Mad About Plaid

I think I met someone who shares the same enormous love, that I myself, have for plaid and flannel.




Thanks to my pal Val, who spotted the Male version of me at McCabes.

Ode to Odor

As far as fashion goes, I'm all about exploration and innovation. I love to see a crazy kook wearing some extravagant hot mess that they dare to wear. why not? Life's short, and you always have tomorrow to wear something boring and/or normal. I rarely find it appropriate to shove anybody's style or outfit of choice into a "Do's & Don'ts" category.

HOWEVER.

Tonight, I am her to tell the world; WHAT NOT TO WEAR.




This morning I absolutely could not find my deodorant. So, I scrambled about, in a hurry for a quick alternative...

A while back, Andrew's best friend Vince stood on his worrysome pulpit and preached like that brotha' from anotha' motha' on a Sunday morning in a Souther Baptist Church. Vince was there to spread the gospel: Regular deodorant submits cancer through your armpit and into your brain, via the iluminum ingredient you can find in most deodorants. But no need to panic! He had found the light, and he found it at Trader Joes.

"Trader Joe's Unscented deodorant (with cotton) paraben and aluminum free".

If you tell Andrew that Rubbing Alcohol is the most effective way to lubricate your dry, irritated, red eyes, he'd probably do it; One drop in each eye. Of course Vince's sunday school lesson on how important it is to convert to the aluminum-free-pit-stick, lead us through the valley and the shadow of death and over to the selective (but obivously eco-friendly) toiletry section of Trader Joes. I didn't pay much attention to these silly shananigans, I admittedly welcomed the advice into one ear and Shooed it out of the other like it was a dirty old fly. It was mainly a cheap form of entertainment, I was able to ring out a few good laughs like It was a used up washcloth. These two get together and get worked up about any damn thing such as, Well...deodorant.

Suddenly it's June 24th 2008, and now, this underarm armor has got me taking notes.

Today I scurried home after a long day and quickly disrobed my clothing, seeking a more suitable wardrobe for something with more of a breezeway, something of comfort. I grasp the bottom of my T-shirt and quickly deploy it from my body. As my shirt teams up with my arms,together, they create quite the potent gust of wind.

"Oh My!"

I furrow my brow and tuck my tail between my legs.
That can't be me!
No way.
Absolutely not.

I bow my head, and take to the worldly advice of Mr. Toucan Sam, I follow my nose.

Definately me.

It's as if I've unknowingly smuggled an onion patch under my arms, and I unfortunately failed to notice that somone had slaughtered those puppies to smithereens!!

Never have I ever produced such a stench. And when I do go into sweat production, out comes a scent more comparable to pine trees. Yeah you heard me, pine trees. It's been confirmed on numerous occasions by several people I hold dear to my heart (and armpit).

This odor wasn't foreign to my nostrils ( My poor nostrils, feeling like they'd just been assulted). I have been given many opportunities to get a good whiff of this aroma: In dance class, the locker room after gym class, and sitting in seventh grade Math Class next to the kid who was still wearing sweat pants. I always wondered when my day would come. The day when I could formulate my own natural defense mechanism, if I were to be mugged by a man on a street, all I'd have to do is get him in a quick headlock and he'd be out like a light.

I'm sorry Vince, for the inability to be vacant to this product, but I feel even more remorse for your wife, may she never snuggle up into those armpits of yours.

In the mean time, it's pine trees or bust!

What ever happened to predictability

The milkman, the paperboy, evening TV.





I'm going to San Francisco this weekend. One of my very very best friends in the world, Jenn lives there. She asked me what I wanted to do when I got there. I told her that I'd like to re-enact the opening scene of Full House.

She thinks I'm kidding.
But wait until I show up with my topsy tail, tye dyed biker shorts, and my perfected hand gestures insinuating she ought to "CUT-IT-OUT!"

Craving

Sometimes I get these cravings.
I don't mean the flavors that my tastebuds long for, it's almost a nostalgic, sensual, emotional craving.

For the last hour I've had a craving. It started out at the thought of a glass of water.
Soon, I realized that wasn't enough. I envisioned an extremely large body of water. I was craving being engrossed in the rhytmn of the pacific ocean's waves.

But that wasn't quite enough.

I wanted to be at Turtle Bay Resort, on the North Shore of Oahu.
I want to hop from the ocean, to the pool, back to the ocean, to the pool.
And I want it to be 1996.

Although I lived on Oahu for years, I've got a specific instance that I aspire to acheive, that ultimate bliss that I once experienced.

It was 1996. My first trip to Hawaii.
Me and my long blonde leg hairs had just graduated the fifth grade, and my sister had just graduated high school. She was off to attend Brigham Young University over there. And my family followed suit.

