...My Agency Director tells me that I am getting too old and this is the last year that I will be getting modeling jobs through this agency. I just shake my head that I understand, being eager to move on with my life, especially after the shitty jobs that she has been sending me on lately. She also tells me about some low-budget department store modeling jobs and I quickly respond “no” without giving it a second thought. She persuades me to do these low-budget jobs that I detest so much by telling me that I can use such jobs as a form of promotional marketing for other projects that I am currently doing. Since I have a big name in modeling, I can make appearances at these assignments, signing autographs, meeting people, and doing some runway modeling in fashion shows. Although I am used to doing mostly print work and I don’t have much experience with runway modeling, the Agency Director tells me to just walk naturally and be myself because I will be there for appearances only. I think to myself, why not. It could be a good opportunity to promote my magazine and DL Designs, as well as network and make contacts. I tell her about my Mannequin Magazine and we agree to stay in touch for business purposes...
The Sand Dollar by Fifi Leigh at www.lulu.com
|Around 11:00 a.m., I call a publishing firm, located in the Olde Anglo metropolitan area, and I make an appointment to publish my book. They tell me to come at 1:00 p.m. for a meeting. I am currently wearing a business suit and working at the DL Designs office when I decide to gather my things and place them into my briefcase. I drive to the location at noon, hoping to finish discussing my publishing needs within thirty minutes so that I can return to DL Designs and work on deadlines. I end up staying there all afternoon, discussing with them my book. By 4:00 p.m., I drive back to the condo, feeling aggravated with this publisher because he had wasted my whole workday, arguing about unnecessary services that I didn’t want or need until we finally agreed on the appropriate package deal that involves a book signing tour at local fashion events and bookstores. This package deal enables me to promote my book around my regular work schedule without performing any frivolous activities.|
...7:00 a.m. The NYC office of SuperModels Agency calls me on my cell phone, telling me that I have an 8:00 a.m. appointment at a salon to get a makeover, and then I have to promote that look at a photo shoot for a makeup ad, where I will not be wearing much, except for a nude tube top and nude panties in order to show natural flesh and sell the natural makeup on my flawless face. I write down the address and call Tina’s chauffeur to drive me there, and then I comb my hair and brush my teeth before going down to the lobby and waiting for his arrival.
7:30 a.m. I walk out, from the apartment door, with my tote bag, and I lock the door of the apartment. I run down the stairs and stand in front of the apartment building, waiting for the limousine and watching the crowded NYC streets. When the limousine arrives, I ask the driver for his identification, making sure that he is Tina’s personal chauffeur before I crawl inside the back, with my tote bag, and make myself comfortable.
The chauffeur is an older man, in his sixties, with gray hair and fair complexion. He seems like a quiet man, dressed in a black outfit and a black hat, and he has a relaxed personality.
8:00 a.m. The chauffeur drives me to the Chelsea area,...
|...The Cattle Call Campout! It is 4:00 p.m., and models from all over the world are camping out at the Newcastle Corporation parking lot for the chance to model in a big television extravaganza. For the older models, it could be a transition into television work. The campout, located across the street from an odd job that I had when I was in college, is hectic and chaotic with cars lined up, along the curb of the street, and police officers and security guards are all over the area, trying to control the crowd from getting out of hand.
On the news, I notice a news station van parked in the street and a newscaster is talking about this event among the noisy crowd and hoopla. I do some housework while watching the television screen until ten. Since I have to be at the Newcastle Corporation for contract work at 5:30 a.m., I decide to set my alarm clock for 5:00 a.m. and take a nap at ten.
When my radio-alarm clock blurts out a noise at five in the morning, I quickly shut it off and change my clothes into...
...I am handed a pewter basket, filled with two strawberries, a cluster of purple grapes, bran muffin, a cookie and a croissant, as well as a bottle of orange juice and a cup of raspberry-flavored herbal tea with honey, lemon wedge and a cinnamon stick. After I sign-in at the front desk, I sit with the other models in the waiting room, eating my catered continental breakfast and chatting. The black model, sitting next to me, asks me if I want her strawberry. She looks familiar and we start to chat together about her boyfriend's hard times...
...I think to myself that it must be one of Summer’s fucking tactics to get me fired or keep me from working in a Ferodo assignment, even though I don’t see Summer anywhere.
