July 18, 2008

if I knew, I'd be yelling loud and hard too

I tried this thing today. That whenever I could feel my thoughts veering towards anything even slightly negative, I would stop it and reverse direction. In order for this to work, I only allowed myself to listen to upbeat things while walking around the city. It was a complete success, in terms of my mood. Music is medicine.

This isn't to say that I walk around in a cloud of gloom all the time. I don't. It just really annoys me when I'm annoyed. And it's really easy for me to be annoyed on a day like today. Essentially I had three interviews with three different agents. Right after a go-see with Gap International.
All of these things combined have intense potential energy for kicking my ass. Temperamentally-speaking.

The go-see was decidedly brief and anticlimactic. I put on some of their clothes. They measured me and took digital snaps. The pants are made for assless, hipless people. I wiggled into them. They did not see, because thankfully I was behind a partition.
The entire time, the two women fitting me were idly chatting about summer outfits and some guy one of them would potentially date. Office banter. My cell phone clunked onto the floor from my jeans pocket when I took them off to change. Their chatter stopped for a moment and then started up again. I imagined them making awkward faces at each other while I was behind the partition. The entire time I was wondering:
a) Why do I have so much hips for an Asian? Are these even a lot? I don't know.
b) Why don't more Asians have more hips and asses?
c) These trousers are really itchy.

They took photos from all angles, including from behind. I imagined I had some severe pantylineage considering I'm clearly over sample-size in that dept. I stood facing the wall while Camille, the fitting woman took the photo. It was a few seconds before I heard the shutter click. To take a photo of my ass in itchy trousers. A part of me wanted to vomit and die. A part of me probably did in an alternate cartoon parallel universe.
Then some bald man named Sergio measured me and I don't think I've sucked in so much in my entire life. Now I know why this sort of job pays so well.

My now agent, Liz, flubbed most of my measurements to be smaller. I don't know why she did that since she knew they would measure me there and see for themselves and see that I'm a liar and who wants to hire a liar? Nobody this side of Vegas. Apparently, Gap wasn't seeing a lot of people and it was some exclusive do, and a combination of my photos and her number-crunching got me in the door. I felt hopeful yet apprehensive. She measured me again in her office to see the difference. It wasn't too much thankfully. It is a hilarious and strangely liberating thing to me, getting half undressed openly in some office in midtown.
Before she had me scoot my jeans down to the knees so she could measure my hips, she asked, "Are you wearing panties?"
"Yeah. of course." I responded. "Do many girls come in here not wearing underwear?"
"I tell them to go out and buy a pair of panties and come back. This measuring tape goes in precarious places, you know."

So just so you know, whenever you see a model on the street, there's a pretty good chance she's going commando.

I met with two other agents in two different departments of the same agency and proceeded to charm the pants off of them. It turns out I can be charming when I want things like work. Everything I know about charming pants off of pants-wearers, I learned from Amanda Bynes. It's fact, though you probably wouldn't be able to tell. Also it seems that all agents talk really fast and hard.

Another girl was sitting in the reception area while she waited for her agent to review photos with her. They talked about them there in front of me and she said she didn't really like the photos of her in a swimsuit because she thought her tummy looked too big in them.
The funny thing is that nobody uses the word "fat." It's always "big." Her agent was a nice geeky man who didn't agree with her at all and I wasn't looking at her photos but I could see her in front of me and I'll bet her tummy was not at all too big.
Immediately and without censor and I piped up, "Shut up, you look amazing!" I think she was very cute and wholesomely pretty in an effortlessly southern belle sort of way (She had a Tennessee accent) but maybe not amazing to the point that I'd make out with her or anything. I'm just not that into blondes.
Tennessee blushed and laughed a bit nervous and her agent agreed with me. It felt nice to make someone less insecure about her body. It also felt good to tell a complete stranger to shut up. I myself felt a little bit less fucked, karmatically. We talked about the new Batman movie and the geeky agent said he was so psyched he was going to see it several times and probably buy every edition of the dvd. I'm really glad there's a comic-geek working at the agency I'm working with. It's very comforting.

I also fooled them into thinking that my headshots were professionally taken. Really I took them myself. Except for this one really good one Cole took of me for a personal project of his (Thanks Cole!). They look like this:

Now I can go to bed and not feel like I completely wasted the day in terms of securing a means of income and survival and independence from my parents' house. Yeah. I could really use a part-time job that pays a lot so I can have so much free time to cower in fear of the things I really want to do. And write another play. That's on the to-do.

I saw Amy today. God, I missed that girl.

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