I was ten, my brother was fifteen, and my sister was eighteen.

In preparation for my hawaii trip I watched "My Father The Hero" (vintage Katherine Heigl) about twenty seven times. Every time Nicole dipped into that listerine - blue water, my toes tingled with excitement all the way up and through to my perma-grin smile and googley blue eyes. I smiled, knowing that I would be walking around on a tropical island diving into pools and floating in the satly sultry sea.

This movie was to me, and my Hawaii trip, like "Gonna Fly Now" by Peter Wolmarans, was to Rocky. You know thee "Rocky".

It pumped me up. I knew that in a matter of time, I too- would have the pool, the sand, the ocean, the fruit drinks, the tan, and an even tanner Hunk of a man. Ok, most likely my pre-pubescent self matched with my hairy legs wasn't going to land me a dreamy local boy any time soon. But I could feel it, it was soo close.

I remember the smells immediately off of the airplane. The sounds. The wind. I remember seeing the first sunset hover over the fluorescent waters. I'd previously never understood how beauty can captivate one's emotions, but I remember - even at my premenstrual age, I felt it. I felt the beauty surrounding me. I was overcome by it. It was no longer a vision: It was a feeling. I was convinced that I was just sweating tiny droplets of the sodium packed ocean out of my tear ducts. Not me- I wasn't crying.

I remember my dad buying all of us beautiful lei's to wear. I felt like a Hawaiian princess. Spreading my plumeria scented aura amongst the land. Behold, Princess Brynn Akuhnakikahu Lau Lau had arrived.

To the outside world, my family was a bunch of tall, skinny, blonde, pale as powder- TOURISTS. But I didn't see it that way. I was on my own island, owning it. I felt fireworks. With every waking moment, my dreams were coming true. I no longer pictured myself as an akward gangly girl who could be out-weighed by a gallon of milk. I was bronzed, I was beautiful, I had long black flowing hair.

When I reminesce my latter years, when I was actually living in Hawaii; they are very significant, but nothing really brought such electricity to my soul, as the trip of '96. I look back at my years as a resident of Hawaii and smile at the good times. But when I think back to my trip of '96 I still actually feel it. My throat grows a lump, my eyes produce a subtle swell, followed by a wistful case of the goose bumps.

I think this trip to me was so life changing because it was the first encounter I had with "Possibility". I acknowledged the possibilities that the world had out there for all of us. The tropics were not just for the movies, the fancy cruises, or those stranded on a desert island. They were for family vacations and College kids too! It didn't have to be a distant dream to let your toes mingle with the orchestra of the soft, yet, exfoliating sand. I was doing it. I was living it. It was possible.

This trip also proposed to me: "Growth". My big sister was leaving us. What some called my sister- I viewed as my idol. She really was a princess ( Portland Rose Festival Princess- it was a big deal in the ninties). She was beautiful, virginal, humorous, intelligent, a prom and homecoming queen that oozed with integrity and honorable values. She was my Madonnna, my Britney Spears. And I knew that after ten days, I'd have to let her go. We were leaving her on this island.

Where was I going to find my new dance moves? Who's hairstyles would I copy? Who's dates would I tag along on?

I realized my sister had to grow. She was "grow"-ing up. And it was time for me to grow as well.

Just a few days into the trip, my family and I found ourselves kicked back, maxin' and relaxin' at the Turtle Bay Resort. Out of nowhere- I come to realize myself being smothered by four pairs of blue eyes throwing daggers at me, followed by a chuckle here and a giggle there. Can you imagine? All of them! Just gawking at me! My own flesh and blood! My sister (brother, dad and mom) had caught a glimpse of the beautiful shinning sea of golden locks, that swayed back and forth with the Hawaiian breeze, on my teeny, tiny toothpick- like legs.

It was time.

two disposable razors and an hour later. I was nude. Ok, I wasn't nude. But I felt like a skinned cat. What had my sister done to me? I remember so vividly that night. My legs caressed the hotel's white thread count, and to me it was the most awful feeling of all. I wanted my leg's golden comfort blanket back.

The next day, I was teased by my brother and my dad. It was a catch 22, a lose lose situation, I was teased either way. I was either Harry with the Hendersons, or I was mocked by the uncanny resemblence of my legs to Uncle Fester's head.

I remember indugling into a heaping mound of shave ice, freezing my brain with a tasty Dole whip. I helped break open, and cut up coconuts and pineapple, and when doing so- my mind told me that I was living like they did in the ancient Hawaiian days. We attended Luaus, and I became extremely mesmerized by the ocean like motions that those beautiful women created as their hips shifted. But I couldn't get myself to stray for very long from the thought, that all I wanted was to be back in that water.

