Sometimes I get these inbounds from photographers that want to do photoshoots with me, which is really nice and flattering because my moon face is pretty hard to photograph without making it look like a moon face. Well, it's flattering up to the part where they want to charge me $100 for one outfit shoot and it's a minimum of THREE OUTFITS that will be photographed ALL IN ONE DAY. WHAT?! Which makes me wonder if this is the normal course of blogging business. Maybe they don't know how MY outfit shoots go. I typically wake up, and at around 10:00 a.m. I make my husband take 15-20 minutes worth of pictures of me in an outfit. I scream and yell at him the entire time to not make me look like a Hobbit and I complain and whine about how my face is the approximate size of a full moon. Then I change into comfortable shoes and we go for a coffee and breakfast burrito. It's really fun. So you can see how strange it is for me to have to put on three really cute outfits and shoot for hours on end with someone I have to be nice to and then pay them money for some photos of (let's be honest) me being totally obnoxious. How does that saying go? "A model should never get out of bed for anything less than a free breakfast burrito?"
(Text originally posted on 1/2/14)
There's something strange about coming back after celebrating Christmas and New Year's, and by strange I mean incredibly depressing and sad. Everyone is all partied out, you have to throw away your Christmas tree, put all your Christmas ornaments away, recover from your hangovers and then go back to work...on a Thursday! You're looking back and thinking about the year that went by and all the things that you didn't accomplish and now you're going to start another year off with a juice cleanse that will mean nothing, because "green juice" is actually not a magic potion that will take away your dependency on french fries. Not to mention those people that do those "I'm so grateful for..." posts that lists a thousand accomplishments, but that you (let's be real) can't stand reading, but you do anyways just so you can judge them for being narcissistic assholes. Breaking news: nobody cares. All your holiday joy is basically rotting out on the curb and there's not another huge holiday in sight.
All kidding aside, it's not all bad. Here's looking at you President's Day.
There are certain times in a person's life when they feel truly triumphant. Where, everything that you worked for or hoped for came to fruition in the exact way that you wanted. For me, it was graduating law school and passing the Bar, or seeing my huge round face in a glossy magazine, or making the perfect pepper sauce that will make you cry once it touches the tip of your tongue. Those times are very few and far between so when they occur you have to enjoy and revel in the glory. And that's exactly what I did when I was roaming around LinkedIn and saw my beautiful ex-crush. Once upon a time, I had emailed him to confess my love and to humbly suggest that he dump his hot girlfriend to be with me. I never saw him again after that. Maybe because he thought I had made things a little...awkward? Or maybe he's still mulling it over. It's been about 8 years, so hopefully I'll receive an extremely well thought out response from him any day now. But, after all these years, imagine what I felt when I saw that my beautiful ex-crush, who caused me to listen to 3000 hours Janis Joplin in the dark while smoking cigarettes is now...wait for it...FAT! Fat. Fat, and lives with his parents, is single and nobody loves him. That's right, everything that a girl ever wants to happen to her ex-crush that crushed her, happened to him! I feel like I'm living an urban legend. So the lesson to be learned here is to always keep the faith because you never know; your ex-crush could be sitting around totally fat right now too, just waiting for you to discover him.
Yesterday I went out to pick up some take-out when I realized that I was dressed like a yuppie hobo. That is I looked like a hobo, but a hobo in a Northface jacket, oversized wind pants, and flip flops. The whole time when I was ordering my Pad Thai, I was wondering if anyone even knew that they may have seen me in a past copy of InStyle Magazine. Then the guy called out my number but I didn't notice so he screamed "girl in the big pants, this one's yours" and I realized that nope, nobody knew about that InStyle thing. I wasn't sure at the time if I should be proud or ashamed about this, but upon reflection I think I know the proper feeling now. #can'tbeproudinwindpants