NYC, London, Manchester, LA

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I’ve been trying to not be a model for a while, but it’s addicting.  I feel like shit most of the time when I’m not booking jobs, but then a job comes along that pays my rent for a few months.  I imagine it’s how strippers feel, being treated like whores but then some rich guy comes in and gives you $500 to rub your tits in his face.  I don’t actually know what happens in strip clubs, I’ve only been to two- both of which were in Kalamazoo.  One of them was extremely awkward because a girl I knew from high school was dancing around topless and clearly on meth.  She was okay looking though. You have to rate strippers in the Midwest on a sliding scale. A ten in Michigan is like a six in LA.  But a six in Michigan is like a ten in London.  I have an excel spreadsheet of this.

I’ve been working on a book for a while, and I finally got a chance to meet editors who weren’t interested in just “general” meetings.  It’s such a relief when someone actually wants to meet you because they’re interested in what you do rather than think you’re interesting and want to hang out.  I was in London with James being a model, so I flew to New York for a few days of meetings.  Oh New York, you are just the best city in the world.  The weather was great compared to rain and coldness constantly in London. I was so happy in New York not having a car and getting anywhere in Manhattan in fifteen minutes on the subway.  I don’t know why I don’t just move back….

After a great day of meetings I planned on getting some pizza and going to a movie playing at the Tribeca festival called Trust Me, that I’m in! (only two lines but it’s my first feature).  I got off the subway and went into my hotel room.  I called James to tell him how great my meetings went but instead we had one of those relationship talks that felt like a knife is being stabbed into my stomach.  Relationships are hard, especially when one person is working sixteen hours a day in another country.  I never got my pizza.  I cried.  I called my sister and she told me to go see my movie to get my mind off of things.  I was tempted to stay inside and contemplate suicide but I went to the movie.  Clark Gregg directed it, and asked me to be in it because he thinks I’m hilarious on twitter.  At least that time wasting website is good for something!

While watching the movie I was so upset I felt like I was in a dream.  A very bad dream.  You know those times in your life when everything is so great? It’s very rare for me, so when I notice I’m feeling like that I stop myself from getting excited because it’s never that easy.  I guess I was right.  Anyway.  After the movie I got texts from friends asking to grab a drink but I just couldn’t.  I had to be up at 4am for an eight-hour flight back to London.  I was originally flying home to LA but I booked a great job that was worth flying back for.  I slept maybe two hours and then took a very depressing subway ride to the airport.  I had two seats to myself so at least I had that going for me.

I got to London in the evening and had to be up the next day at 6am to take a two hour train to Manchester.  I’m surprised I haven’t contracted a sickness from not eating properly and being stuffed inside airplanes.  The ride to Manchester was nice.  The countryside in the UK is very beautiful, green, and peaceful.  It rains every fucking day so the foliage better be neon green.  I met two other models on the train and we found a cab to take to the hair salon.  Everyone could tell I wasn’t in a great mood because I barely said a word the entire eight hours that my hair was getting cut and colored.  Another model I worked with was American and from LA, so we talked about how much better London is for work than LA.

After the hair prep I went to my hotel.  I shared a cab with a male model.  We didn’t say one word to each other.  I have no idea what to say to them really.  “So, you’re really good looking and tan, how’s that going?”  I run up to my room and look at my hair in the mirror.  It’s shorter, darker, and has some weird red things in it.  Whatever, it’s my job.  I tried to sleep but it wasn’t happening.  I decided to take a stroll outside during sunset and take pictures.  Manchester is amazingly beautiful.

As I was walking down some street with a thousand pubs on it, a man with a French accent stopped me.  I turned around and a very stylish South African/French man was standing there.

“Are you french?” he asked.

“Nope, American, boring I know.”

“You’re kidding? You look so French! Your style is so Parisian! I love it!”

I’m wearing the same black Paige jeans I’ve worn for a month, my Golden Goose sneakers and black fake leather jacket.  I wear a version of this outfit basically every day.

“What are you doing? Just walking around?” he asked.

“Yep, here for the night working, not doing much.”

“Well you should come to a pub with me!”

Normally in this situation I would make up an excuse to not go, but I went with Patrick.  We went to a pub close by where they knew the bartenders- a cute French girl and a tall, skinny, stylish English guy.  I ordered a ginger beer with rum, very delicious.  I don’t really drink much and I haven’t been eating much so I only drank about half.  We talked about my life and what I do.  I told him about my relationship drama and we talked about music and fashion.  He had never heard of LCD Soundsystem, who are you?!?  He was very perceptive and friendly.  He told me I had a really kind vibe and I seemed like a dreamer.  For whatever that’s worth it made me happy.

After a few hours of going to different pubs he walked me back to my hotel and we said goodnight.  I ate a bag of pop chips, texted with James for a while and went to sleep.

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The next day was the shoot.  I was in a much better mood.  Half of the shots were outside (it was about 40 degrees and windy). I’m a professional god dammit and I didn’t want to waste anyone’s time so I modeled the shit out of that hairstyle.  The photos looked great and I was finished by 4pm.  I took the train back to London, watched Survivor with James, and went to sleep.

We went to the London Zoo that weekend and had a great dinner in Teddington next to our favorite cigar shop.  It was raining on and off that day, and by the time we left the restaurant there was a giant rainbow in the sky.  It was a great end to that day, and I flew back to LA the next morning.

And here I am.

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8 thoughts on “NYC, London, Manchester, LA

  1. “when I notice I’m feeling like that I stop myself from getting excited because it’s never that easy.” — i started doing this a couple months back, all the unimaginable highs are always followed by depressing lows.

  2. Relationships are tough, long distance ones are even more difficult. I’ve done the NYC/UK stint for a while and we’d end up arguing a lot over things that looking back, were ridiculous.

    My only advice is that you need to look past those little things, keep in touch as much as you can (let Skype be your life line) and try not to get too jealous about random things that probably don’t mean anything. So many times I let my insecurity and imagination run wild when there was nothing going on.

    Anyway, I lived it and ended up getting nutty over such insignificant things. You guys seem like a really great couple and like you make one another really happy (at least that’s the vibe I get from the pictures & posts on both ends), so I hope it works out.

  3. This read like a diary entry – just a different type of tone than your usual writing.
    It was good to catch up on your life. Stay well.

  4. “You have to rate strippers in the Midwest on a sliding scale. A ten in Michigan is like a six in LA. But a six in Michigan is like a ten in London”. “After a few hours of going to different pubs they asked me to come to their flat because they wanted to cook me salmon and spinach and listen to Amy Winehouse”. Sounds funny and true and kind of sad. That makes a good voice.
    Why not open with ” I’ve been trying to quit modeling” or some sort more positive action than “I’ve been trying not to”…. Good job.

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