I would always end my days with a peaceful swim in the evening. The way the moon hit the water and bounced off of my sibling's sparkling shoulders, was unreal. It was that sparkle that you'd sometimes see on Ariel in the little mermaid. I soaked it all in. Everything was captured and tucked away in my ten-year-old memory card.


I sometimes forget about the Brynn 12 years ago. That young girl was completely consumed by the feelings, enthralled by the beauty, absorbing it all.

She wanted to live there, She wanted to love there, She wanted to grow there.



And I did.



( circa 2005. Our 1st valentines day as a married couple)

the rewards of success

My diet is going superbly.

My day started off with a fudge pop, and 2 bags of oatmeal.

around 3:00 I eat some edamame and some vegetable soup. As well as 3 cans of diet root beer.

I manage to accumulate approximately 6 mini snickers, 3 starbursts, 2 york peppermint patties ( and a partridge in a pair tree). into my (aspiring to be smaller) belly.

I get home and open my cupboards. I eat one oreo. And a handful of potato chips.

I tell Andrew, let me rephrase that- I ask Andrew to bring me home some sushi. Yet, he comes home with two GIANT, thick, and greasy cheese quesedillas, a cheese enchilada, refried beans and rice, and chips and salsa (lets just say it had to be served onto two different plates, it was alot). I eat it all besides one half of the quesedillas. But hey- It wasn't my idea!!


Things are going so well. I feel so light and organic. I already think I've lost seven pounds.

plenty of Brynn to go around

I'm thinking of going on a diet.

I say this in a manor which is 1/3 humor 1/3 cynic 1/3 seriousness.

Truth is; I've slowly gained weight.

So I looked up charts to see where I come into place.

My Body Mass Index as of right now is 18.1.

I am almost at a clinically healthy weight. Just a few more L to the B's and I will be considered at a normal weight.

After 18.5 I am no longer in the "underweight" category. Which is fine by me. I'm not concerned about whether "They" - the people in the health industry think I am healthy or not. Personally, the only thing that bothers me about putting on weight; is not being able to fit into those beautiful $300 high waisted jeans I bought last year.

At 5 foot 11 (I've oddly grown 1/2 an inch since my frequent visits to the chiropractor) I weigh in at a bloated, and Jell-O like 130 lbs. That's a 10 plus lb. weight gain since... Well I suppose the holidays and the stint in Greece (Hello spanakopita's and luscious chocolate bars). And I quit working out ages ago, so no- it's not my bulging muscles responsible for my widening hips or the heightened number on the scale. In fact, I think I have not an ounce of muscle left on me.

Why couldn't I have purchased those pants in a size 26 or 27? For the love of the Financial Gods, why?!

Walking into my agency as of late, I feel like I'm in one of those stereotypical dreams where you show up at school naked and everyone in the room has a horrific look on their faces. "What? What is it?" [stares] "oh my 36 inch hips? These old things? They're very loving and there's now plenty of me to go around, ca'mon invite them over for dinner and desert and you too, can get yourself some!"

(36 inches is kind of a taboo thing)

I understand that it is my job to stay a certain size and certain measurements. But I kind of don't care.
Could this be another determining factor into my transition into the real world? Where people actually don't use their headbands as belts?

We'll see.

Although I am a lousy dieter, I thought that I'd give it a shot. I was talking to my mom the other day about how I wanted to do some sort of cleanse to detoxify any toxins left over from all of my recent illnesses and (ehem) European Chocolate craze. She then said oprah is doing this whole no sugar, no caffiene, no alcohol, no gluten, no anything diet.

I sort of think it would be fun. Maybe I'll try it. I'm sure I'll be tons of fun in social situations. "Oh, none for me thanks; I'm going to gnaw on this celery stick for a while".

I will maybe try to exercise again. Since my "Mono Diet" I haven't had the energy to get up and go run around. Oh and in case your wondering; as soon as the mono faded and my appetite reappeared; so did those inches and pounds that once jumped ship when I fell ill. What great friends they are- When the goin gets tough, they get outta town, but once I'm feeling better slowly but surely they're all back to have coffee and dinner dates with me.

I don't so much care about any numbers on a scale, because they all say different things for christs' sake. But I'll be damned if I don't fit into that darling pair of denim, that patiently sits in my closet, perfectly folded awaiting our reunion.