At 1:00 p.m., I walk inside the studio, where there is loud music blaring from a stereo system, and all of the crew are dressed in white t-shirts, with black Adam Ferodo logo on them, and black pants. There are many business executives standing around in their pinstriped business suits and dark briefcases. I take out my water bottle from my tote bag and take a long sip because my mouth is getting dry from all of the tension, drama and stress of working with crap all day, and dehydrating my skin. A black Marketing Executive, Mark, likes me so much that he gives me free Ferodo samples. I don’t see Adam Ferodo anywhere, but I notice Summer standing around bitching with other people about me working in this assignment, as well as giving me nasty looks. Summer and the white trash bitch, that I encountered earlier, are watching me during the whole time and getting pissed that I am getting all of these free samples. They come my way, act nasty to me and argue with me, telling me...
|...I watch the hustle and bustle of the crowded studio. The studio is filled with people running around simultaneously in different directions, trying to get their work done without trampling on each other.
Meanwhile, I am getting anxious and bored as I wait for my makeup artist and hairdresser to arrive at this location. This modeling thing is so tedious! Finally, Nicola, the makeup artist, comes to do my face. Then, a wild, funky-looking and bad ass Caucasian young man comes and does my hair. He puts a lame barrette in my hair and sleeks my hair back with gel. I feel so stupid in that look that I keep complaining to him that I need more body to cover the rash on my face. He gets pissed off that I didn’t like the look that he gave me and changes my hair to a fuller style by rubbing gel in his palms, and scrunching and messing up my hair. Another stylist comes to paint my nails in a wild color, as well as drawing some fake tattoos on my arms and legs. Many people, who walk by me, tell me that they love my makeup, the dark red lipstick and the smoky, grayish-brown eye shadow, and they ask me for the name of my makeup artist. I have been sitting in the same chair for so long, with so many people around me, that I forgot most of the people’s names that worked on my look. So, I tell them that I forgot. After taking many pictures in different angles and poses while wearing various interesting outfits, I finally finish the photo shoot at three o’clock. Before I leave, the Art Director tells me that they like my work and want to use one of my pictures for the cover of the magazine. I feel excited but shocked of this news.
...2:30 p.m. It is a nice, sunny and hot day on a Saturday afternoon. Tina and I are walking to the Soho-like artist village, checking out the ambiance, the art, the music and the people. All of the sudden, Tina drags me into this eerie-looking place and tells me that we should try it for fun. I look at her in shock and horror, but I nevertheless, go along, always game for a little fun and excitement, even though I feel that it is a waste of time and money. The spaced-out-looking woman, at the front desk, takes our twenty-dollar bill and directs us to a corner table, where a vulgar, trashy and gypsy-like guru is sitting behind a wooden table with a rosary and a white candle in front of her. She prays before she starts the reading. While I am staring at this ugly creature in fear and Tina is staring at her in wonder, we both are open-mouthed and awe-stricken. The scary-looking fortune-teller rudely asks me to write my name and my question of interest on an index card. I fill out the card and hand it back to her. She channels an angel, which she addresses as Archangel Michael. As his spirit enters her body, she takes on a different form, wriggling her grotesque body until the spirit settles inside her. She scribbles incoherent and illegible squiggly lines on a piece of white bond paper as the archangel speaks to her, so she says. She looks like she is carrying on a conversation with him, talking to him and answering him aloud. She writes down words in a weird and incoherent language that cannot be read through human or mortal eyes. She tells me mumbo jumbo words, such as one-to-one ratio, male energy, female energy, low self-esteem and BMS. Then, she tells me that I should know what they mean. I am thinking “whatever” in confusion. I ask her to explain herself because she is not making any sense. She tells me that she cannot explain it because it is very clear. She blurts out that my energy is high on the female side and low on the male side (I should hope so), creating an imbalance that will not let me move on in my life. I am thinking that she must have some kind of chemical imbalance in her brain to make up such absurd things. She further tells me that the only way to fix this imbalance is to either take a karate class or jump hurdles while horseback riding. I start chuckling. She has got to be kidding. I look at Tina, and Tina just shrugs. This weird freak hands me a gray bond paper with a meditation robe exercise, and she tells me that I should do this exercise in order to gain foundation and support in my life. Then, she predicts, in one month or within four weeks, I will experience joy and happiness. She tells me to look up the word joy, memorize the definition and live it. I am thinking that this whole thing is a bullshit joke. She goes on talking about achieving a certain career path. I am having a hard time understanding her bullshit or where it is coming from because nothing makes sense. She tells me that I have to do this karate and robe exercise in order to achieve success in my life...
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I continue to promote my 1st novel while a draw a graphic novel. On the side, I go to local events as well as international internet events. April has been a busy month for me with hosting a magazine release party, writing fashion articles, passing out promo postcards and business cards to promote my novel in local areas, as well as promoting my first novel via the internet that I haven't had much time to draw my graphic novel. Then, I go to the gym late at night to de-stress from my chaotic life. I have 3 more events this month. so, the chaos hasn't ended yet.