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sorry; its a quote from a stephen king short story that i rather love. the same story that the sentence above of my own creation was found in. so i suppose it wasnt of my own creation at all, was it? plagiarism. the sincerest form of flattery, or just fucking copying?
that, i guess, is one of those questions that depends on the people discussing it.
theres stuff going on in chicago this month. saturday next, the 11th i believe, there is going to be a Movie Night and they are showing Butch Cassidy which has been one of my favorite movies since i was a kid. i dont know who i crushed on more; paul newman or robert redford.
AND I CANT GO. AND I WANT TO. I REALLY REALLY WANT TO. i havent seen chicago in YEARS and if i went, id get to meet a bunch of kick ass hip motherfuckers and i wouldnt be an outcast or unwelcome.
thats a BIG reason i stay in my shell, you know. because im scared if someone invites me to a party or to the club or to whatever fill in the blank, its all going to be a big joke and the situation is going to turn against me somehow. a bucket of pigs blood will be dropped on my head. someone will stick out their foot so i trip and ill be embarrassed. and everyone will laugh at me.
because secretly i KNOW i dont belong with the cool kids. i never have. YOU may not know that, but let us be honest and spare lies, you didnt know me in junior high. or the first part of high school before i stopped caring so much. i was the girl all the COOL PEOPLE picked on. i was the girl that was laughed at and slammed against lockers. i was the girl who could never get the right pair of jeans because mom could never afford them, so i was always a step behind the COOL GIRLS.
somehow, senior year, i was voted onto Homecoming Court. i guess it was senior year that i got pretty much accepted. i sort of... you could say... developed a personality. and maybe the COOL people were beginning to realize that their status was coming to an end. anyway, whatever the reason, i was voted by my peers onto Homecoming Court. i was a Homecoming Princess. wow. thanks, guys. 3 years of absolute hell, and you give me a tiara at the end as if to say 'SORRY, YOU'RE OK AFTER ALL, WE ACCEPT YOU NOW BECAUSE YOU GOT CONTACT LENSES AND YOU'RE PRETTY kind of' what a night.
i kept the tiara. not for any nostalgic reasons, christ no, but even then i wanted to be a model. that was my big dream in high school. i studied and memorized; sure, but it wasnt mathematical formulae or greek tragedies; it was Vogue and Glamour and W magazine. i carefully cut and pasted my favorite models and designers on my walls. kirsty hume. milla jovovich. calvin klein - you remember the ads where everyone was grungy looking and kate moss was the star in all of them. linda evangelista. dolce & gabbana. elizabeth hurley. amber valetta. prada. gucci.
my vocabulary changed. i started walking differently. i lost weight.
i wanted THEIR lives. THOSE girls. the privileged. the few. the shining stars. i knew id never make it. im only 5'7" and average runway height is 5'9". but kate moss is my height. that gave me hope. for a while. now im way too old and the industry is being overrun by these brazilian goddesses anyway.
but my obsession with fashion never faded. i love how its always changing; this handbag is appropriate for the elite this season, but woe betide you if you carry the same bag next fall. everything is constantly up in the air, and there are so many aspects to it. hair, makeup, nails, skincare, gay men, all of my favorite things, in other words.
i cant help myself. i still wonder what it would feel like to see your face in British Vogue. or on a billboard in New York City; advertising Lancome or Estee Lauder.
i still play pretend. i pretend im famous. i take baths and i usually do my makeup in the bathtub, so i get all fancy and make my face perfect and pretend im famous and loved by everyone.
im sick of school (cosmetology; i know ive mentioned it before, but some of you Faithful Readers may be new. i am sick of the constant drama thats always going on like being trapped in a whirlwind. i hate it when i get stuck in the middle when two of my friends are fighting. i hate trying to be the peacemaker. no, i dont HATE it, but it seems to be that im there for everyone else and nobody is ever there for me. i HATE it when people cut me off the rare times i have something to say. thats always been one thing ive hated. its in my top three, actually. what, you cant hold your goddamn tongue with both hands until i manage to at least finish my sentence? jesus christ. everyone wants the spotlight on THEM. solely.
so why, you may be justified in asking, did i pick this profession? i love playing with haircolor. and cuts. and i love love love applying makeup to faces and transforming and using my arsenal to narrow and highlight and shimmer and shadow the right places.
i should have taken an esthetician course, but since im so far along with this, i may as well see it through to the end.
i have a real problem seeing my projects through. i get crazy possessed with an idea and start it, and then after a few days, weeks, months... the desire for the thing fades and i want something else. im notorious for it.
oh well. i SHOULD be done by january at the rate im going. 5 or so months. considering ive racked up over a year so far, thats not so daunting.
i still cant get a video uploaded. i wish i could plead my case to sean or missy, but somehow i dont think that would be wise. and it would just make me look stupid. i may BE stupid, but i see no reason to advertise it.
sorry; its a quote from a stephen king short story that i rather love. the same story that the sentence above of my own creation was found in. so i suppose it wasnt of my own creation at all, was it? plagiarism. the sincerest form of flattery, or just fucking copying?
that, i guess, is one of those questions that depends on the people discussing it.
theres stuff going on in chicago this month. saturday next, the 11th i believe, there is going to be a Movie Night and they are showing Butch Cassidy which has been one of my favorite movies since i was a kid. i dont know who i crushed on more; paul newman or robert redford.