I've most definately had dilemna's that consist of more seriousness and substance, but for now it's apparently ME that consists of more substance! I will have to deunite my love affair with sugar, and ( in order to unite with my precious pants) in the sweetest way - the way that sugar should deserve- I'll sorrowfully say; "I need my space".

nappy headed buffalo

OK, so, it's kind of my family's tradition when we go to stay at the condo in Puget Sound, we venture off into this little town and go to this wildlife park.

Temio, my 3 year old nephew went at the ripe age of 5 months. So even though it was his second trip, it was his first EXPERIENCE.

I had to share the many faces/expressions/noises of Mr T.

Youtube sort of sucks and there isn't much clarity in the video, but hopefully you can enjoy his many teeny expressions on his face.

P.S. I think I mentioned in my "mothers day" post about how my mom is a lover of animals and wouldn't hurt a fly, in fact she'd probably take a fly in as her own pet. Well, I introduce to you; my mother commenting a gnarly, raggedy and unsightly creature, telling it what " big brown eyes!" it has.. Ohhh mother.

The journal that lost it's way

(I tried scanning my journal which made it overseas, but only lasted roughly 5 days, so I finally decided to document it via modern technology.)

January 7th 2008

It started with a text message; "travel safe *Hugs* <3 Shaleah".

The message was sent at approximately 5:45am. Both Andrew's and my alarm were set for 4:30am. I heard the beep... It wasn't the "alarm" beep, it was the official "text" beep.

"Don't worry" Andrew assured me, for it wasn't the alarm quite yet, just a text...
Both of us being in a complete zombie state of mind, I stare foggy- eyed at my phone only to realize that NEITHER of our alarms went off!!

I hop out of bed, rip off my clothes while running to find a set of clean clothes. Andrew grabs my luggage and wheels it down to the car. I am still brushing my teeth whilst putting my shoes on simutaneously.

It's all pretty much a blur to me, partially because 3/4 of me was still programmed in sleep mode and partially was that there was hardly any time to think; therefore actually remember how everything went about.

As we merged onto the freeway, Andrew suggests I call the airline to see if I will even make it on time. So I called and went through a handful of automated steps with the robotic woman who says " Press 4 if you think this is an eff-ing waste of time". Finally, a woman with a southern accent picks up the phone. She was overtly nice and said that it was a pretty close call being that it was 6:15am when I was talking to her and, again, my plane departed at 7:10am.

After hanging up with Mrs. Alabama, Andrew and I strategized on how, if, and when I was going to make my flight. Our "Plan A" was skycap/curbside check-in.

Finally as we approach the airport at 6:35am, I fumble out of the car in a sloppy, yet time efficient manor.

STRIKE 1- Curbside Check- In isn't allowed with international flights.

I run in while Andrew sits outside at the curb puzzled as to what he's to do. If he left the car, he would get a ticket. But, if I left the line to go get me luggage; that would set me back 15 minutes that I didn't have to spare, and would pretty much guarantee I'd miss my flight.

So, Andrew sweet talks the nazi- cop woman into letting him wheel my luggage in.

While I waited in like at Check-in, Andrew went to go park the car. We gave eachother goodbye kisses just in case I was able to check in before he done parking. But NO, he was able to park and be back while I remained just another number in the Delta International single-file line.

I finally started Check- In at 6:50am. While printing out tickets and whatnot, Andrew took my suitcases over to agriculture, which is the final destination for all luggage.

I kissed Andrew goodbye for a second and final time, whizzed through another line, surpassed the congested escalator by sprinting up the stairs in my 3 1/2 inch heeled Marc Jacobs boots. Ripping off my clothes for the second time before the clock struck 7:00am on a monday morning, I prepared myself for the strip search/metal detector/ x- ray vision routine. Apparently I didn't strip enough, because the thrity-something african american woman made a couple requests for the removal of my clothing, again, and again.

If I had to get naked in order to make my flight, and streak my way to Gate 5B, I would've.

Without fully being dressed as I was prior to my strip search, I grabbed all of my belongings and galloped my way to Gate 5B.

I made it.

Sweaty, and scatterbrained; I freaking made it.

Now, I am about 6 hours away from Greece. I've about 8 hours of flying under my belt thus far. I sit here post- dinner, pre- breakfast surrounded by many Greek civilians.

I'm so fascinated by these people. They're surprisingly disheveled. The man sitting next to me looks like Frankenstien's cousin. I'd say he is fresh out of brain surgery. I would absolutely love to hear his story, but at the cost of being offensive, I won't. I tried to make conversation with him and I don't think he speaks much english, or for that matter even cares to speak to me.

Good Lord, if I had a war wound or scar like that, we all know I'd be sharing it with anyone who'd lend me an ear.

