If These Models Could Talk...

"Mmm, the inside lining of the pockets of this romper is amaaazing. Seriously, it feels like lanolin. You know. Lanolin. SHEEPS' WOOL? God, you models really are stupid. Didn't anybody else go to night school? But honestly, this is the most supple romper lining I could ever imagine. It's like hearts and stars and moonbeams and the Baby Jesus's top hat and my landlord's beard all rolled into one. Come feel this pocket, you guys. No, FEEL IT. No, I am not coked out, I am the FUTURE OF AMERICA. Look at me. I am a shining goddess. And what is THAT supposed to mean? ARE YOU SAYING I'M GREASY? Stop throwing tweezers at me! I'll pluck when I DAMN WELL WANT TO! You guys! Stop! I thought we were friends! What are you DOING? I don't WANT a Pond's wipe! I happen to LIKE my face with a little MOISTURE! You guys! You guys?....Fine. I don't need you anyway. I'll just play with my LANOLIN."

"What up, BITCH? Yeah, that's right, I called you bitch. I called you OUT, man, what're you gonna do about it? I am STRAIGHT UP HOOD. Westchester County, REPRESENT! Holla to my playaz! I am so hood that I should be wearing a HOODIE. Yeah! Das RIGHT! That's what we call STREET HUMOR! No, fo' real, dawg, I can't believe those chicks in the bathroom at Hyde last night were clownin' me like that. What were they saying? They were all "You have BOY PARTS, get out of the GIRLS' ROOM, no TESTES allowed" an' shit. They be crizzazy, because CLEARLY I am a CHICK, and not just a chick but a STRAIGHT UP G of a chick. Just because I like to adjust my crotch once in a while, and I have a penis, don't mean I don't have FEELINGS, yo. The sensitive always be getting DOGGED, yo, straight up DOGGED.
Are you looking at me wrong, foo? What's that you're whispering about? Did I just hear you say HERM?
Oh, it is so ON. I am going to BRING IT. I am going to SERVE IT UP, CAFETERIA-STYLE, with BISCUITS. I am going to SMASH YOU LIKE AN EMPTY CAN OF COKE ZERO WHICH I SMASH BEFORE THROWING IN THE RECYCLING BIN BECAUSE I CARE 'BOUT THE ENVIRONMENT, SUCKA. Let me just roll up my MAD STREET SLEEVES, bitch, and we will GO. It will be ON. It will be BROUGHT. Yeah.
No, wait, dude, NOT COOL. You gots to let me roll it ALL THE WAY UP 'fore we start this up. I is not crazy 'bout no wrinkles, dawg. Shoot, this cost me MAD DOLLAZ at the Westchester County Mall. RESPECT THE SLEEVES, dude. You gots to respect the sleeves."

"Hi. My name is Tracey. Yes it is. Yes it IS! What? What are you TALKING about? I am not the Dark Lord! My name is not Lord Voldemort! It is TRACEY JOHNSON! What is the MATTER with you? Of COURSE I'm not on a mission to take over the wizarding world and destroy the half-blood boy who thwarted me sixteen years ago when I tried to kill him to prevent an ancient prophecy from coming true! I'm a MODEL! I live in Passaic, New Jersey. I commute to work on the PATH train. I have a Springer spaniel named Ulysses. No, for God's sake, I do not use Horcruxes to gain immortality! Look, STOP COVERING YOUR EYES! I am NOT THE DARK LORD! I know my eyes are a little slitty, but GOD. This is actually pretty rude of you. I'm just going to go HOME, okay? I DID NOT KILL ALBUS DUMBLEDORE, NOR DID I INSTRUCT SEVERUS SNAPE TO DO SO, so just SHUT UP.
No, look, I am not going to harm you. Seriously. I don't speak Parseltongue, and I don't have a trained killer snake. You're starting to PISS ME OFF now, you know that? Fine! Well, if that's the way you're going to be about it, then AVADA KEDAVRA!"

