August 23, 2007

…I’m hardly modeling material either. However, someone named ‘Francesca’ seems to think I’d have a great career at modeling and is insisting I send ‘her’ a photo of myself. First off, I think ‘her’ is probably ‘he’ and not just any ‘he’ but a big, fat, greasy slob, at home, sitting in his skid marked undies, a huge beer gut covered in blackish-grayish hair, belly button lint overflowing, smelly pits, a piece of KFC in one hand and obviously typing with the other hand as all of this conversation is taking place on messenger. Unless he’s typing with his penis. Oh God, I just threw up a little in my mouth.

F: Hello, how are you?

Me: I’m fine, thanks

F:You remember me?

Me: Umm no, not really, sorry. Where do I know you from?

F: I find girls for modeling agency

Me: Umm oh. Well I’ve never been to a modeling agency so I highly doubt we’ve met.

F: You want model?

Me: Do I want to model? Sure if you’re looking for a 5ft 2in forty twenty-five year old who may look demented sweet for her age but I’m thinking I’m past modeling career status. Plus, really, I could be an ugly troll who lives under bridges and eats people.

F: Show me your looks.

Me: Show you my looks? Damn, I just packed them away. Ah, well, my picture is in the display box of my messenger, so you can see what I look like.

F: Oh you beauty

Me: Well thanks but I’m still pretty certain I’m not what you’re looking for.

F: You send me?

Me: Send you what? A donut?

F: You send me photo.

Me: Ya sure, I’m going to send you a photo. I’ll get right on that. And by right on that, I mean, when it becomes fashionable to pee on total strangers. Wait, how about when pigs fly?

F: I’m in Milan, you in Milan?

Me: Oh ya, I go to Milan all the time. I just got back this morning actually. I was on a modeling job.

F: You making fun?

Me: Making fun of you? No. That’s not my style. Like I would be sarcastic. Like ever. Especially with someone who says they are Francesca looking for ‘girls’ for ‘modeling’ from ‘Milan’, which all sounds totally plausible. And certainly since you think I’m modeling quality, why would I make fun of you? That would be fun rude of me.

F:I get back to you

Me: Oh I’ll be waiting with baited breath by the messenger! Be still my heart.

So betches, I might not be writing for awhile, you know, since I’m going to be in Milan posing n’ shit, while people take my photo while I look all pouty and stuff. Hey don’t be jealous, we can’t all be models.

July 19, 2007

That was my look when I opened my mailbox today and saw that I was a millionaire. Well according to the Publishers Clearing House sweepstakes people. However, after reading the fine print, I think they’re big, fat liars. I might sue them. We’ll see how the rest of my week goes.

Did I tell you it’s still hot here? It’s still hot here. Although today wasn’t quite as bad as it has been and I do have my ac in now, so really I shouldn’t complain about the heat, but since I feel like complaining about it, I’m complaining. Confused? Me too.

I think I have to walk to the bank tomorrow. How exciting is that? I don’t have a vehicle anymore….well, I mean I do but it doesn’t work. At all. So that’s just like not having one, therefore I must walk everywhere I want to go and since it’s summer break, I must bring my children along. You know, children, those small humans that you love with all of your heart and soul, the same ones who can annoy the shit out of you in 5 minutes flat. Ya those ones. I’ll let you know what kind of embarrassment they bring me, because you can bet your last dollar, they will bring it. It’s been broughten. Many times over.

I found out the other day that I have another photograph published in a new book. The name of the book escapes my frazzled brain but when I remember it or get the gumption to look it up, I’ll let you know. I’m sure you’ve got chills waiting. I know how to get you going. Oh ya baby.

It’s 10:38pm and my kids are still up. I’m not quite certain why but I know I must get off of this contraption and place them in their beds. We’ve been together for 14 hours and I think that’s my limit for the day. They’re driving me insane darlings and need their beauty rest and mama needs a stiff drink and a massage to watch her toenail paint dry.