I think I'm going to go tune into the third (corny) movie they've played this trip. If not, I'll get back to reading Hemmingway; For Whom The Bell Tolls. It's such a lovely book, but hard to follow when I've had three hours of sleep in the last 48 hours. [which also explains my handwriting, which also can be excused by the dim lighting].

So for now,

Ciao!



January 8th (ish) 2008


I now sit in my apartment alone. I had quite the experience venturing out with aspirations to find A) a phone card ( internationally), B) a card to activate my temporary cell phone and C) a nice healthy salad. I feel like it's been ages since I've eaten anything but airplane food. Someone recently told me that Greece was very "English friendly", yet no one here understands me.

Although I made it out of my adventure 3 for 3. Plus bonus points for the little dark chocolates I scored.

I absolutely love my booker Maria, she is such a doll, such a free spirit [boy, was I OFF]. And the owner of the agency is such a gentleman [true, but i literally saw him twice the whole time I was there]. I was at ease to find out he wasn't some greazy skeeze. I feel 100% comfortable and am excited for this little adventure.

I am currently awaiting the arrival of my American roomate. She is coming from Florida [wrong again]. It's been a bit weird being all alone, yet really peaceful.

I can't wait to rest up and mentally be up to par to tackle a good chunk of the book I am reading. For now, I remain puzzled and unable to figure out the big flat screen television to sync with the Greek DVD player. So my background noise is CNN ( the only things that comes in english) in black and white.

I've got five castings tommorrow and Maria just told me that I am 'on hold' for Greek Cosmopolitan.

A man just showed up at the door saying that he's a friend of the agency, and that his wife and children live upstairs. He showed me how to run hot water, fix the lights, and Drum Roll..... he fixed the DVD player.

It's funny because it won't play any of the DVD that I brought, just the random ones laying around here.



January 10th 2008

What an interesting day.

There are now three models living here. I had to go out to four castings ALL ALONE in the City of Athens. I had/was/am on option for Cosmo, so I had to separate and go to that appointment alone. I'm too tired to write too much, but some interesting facts from today:

- I had a tax driver who looks like John Stamos' long lost twin brother.

- While I was on the subway today, there was this old woman named Nata; she helped me around town for a bit and invited me over for dinner. She went on and on about her son who speaks excellent english. I think she was hoping for me to fall in love with him.

Mike Jones

Who? Mike Jones!
Happy Fathers day to my crazy inventor of a father. The man who fixes everything, whether it's broken or not. The guy who is a great supplier of comic relief. I keep him on his toes, and am responsibe for his missing hairs, and the silver tint that remains on the ones that are left over, yet he still shows unconditional love. He's a country boy and a fellow college dropout, who has used his crazy creative mind to support our family. He's the man. He's the guy you can see strolling the aisles of a grocery store wearing denim jeans, with a jean jacket which has a GIANT Pepsi emblem on it, cause he just don't give a fu... :) Being 55 years old doesn't stop him from waking up at 5am a few times a week to take on a bunch of young guns on the basketball court. He's the worlds coolest grandpa who's grandson has him wrapped around his teeny tiny fingers. Although, he does get a little cranky when you see him wearing his CPAP machine at night, we all assure him that it's pretty awesome that he gets to sleep in a contraption that looks like a robot elephant- and it keeps his snoring from rattling the doors of the Jones residence.


I LOVE YOU DAD!
Happy Fathers Day!

One Word.

Lollapalooza.





I will now be spending my birthday in the city of Chicago, on a 3 day music binge.

June 10th. Already?

I can't believe it is already day 161 of the year 2008. It seemed like it was just yesterday that as the clock struck midnight, I was leaving the year 2007 in the dust, as myself and a cabin full of mortals descended into LAX.


Although today started out with a bad case of "June Gloom", it's turned out to be quite the beaut.

When the sun is a shinnin', it gets me all anxious about how summer is going to hop onto a tandem bicycle with one of those go- getters in Venice Beach and just breeze right past me.

As I scramble to juggle my schedule, plans, and finances, there is a part of my brain that perks up every once and a while and says "What are you waiting for?!?! Let's get crazy and make some To Do Lists!!!"

So.

[ I think I say "So" a lot. ]

[ I also realized today that I toss around the socially assuring "Just Kidding" a lot. Which isn't actually that assuring. It just goes to show that I make ballsy comments, and as quickly as I spit them out, I retract them in fear of being overtly offensive. I think it's time to crawl back into my "comedic" shell when I am in professional environments... ]

[....Just kidding. ]

My To Do List

- Learn the drums.

