could be smelled on everyone's breath from several feet away. There's something pleasantly entertaining about a huge group of rich people drinking free, green Yodatinis.
There was a live auction, and several silent ones. I heard they raised a lot of money, but I was more interested in finding a certain hairy wookie.
I tagged a Trooper on the way upstairs. "Hey, where's Chewy?"
In the voice you'd expect to emanate from that sort of costume, he said in character, "He's not here."
"Why not?"
"The closest Chewy is actually in Tennessee."
Oh. Right.
Intergalactic Gala
13/06: Intergalactic Gala
I've never even seen Star Wars. I mean, I may have caught bits and pieces of it to satiate the need of men everywhere to force it upon unseen eyes, but I never really enjoyed it. I mean, I have boobs and social skills which prove to be Kryptonite to things like "sci-fi". Sorry.
So when I was offered a ticket to the "Intergalactic Gala," a black-tie event celebrating the opening of the Star Wars traveling exhibit at COSI, I was a little skeptical. But, as social experiences past have dictated, you never turn down a $200 ticket to anything. So I went. Alone.
I walked in through the doors into a ring of costumed Storm Troopers, which I thought were statues until they all started to collapse in toward me as I moved past them. I don't know if the feeling is particularly "normal," however I get very apprehensive when surrounded by costumed characters, especially if I can't see their eyes. Freaking creepy.
I turned to my friend Nathan, who works for the science center (and was able to score me the ticket), and pointed to the Troopers, "What's up with those guys anyway? They getting paid, or what?"
He shrugged, "I think there are like, groups of Star Wars superfans in legionsregionally throughout the country and they just... do this."
"For free?!" My incredulousness was genuine.
Nathan answered on the slow exhale while turning his palms outward and again shrugging, "Yeeeah."
I tried to think about whether there was anything I had ever felt so connected with that I would lend my dedication to for solely personal gain. Oh yeah, beer.
The Star Wars exhibit would've been awesome for someone really into the movies, and included all sorts of things that were so geeky I don't even know the words for them, probably because they don't really exist outside of Star Wars movies and message boards. I did, however, know these guys:
All right, I'm lying, I have no idea who the creepy dude on the left is.
Andrea Campburn (Channel 10 news) emceed the event and she looked like she might actually have a negative percentage of body fat. One thing is clear: Andrea Campburn could kick my ass. No question. That beyotch is ripped up to where it's almost difficult to look at her face if her arms are bared. I mean, it's just almost unnecessary. I met her once back when I was in middle school, though, and I can vouch for her. She's really overly nice. But she's just a freaking beast.
Anyway. The event was catered by Cameron Mitchell's finest, and included various meats and sauces, and of course they were all excellent because as a caterer you are not allowed to disappoint a roomful of people that are paying $200 for dinner. I was pleased as well, even though my ticket was free. We were offered a few complimentary beverages, none of which were particularly memorable except for theYodatini, which contained Apple Pucker that could be smelled on everyone's breath from several feet away. There's something pleasantly entertaining about a huge group of rich people drinking free, green Yodatinis.
There was a live auction, and several silent ones. I heard they raised a lot of money, but I was more interested in finding a certain hairy wookie.
I tagged a Trooper on the way upstairs. "Hey, where's Chewy?"
In the voice you'd expect to emanate from that sort of costume, he said in character, "He's not here."
"Why not?"
"The closest Chewy is actually in Tennessee."
Oh. Right.
Friday, June 2, 2006
Trading Up (or Down)
So I was at Brazenhead last night waiting alone at the bar for my dentist friend to return from the bathroom. I noticed that the (extremely drunken) girl sitting (swaying) next to me was wearing similar shoes to a pair I'd just bought, except in red instead of black. I tapped her on the shoulder.
She turned around quickly. Her eyes followed, just a bit slower.
"I love your shoes," I said, admiring the shine of the patent leather (news flash: it's so hot right now).
She smiled with half of her mouth. "Thaaaaaanks," she paused, "They're so hot."
"Yeah, I just bought that same pair in black," I said and noticed she hadn't stopped smiling yet, "Anyway, they're really flattering on you."
She kept smiling as she turned around to resume the conversation she'd been having before I'd interrupted her.
I sat there again, alone, and was about to begin to write in my bar journal when she turned back around again to chat, decided that we'd made friends over shoes.
"Where's your friend?" She asked, one eye open.
"Oh, uh, he went to the bathroom."
"Is he your boyfriend?"
I furrowed my brow a bit. Odd question from another woman. "Oh, no, he's my dentist."
Without skipping a beat, or even momentarily contemplating self-censorship she blurted, "I had a dentist," she paused, "a for-real dentist, just offer me free veneers if I gave him a blowjob yesterday."
I laughed, but then stopped when I saw she wasn't. "Is that how he said it?" I asked with mock-incredulousness.
"Yeah. He flat-out said, 'give me a blowjob and I'll give you free veneers.'"
I paused for a moment. "Sounds like a good deal to me."
"You think so?"
"Well," I said slowly, "If he's clean and it doesn't take that long, you could make like $2000 in 10 minutes."
"See!" She seemed overjoyed that someone was finally agreeing with her decision to even contemplate this, "That's what I'm thinking."
"Go for it." I offered.
I left her there, nodding and (still) drunk.
She turned around quickly. Her eyes followed, just a bit slower.
"I love your shoes," I said, admiring the shine of the patent leather (news flash: it's so hot right now).
She smiled with half of her mouth. "Thaaaaaanks," she paused, "They're so hot."
"Yeah, I just bought that same pair in black," I said and noticed she hadn't stopped smiling yet, "Anyway, they're really flattering on you."
She kept smiling as she turned around to resume the conversation she'd been having before I'd interrupted her.
I sat there again, alone, and was about to begin to write in my bar journal when she turned back around again to chat, decided that we'd made friends over shoes.
"Where's your friend?" She asked, one eye open.
"Oh, uh, he went to the bathroom."
"Is he your boyfriend?"
I furrowed my brow a bit. Odd question from another woman. "Oh, no, he's my dentist."
Without skipping a beat, or even momentarily contemplating self-censorship she blurted, "I had a dentist," she paused, "a for-real dentist, just offer me free veneers if I gave him a blowjob yesterday."
I laughed, but then stopped when I saw she wasn't. "Is that how he said it?" I asked with mock-incredulousness.
"Yeah. He flat-out said, 'give me a blowjob and I'll give you free veneers.'"
I paused for a moment. "Sounds like a good deal to me."
"You think so?"
"Well," I said slowly, "If he's clean and it doesn't take that long, you could make like $2000 in 10 minutes."
"See!" She seemed overjoyed that someone was finally agreeing with her decision to even contemplate this, "That's what I'm thinking."
"Go for it." I offered.
I left her there, nodding and (still) drunk.
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