"Sigh. Hey, guys. Yes, it's me. Again. At least I'm out of that romper suit. That thing was starting to chafe. But you probably didn't need to know that. God, I hate this job sometimes. I should have just taken that job at Applebee's. At least I would be HELPING people. I mean, nobody here even knows my name, they just refer to me as "the third sister of those fugly twins from ANTM", which I don't think is very neighborly. And people on the street keep coming up to me and patting my back and asking me if I want a sandwich. No I do not WANT a SANDWICH, for God's sake I am at a perfectly fine and healthy weight. And on top of that, people keep trying to ADOPT me, because apparently I look LOST and my eyes look DEAD or something, and that's never really flattering to hear. I just need a niche or something, you know? Something to make me STAND OUT, besides the fact that I could cut someone with my collarbone. Seriously, the other night my roommate wanted a piece of pie and all our silverware was in the dishwasher so we just used my collarbone. It was very improvisational, you know? I should probably tell Martha Stewart about it."

"Maybe I'll grow dreads. I mean, I haven't washed my hair in like three weeks so that's a good start, right? Dreads would TOTALLY make me stand out. Yes. Here is the plan. I will grow dreads and start wearing big horn-rimmed glasses and paint my face kabuki white and only wear coconut shells and maybe some insane designer like that Lagerfeld dude will adopt me as his muse and I will become the new Ikeliene...Iliekene...Ielekine...well, you know, that Dutch girl who dresses all different. This is going to work out SO WELL and once I am a famous model I will be UNTOUCHABLE and I will absolutely be the most famous member of my graduating class back in Montana, even famous-er than that girl who does the traveling cat circus shows, AND that dude who makes all those late-night water-bed infomercials. God, this is so EXCITING!"

"Yeah, no, okay, that was embarrassing for me. I'm so humiliated. I went and told my friends about my dreadlocks plan and they laughed for like two hours and then they forced me to wash my hair, which makes me think that they are not really my friends because real friends love you unconditionally and don't make you bathe. But anyway. I'm just going to have to keep brainstorming. With my face turned to the wall, because I'm too ashamed to face anyone. DREADLOCKS? What was I THINKING? God, I want a Slurpee."

"I don't care what all those modeling agencies who didn't sign me said. Lazy eye is SEXY, because I MAKE IT SEXY. God, that one agency who told me that I resembled a "Eastern European cafeteria worker named Maude" was so totally out of line. I am kind of an inspiration to all those girls out there with twitches and beards and moles who dream of being on the Shopbop wrap dress page, aren't I? I should probably go on Oprah and tell my story. They could call it "Lazy Eye, Busy Schedule," and it could talk about all my achievements in the field of modeling. Maybe I could even go on Ripley's Believe It Or Not, or, hey! I could write a TELL-ALL NOVEL! It could be a SCATHING EXPOSE OF THE FASHION INDUSTRY'S HARSHNESS TOWARDS DISABILITY! And then I could have a BOOK SIGNING, and I could TWITCH A LOT during the reading and people would be SHOCKED yet AMAZED BY MY RESILIENCE.
But, what was I doing? Oh, yes, my big break in front of the Shopbop cameras. Okay, steady, I'll just make my come-hither face. Yeah, yeah, that's right, I know you want this, I'm a maneater, make you work hard, make you cut cards, I'm your dream girl, boys, I'll make you happy, (yeah-yeah), I'm too sexy for my twitches, too sexy for my twitches, so sex-y it itches...Oh my God, I just came up with that on the spot and now I think maybe I should have a MUSIC CAREER. Lazy Eye Records. But first...gotta finish the photo shoot. Okay, time for some Method Modeling. Remember what my old modeling coach said- tell a story with your face. Okay, here's my story. There's a horrible smell right under my nose...yet I'm kind of turned on by it, in an eye-twitching sort of way. Vogue! Vogue! Vogue! I'm ready for my close-up!"