- Develop up a singing voice

- Make use of my roller skates

- Binge on film for all of my old cameras

- Purchase a new digital

- Visit Jenn in San Francisco

- Convince all of my girlfriends to come visit me at some point. Mallory and Jenn. You both owe me a visit, thank you very much.

- Road trips.

- Perhaps begin on my adventurous Polygamist colony tour/documentary.

- Visit Grandma & Grandpa Chick in ol' Delta, Utah

- Finalize my adoption between myself and my 88' Jeep Grand Wagoneer

- Get a dog, or a turtle, or a cat. Or (preferrably) all three.

- Move into a new place.

- make my secret book. (I'd tell you what its about, but it's a secret... Not "The Secret", its just confidental)


......Oh The Place I Will Go... As of now.

July 13th- NYC

August 2nd (ish) - Portland

August 5th (ish) - Hawaii

September 4th (ish) - Chicago


I think I will plan on making it to San Fran before June comes to an End. Maybe. I hope. I think I can, I think I can.

ciao for now.

in this week's news...

With the whirlwind of insane things going on lately; I can't say that I've actually had a better week in Los Angeles in a long time.

It started off on Sunday.
I was freshly back from visiting the Family in the Great Northwest, and hadn't seen one of my best friends Shaleah in a while. So, we met up at Starbucks and dished out and soaked in all juicy gossip that needed to be spilled. Time flies when you're people watching at a Santa Monica Starbucks... But soon, it was time for us to go.

My wonderful pal Kara (my roomate and fellow American in Greece), and her boyfriend were visiting LA. It was a MUST to meet up with them. We started out catching up, when the sun was still shinning at a Cantina in West Hollywood. The cantina was a gay bar (obviously, due to it being in West Hollywood), and we met so many lovely gentlemen. There was one character in particular named ZAM, yes- Zam, he declared that he was Uber- Famous for being rich and crippled ( he had a cane), and not far from his side, at all times was his 6'6", 350 lb, black body guard who was wearing nail polish. After we went to a few different places, we hopped and skipped around the Ultimately Sketchy streets of Hollywood and concluded the evening at Mel's Diner, chowing down on some delicious eats.

Monday, Andrew came home from Detroit and We later met up with Kara and Eric and Chatted the night away at the Bar Marmount (linked to the Chateau Marmount), it was like we were all old pals. Finally everyone had met eachother and spent some quality time getting accquainted.

Why Cant I remember Tuesday? Maybe I had a castings I think? Hmm.

Wednesday, Oh Wednesday, it was quite the day.
It started off with a Casting in Tim-buck-two. It was for a denim company, I've never felt like the denim companies have ever had the hots for me.

Following the casting, I buzzed my way over to the Four Seasons in Beverly Hills. My Booker TJ called me on Tuesday night telling me that (U.S.) Vogue was shooting in LA, and I was the only girl they wanted and chose to fit all of the clothing on. He then went on to Exaggerate to me the importance of these People; Balenciaga's French stylist, Steven Miesel, and the Whole Vogue Team. So I arrived, and went up to the 15th floor... I was welcomed by a room filled with Christian Louboutin, Marni, Louis Vuitton, Marc Jacobs, YSL, And so on. I couldn't help but instantly question that one of the Vogue interns had taken up the hobby of hunting. There were hangers, and hangers, of all different dead animals left hung up to dry. Really- it was just a bunch of fur coats. My Favorite.....Not.

The main (balenciaga) stylist and her partner hadn't arrived yet, so I went down to the lobby and played that brickbreaker game on my blackberry....for an HOUR. yes, they were an hour late. Without actually knowing what these people looked like, I watched a tiny thin woman exit the 95 degree weather, and enter the spacious lobby of the Four Seasons dressed head-to-toe in black. Black skirt, black sweater, black tights, black fur coat... Oh, but she did have silver shoes. "They're here!" I thought to myself as they strutted their way to the front desk. Within minutes, I get a phone call telling me to come upstairs and get started. I knew it.

It all starts as I get naked in the changing room with Marc Jacobs (not Marc himself, but just one of his fabulous material offsprings). I then get my size 40 feet shoved into Some size 39 Christian Louboutin's (which supposedly run small and are equivilant to a size 38). The shoes are probably worth more than my rent and taller than the tires on my car. As I teeter back and forth in piles of clothing, while balancing in my too-small shoes, They try and compare me to the models that I am fitting for. I was mainly fitting for the model Coco Rocha. They aren't sure if she is as tall as me. Or is she? Or is she not? While I'm wondering if I still have any toes.

About an hour into the fitting I was in PAIN. I would like to take a minute to toot my own horn, in saying that I remain a fairly positive model. Models get put into very compromising positions, we are plucked and pried, shoved and tucked, but that's what we're paid for, so I just try and always remember this.