AND I CANT GO. AND I WANT TO. I REALLY REALLY WANT TO. i havent seen chicago in YEARS and if i went, id get to meet a bunch of kick ass hip motherfuckers and i wouldnt be an outcast or unwelcome.
thats a BIG reason i stay in my shell, you know. because im scared if someone invites me to a party or to the club or to whatever fill in the blank, its all going to be a big joke and the situation is going to turn against me somehow. a bucket of pigs blood will be dropped on my head. someone will stick out their foot so i trip and ill be embarrassed. and everyone will laugh at me.
because secretly i KNOW i dont belong with the cool kids. i never have. YOU may not know that, but let us be honest and spare lies, you didnt know me in junior high. or the first part of high school before i stopped caring so much. i was the girl all the COOL PEOPLE picked on. i was the girl that was laughed at and slammed against lockers. i was the girl who could never get the right pair of jeans because mom could never afford them, so i was always a step behind the COOL GIRLS.
somehow, senior year, i was voted onto Homecoming Court. i guess it was senior year that i got pretty much accepted. i sort of... you could say... developed a personality. and maybe the COOL people were beginning to realize that their status was coming to an end. anyway, whatever the reason, i was voted by my peers onto Homecoming Court. i was a Homecoming Princess. wow. thanks, guys. 3 years of absolute hell, and you give me a tiara at the end as if to say 'SORRY, YOU'RE OK AFTER ALL, WE ACCEPT YOU NOW BECAUSE YOU GOT CONTACT LENSES AND YOU'RE PRETTY kind of' what a night.
i kept the tiara. not for any nostalgic reasons, christ no, but even then i wanted to be a model. that was my big dream in high school. i studied and memorized; sure, but it wasnt mathematical formulae or greek tragedies; it was Vogue and Glamour and W magazine. i carefully cut and pasted my favorite models and designers on my walls. kirsty hume. milla jovovich. calvin klein - you remember the ads where everyone was grungy looking and kate moss was the star in all of them. linda evangelista. dolce & gabbana. elizabeth hurley. amber valetta. prada. gucci.
my vocabulary changed. i started walking differently. i lost weight.
i wanted THEIR lives. THOSE girls. the privileged. the few. the shining stars. i knew id never make it. im only 5'7" and average runway height is 5'9". but kate moss is my height. that gave me hope. for a while. now im way too old and the industry is being overrun by these brazilian goddesses anyway.
but my obsession with fashion never faded. i love how its always changing; this handbag is appropriate for the elite this season, but woe betide you if you carry the same bag next fall. everything is constantly up in the air, and there are so many aspects to it. hair, makeup, nails, skincare, gay men, all of my favorite things, in other words.
i cant help myself. i still wonder what it would feel like to see your face in British Vogue. or on a billboard in New York City; advertising Lancome or Estee Lauder.
i still play pretend. i pretend im famous. i take baths and i usually do my makeup in the bathtub, so i get all fancy and make my face perfect and pretend im famous and loved by everyone.
im sick of school (cosmetology; i know ive mentioned it before, but some of you Faithful Readers may be new. i am sick of the constant drama thats always going on like being trapped in a whirlwind. i hate it when i get stuck in the middle when two of my friends are fighting. i hate trying to be the peacemaker. no, i dont HATE it, but it seems to be that im there for everyone else and nobody is ever there for me. i HATE it when people cut me off the rare times i have something to say. thats always been one thing ive hated. its in my top three, actually. what, you cant hold your goddamn tongue with both hands until i manage to at least finish my sentence? jesus christ. everyone wants the spotlight on THEM. solely.
so why, you may be justified in asking, did i pick this profession? i love playing with haircolor. and cuts. and i love love love applying makeup to faces and transforming and using my arsenal to narrow and highlight and shimmer and shadow the right places.
i should have taken an esthetician course, but since im so far along with this, i may as well see it through to the end.
i have a real problem seeing my projects through. i get crazy possessed with an idea and start it, and then after a few days, weeks, months... the desire for the thing fades and i want something else. im notorious for it.
oh well. i SHOULD be done by january at the rate im going. 5 or so months. considering ive racked up over a year so far, thats not so daunting.
i still cant get a video uploaded. i wish i could plead my case to sean or missy, but somehow i dont think that would be wise. and it would just make me look stupid. i may BE stupid, but i see no reason to advertise it.
VIEW 4 of 4 COMMENTS
mora:
If you're a fan of chuck palahniuk and short stories, search around for his short called "Guts" good stuff. Gross. But good stuff.
badsun2:
The damnedest thing about runway models is that they just aren't what more guys like to look at. I'm convinced this is why only women and gay men care as much about fashion. (OK not exclusively but you know) it all seems so counter-productive to put so much thought into what you wear so that more people will want to take it off you. That being said, I'd much rather see you than Kate Moss on a billboard. Being the cool kid is all about doing your own thing and not giving a fuck what others think anyway. 
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