"Oh my God. Oh, my GOD. OHMYGOD. I am going to KILL MY AGENT, and then I am going to BRING HIM BACK TO LIFE AND KILL HIM AGAIN AND STOMP ON HIS TOUPEE. "Oh, don't worry, sweetie, androgynous is sexy." "Oh, don't worry, sweetie, everybody loves a good tank top dress. It keeps 'em guessing! Dress? Shirt? Who's to know? It's all part of the mystery!" I will SHOW YOU A MYSTERY, HARVEY, and it is called NANCY DREW AND THE CASE OF THE MISSING PANTS. You can practically see my COOTCHIE! I'm just going to breathe...breeeaaatheee...and keep my legs squeezed together really tight and clench my fists and pretend I'm on a tropical island. Wearing BOTTOMS. When I see Harvey it is ALL OVER FOR HIM. I am dead serious. God, I look like I was sleeping at my boyfriend's and left my skirt there and decided it would be fun to show up wearing HIS OLD WIFEBEATER. Steady. I must calm myself. What would Jesus do?
At least HIS robes COVERED EVERYTHING THAT NEEDED TO BE COVEERED, if you know what I mean. I am up a creek without pants, so to speak. I am the girl who cried pants. I am the Pantsless Wonder. Yeah, I know it doesn't make sense, but I am VERY STRESSED OUT RIGHT NOW and it is actually pretty CHILLY IN HERE if you're not wearing CLOTHES, so SHUT YOUR FACE. Oh my God my mother is going to see this picture and have a fit. Maybe if I just edge away verrry slow-like...step by step..."

"All right. There is NOTHING degrading about this at all. It is...art. It is a work of art. It could be called "Still Life With Silver Lame Tube Dress". I will just splay out my hands on the wall like so, and "tooch that booty", as Tyra (my cult goddess) would say, and all will be well. As for the face...BLUE STEEL.
Are you smirking at me? You know, in my country we had a word for people like you. JEALOUS OF MY SILVER LAME TUBE DRESS WHICH IS A WORK OF ART AND WILL PROBABLY HANG IN THE LOUVRE ALONGSIDE THAT OTHER PICTURE OF THE GIRL. You KNOW. THIS ONE. She smiles, but you can tell she's thinking "This gown sure is constricting. I wish I had something really classy, like a SILVER LAME TUBE DRESS."

THE TV & MUSIC CORNER- Since I've been spending a very unnatural amount of time at the gym (i.e. actually going), I've been watching a bunch of VH1 while I'm on the elliptical, and I am falling into a deep and disturbing love affair with Charm School. It's so, so, so bad. It's like ANTM's bastard child with Flavor Of Love. But it is INCREDIBLY entertaining. 54th and Crenshaw? I know that actually happened on FOL, but still. I have the lovely Dilemma to thank that ever-entertaining link. Bitch, I don't live in Compton! I'm worried about our future as a society, if this is the relic we will leave behind for future generations. But on the other hand... I think Saaphyri might actually be a genius.
Okay, I haven't discussed the Paristitute's incarceration yet, but basically...people with AIDS are in jail and don't get let out for "panic attacks". I do feel bad that she got let out and then had to go BACK, that sucks, even for her, but basically, to quote the fabulous Boob Lady, "Hey Wonky Eye, don't drop the soap." I swear to God, though, if Nicole Richie goes to jail I will be PISSED OFF. I have to admit, I love her. We're all going to end up working for Nicole Richie one day, you'll see. Music-wise, I know it's been said before, but Regina Spektor is so far beyond amazing. She's the kind of musician who really gets into your soul because the lyrics are as good as the singing.

SIGHTINGS- A really, really cute guy in the street asked me for a lighter. Of course, I didn't have one, and instead of just saying that I practically choked over my own tongue because he was so gorgeous. He was like Holden Caulfield, only not such a whiny pain in the ass. I'm sorry, I loved The Catcher In The Rye but I never warmed to Holden as the "underdog whom every girl loves". But back to the guy- dark jeans, black suit jacket (you know, the fancy ones guys wear to dinners) over a bright purple T-shirt. Vintage-looking sneakers. Very much my type. And I am pleased to say I was out around NYC for three hours today and saw not ONE pair of Tory Burch flats. Progress, no? Last, I was walking in Central Park and caught sight of a girl wearing the most amazing eyelet white minidress (sort of Miu-Miu-esque), fab vintage-y purse and gladiator sandals which I am actually not fond of at all but I let it slide because of the amazingosity of the dress.

CURRENT ATTIRE- Two H&M tanks, Pucci-print boxers.

<3