At a certain point, while I was crunched into these beautiful Louis Vuitton shoes, the seamstress was measuring the hem of the skirt, deciding how high, or how low should she go? Suddenly, I can't feel my legs. And my ears start ringing.

"Can I take these shoes of for just a second?" I ask.

My hearing goes out.

And I guess, shortly, the rest of me does too.

I wake up burried in my long brown fur coat and beautiful Marni dress. However, I am not wearing those damn shoes. instead, the French male stylist has my legs up in the air- elevated at a 90 degree angle, the seamstress has found another use of her paperwork and turned it into a fan and is fanning my face. The two Vogue interns have gotten some potato chips and Juice and placed then right beside me. "Everythings OK, you still look Beautiful!" is the first thing I hear, and the last thing I care about. My instant reflex is to at least put my legs down. Being that I was wearing a dress and my undergarments are visibly comparable to ( as my dad once said while doing my laundry when I was 15 years old, after discovering my first piece of thong underwear) dental floss or an eye patch. I'm thinking this guy has got a perfect veiw of what all of us ladies spend our whole lives mastering concealing. " Ooooh darling, don't worry, I am probably more girly that you are, don't worry honey". Mr. Frenchie assures me.

All I want to do is get up. It's like a bad dream.. I just keep on picturing TJ asking me about how everything went with all of these hyped up people, and how I will break it to him that I used their Fur coats as if they were bear skin rugs that I cuddled up with on the floor.

I probably told everyone that I was OK about seven times. Finally, they let me sit up, and feed me chips and Juice. The adorable hispanic seamstress Orders the interns to get a glass of water, and packets of sugar to pour into it for me to drink.

"Did you not hear me telling you to sit down?" Says balenciaga stylist lady ( I can't remember her name)

"Ooh no, my hearing was long gone by then, I think my vision was too!... ha..ha..(awkward laugh)"

"Ohh I told you that all of the color left your face and that you didn't look well! Next time if you feel bad sit down!"

All I want is for this to be over.

about 15 fur coats, and too many encounters with shoes that should only be looked at, and never be worn, I was done.

I was already late for a date.

Shaleah and I had planned to go to this event. Billabong Design for humanity; an art show, fashion show, a concert put on by MGMT, and DJ Steve Aoki to spin some tunes for us to dance the night away. I tell Shaleah that I am on my way and I will hurry home. I tell her about my fainting spell and she double checks my ability to go onward and forward with the night. I promise that I was done fainting for the day, and I wouldn't miss it for the world.

We had a blast. We were in our own little world dancing the night away. We made it front row for MGMT and later backstage and upstairs to hang with the band. We're starting to feel like groupies. But in a non slutty way. Shaleah's friend tours with the band so thats how we got invited back. The drummer Will and I discussed the reasoning behind the lead singer wearing nightgowns over his skinny jeans and workboots. I informed him that I believe my grandmother has the same exact night gown from Wal-Mart. As much fun as it is to be a pseudo groupie, Shaleah and I were hungry. We go to Mel's Diner ( I know, my 2nd time this week) and listen to some vintage tunes while getting our grub on. We retire at about 3:30am.

Thursday, I got to sleep. A lot. I then had a casting in Hollywood. While waiting for my turn I'm pretty sure I felt like I was watching one of those VH1 marathon's of America's Next Top Model. There were more girls from that show there at once than I have ever seen. Usually you see a few here and there, but there were a ton. That once crazy broad Jael wasn't going to let anyone NOT notice her. I now know her plans for the next five years of her life. I got to go home and sleep some more. And I believe andrew and I concluded the evening with a trip to whole foods.

Friday. I worked at Red Bull from 7am until 11am. I'm finally back to working there whenver I can. I love working there, the people I work with are great, the job allows you to actually use a bit of your brain. It's good. So after I left Red Bull at 11, I head over to a Photoshoot that I have at noon. Everybody at the shoot was extremely cool, laid back. I end up finishing the shoot around 8:00pm. My booker TJ shows up and we play catch up for a little bit, since we haven't seen eachother since before I was sick.

