FFF- In Which the Author....Oh, Dear God.

Today was the singular most hilarious day of my entire professional life, perhaps my life in entirety. And I have had some pretty hilarious days. I can only pray that my retelling is half as funny as the actual events that I am about to describe.

I'm writing this from a lovely hotel in Stuttgart, Germany after a day on set with a truly fantastic crew. I've worked for this client* before, but never anyone on this particular team. I was actually really nervous about this shoot because the last time I modelled for this company they were unhappy with my work**.  Obviously it couldn't have been too dire since they hired me again but I made sure to be on my very best behavior*** today.

I groomed, plucked, buffed, exfoliated and arrived to set early. The makeup artist did a beautiful job on my face and hair, and then we headed off to location. We drove up a dizzying hill (San Francisco has nothing on Stuttgart) and arrived at a mansion that was straight out of Architecture Digest. That's a real magazine, right?

It was a beautiful place to have a photo shoot. There was expensive looking art on the walls, a fountain in the entryway, and floor-to-ceiling windows displaying one of the most beautiful views I've ever seen.

Now, one of the things that can be a drag about photo shoots is the waiting around. The lights have to be set up, wardrobe needs to get ready, and then makeup and/or hair usually needs retouching. But, given the setting, I really didn't mind. And as the makeup artist did his thing, I was feeling pretty good about myself and the day so far. The crew had been impressed with my professionalism, the makeup looked gorgeous and the hairstylist really loved my hair. "Yes," he said, appraising his work, "this is really working. Now go get dressed and we'll start shooting."

As I headed downstairs to wardrobe I gave myself a little pat on the back and had a sip of my energy drink to ward off jetlag. Then I confidently rounded the corner and fell into the fucking fountain.

Why don't you just read that again? Go ahead. I'll wait. No. Don't even bother. I'll give it to you again.

I FELL IN THE FUCKING FOUNTAIN.

And it is worth noting that this was no normal fountain. This was a waist deep, rocky, indoor, Zen pond. That I fell inside of.

It is also worth noting that this was no normal fall. This was stepping where you assume there's ground and diving headfirst into deep and cold water with enough product in your hair to start a Fran Drescher level ecosystem and hours worth of makeup on your face. Not to mention your clothes and only coat. 

So what is a half drowned and completely mortified model to do?
A) Apologize profusely and beg for forgiveness.
B) Laugh with the stylist until you're both clutching the clothing rack and threatening to ihre hosen pinkeln.
C) Dissolve into giggles when the hairstylist not only forgives you but also joins you at the clothing rack and refers to you as Ariel for the rest of the day.

So. That happened. And if you'll excuse me, I'm off to soak my cold and exhausted body in a tub and order room service so as to avoid any public fountains. 

*Client=clothing company that hires the team. Team= model, photographer, photographer's assistant, photo editor, MUA, stylist, etc.
**actually, they were unhappy with my hair. It's still a little weird to me that my hair is so tied up in my work. I mean, other people get terrible haircuts and, you know, wear hats. They don't have to worry about being fired.
***and to have the best hair possible....

Lord.

Here are the reasons that my Zumba class tonight was the best in the history of the world (and yes, I am aware of the light that sentence casts me in):
for a glossary of the terms used in this entry, click here.

1) We had a new teacher who played actual hip hop* as opposed to hip hop-esque music with the word Zumba substituted for anything that would make the Ancients blush. As a result, I saw an elderly Indian man not only sing along to "Sexy and You Know It" but also respond, when we were asked by the instructor "who in here is sexy and they know it?" with an enthusiastic "I DO!"

2) There was a very sweet, very uncoordinated gay gentleman in the class today, and it threw everyone off. There was one elderly woman (not an ancient) who, after repeatedly trying to follow his lead said, "this is the stereotype you choose to buck?!"

3) Someone left an exercise ball in the Crazy Ancient's corner and every few minutes she'd yell, "Balls! Balls! Yup!"

By the way, I say this with full knowledge that I am in no way as cool as any of these people. That's not false modesty, either. I've been going to this fercockt class at least once a week for months and still the only move I've really mastered is shaking my tits. 

*which is very different from real hip hop, since what plays on the radio is mainly pop bullshit with a hint of hip hop. I'm looking at you, Pitbull.

I might watch these in Death Sweatpants...

Listed below are my initial reactions to the ads for the following TV shows, followed by more cohesive thoughts I had after watching as much of the show as I could stand.

I should be on this show.

At first I was a little bit freaked out by Kat Denning's cynicism and lack of pluck but I've come to really love it. TV is frequently so full of pluck I want to puke*. Even Meredith and Christina on Grey's Anatomy, who are supposed to be these dark twisty characters are, let's face it, kind of plucky.

Yeah, it's the tails that were really throwing me off here.

I just...can't. Literally can not. Pretty sure that if I even start to talk about this show a deluge of feminist rage and angst will pour out of me and never. fucking. stop. Like, I'll be trying to order coffee and only be able to spout Lacan and Mulvey and then I won't be able to have coffee or food and I'll starve to death and it will be ALL YOUR FAULT, NBC. ARE YOU HAPPY NOW?!

Maya Rudolph is better than anything.

This show is hilarious,  has a working mom and a stay at home dad, which quiets my inner feminist and, most importantly, everyone on it is brilliant and awesome and should be my best friend.

100% of your life would end if I strangled you with sweatpants. Now we all have fun statistics.

Full disclosure: I couldn't bring myself to watch any of this show. And now I can no longer look at my one pair of sweatpants without seeing them as a murder weapon. WILL THE MADNESS NEVER STOP, NBC? STOP MAKING ME SO CAPS LOCK-Y.

*pluck. puke. prick. Alliteration is fun.

Things I Learned on Vacation

A Comprehensive List

1) When travelling to a Caribbean island, it is imperative to pack items of clothing embroidered with the names of other islands you have visited in the past. I missed the memo.

2) When slowly burning to a crisp on the beach, tanning goggles can speed up the human to lobster transformation.

3) The Boy is really afraid of the idea of human to lobster transformations.

4) No one looks sexy doing Latin Dance themed water aerobics, no matter how much the instructor yells, "sexy! sexy! sexy!"

5) The word, "sexy" when spoken with a heavy Dominican accent, sounds like, 'sessy'. This is hilarious.

6) I can no longer blame the weather for my crankitude levels. Turns out, if you cut me in line to the bar and are a douchebag to the bartender, I'm just as likely to hope he spits in your mojito in sunny, seaside paradise as in snowy New York.

Pictured: different bartender, different mojito.

7) Papaya salted with lime is a delicious breakfast.

8) The song 'Imagine' by John Lennon is nothing without Lennon's voice, studio musicians and Lennon's ability to speak English. And no amount of dancers in white leotards holding hula hops can change that.

It was...just awful.

9) When left to my own devices I will remain in large bodies of water for 80% of the day.

Pictured: different body of water, different awkward water-dweller.

10) Ice cream is also a delicious breakfast.