During the shoot I get a text message from Andrew telling me he's got box seats for the Dodgers game which starts at 7:30. I tell him I'm going to be a little late but I'm in. Vince, Shaleah and Andrew end up meeting me at my car in Downtown LA. And we made it to the game fastly and furiously. Since I didn't know beforehand that I was going to be attending a Dodgers game, I was the only one in our crowd without any LA Dodgers gear on - besides Shaleah (who lived in Chicago for years), who was wearing a cubs T Shirt. I meander into the gift shop and buy a big blue #1 Fan hand. I slip my hand into the big block of foam, walk up to the cashier, hold my Giant Pointer finger in the air, and say " I'll take one of these!!!" No one laughed at my joke besides the cashier lady. (Get it?!?! The hand is saying "1" too, so instead of using my real hand to show how many I want, I use my new fake hand to tell her with a show of fingers how many I'd like to buy. funny?! right?!) It was a great night, a great time, and a great game...The Dodgers won! Sorry Shaleah!


The world Welcomed me to Saturday at 3 O' Clock PM. I think there still are some remnants of my mono that are lingering behind which encourage me to catch any Zzz's that I can. Later on, a friend is having a BBQ over near melrose. So we head over and hang out for about 4 hours. Soo much fun. It finally is reallly starting to feel like summer! Since the BBQ was right off of Melrose, that can only mean one thing... Pinkberry! So Andrew and I make our way over to Pinkberry and Share the Usual. When we get home, we decide to bust out the Guitar Hero. I am considerably better than him, and I've got a speedy improvement rate. I end up odering us Pizza. And not much longer after that, It was time I pass the "eff" out!


Good bye week. It was wonderful. I truly had a wonderful time. I am anxious to see what this next one brings. Another blog made up of 87 paragraphs? Lets hope.

Or not.

out like a light

why do I keep on passing out?
Why does it have to be when I'm working for vogue?
Why do I wake up in a sea of luxurious clothing at the Beverly Hills Four Seasons; to a Gay my lifting my legs (elevating my blood levels or something) in the air , while I'm outfitted, in a wardrobe worth ten years of rent? While the seamstress fans me with her paperwork? And the intererns force feed me sugar water?

honestly.

How come I still remain to be the clumsiest person I know?
Why do I keep on collapsing like a lousy game of Jenga?
storys to be told later. I am exhausted.

about face

I'm back in the (310), the City of Angels, the - L - to - the - A.

i've been doing a lot of thinking lately.

too much thinking.

On a lighter note of thinking, as I was strolling around in Sephora with my Mom while I was in Portland, I got a little buzz. Definately the whole kid- in- a- candy- store type of thing. I don't wear very much make-up but the little girl deep down inside of me was doing kartwheels and making daisy chains necklaces.

I wandered and weaved between the many lands of different brands, I thought about how I am kind of prejiduce. I've formed my own opinions on what works and what doesn't. I preach to my Mom about the products you can get at a much cheaper price at the exct same quality. I tell her to get this eyelash curler instead of that one, it's only $3 more expensive, and it's MUCH better.

Anyway I'm here to share with the world, the things that I think are the bees knees.

These are the ingredients of which I use to mask my face when appropriate:

Bare Escentuals- Bare Minerals: First off, I am very lazy when it comes to doing my makeup- the fact that this product takes care of everything that concealer, foundation, annnd powder can do in one application had me in love at first use. I have never been a fan of liquid foundation, I always cringe when I have to wear it. This powder covers everything and it's super light. If you're an insomniac like myself, you've seen the commercials- and they aint lyin'. A little bit goes a long way. Mine usually lasts about 4 months.


Bare Escentuals- Brow Kit: As some may know, I am kind of obsessed with eyebrows. I like to keep mine very thick ( I don't think I've had them waxed in almost a year). This kit comes with a powder, brush, and gel. I don't use the gel, because I think it feels wrong to have soggy eyebrows- even if it is just briefly. Again; a little bit goes a long way. And Being that my eyebrows are actually fairly blonde, I am able to darken them and satisfy the eybrow envy I have of all of those with dark arches.


NARS- Blush: I personally use the color Orgasm. It's natural and kinda peachy. Just the way one should live their life.



Christian Dior- Diorshow Mascara: I've been a die hard fan for years, I've even converted my make-up artist of a sister-in-law to use it, and she hasn't looked back ever since! My eyelashes are nothing extraordinary, but I do often get comments on my lenghty lashes. This is probably the one essential item that I will religiously use until death.


I always top it of with my go -to lip balm...

Smiths- Rosebud lip salve: It prevents and heals chapped lips, it's clear and a tiny bit shiny. I used to be a fan of the strawberry kind until several people pointed out to me that it smelled like Red Bull, not strawberries. Buzz kill.




That's pretty much my daily routine.

If I'm feeling extra schnazzy, And need to get glossy, I turn to my...
NARS- Greek Holiday Lip Gloss: Natural, a light nude color, nice texture, no funny taste.. Just perfect.





And I wash it all off with Proactiv.
Aren't I just the walking infommercial?