Male models. Male models are confusing for a few reasons: Are they gay? Or are they foreign? and if they're foreign, it's ridiculously hard to tell if they're gay. Accents are the perfect cover up to gayness. I can never tell. Accents are also the perfect addition to a studly, gladiator of a man. With the face of God.
Unsurprisingly, when I should have been looking like a super babe, I was sitting at a deli- facing the window stuffing my face with a Santa Fe chicken wrap dripping with grease and chedder cheese.
Grease dripping down my chin and water dripping from my bangs made me the image of disastorous single woman feeding her stomach, in lieu of feeding her sexual appetite.
While I stared dreamily out the window as models came pouring en massssssse (WITH NICE ASS) from a door adjacent to the deli, one of them made eye contact with me.....then scurried like a scared mouse at the site of a starved cat.
I, then caught a view of my reflection in the window and wanted to run like hell too.
You know what doesn't work in the city?? Fucking BANGS.
Wind= bad for the bangs.
Rain= bad for the bangs.
Sweat, from walking six thousand blocks= bad for the fucking bangs.
This is no Lipstick Jungle my friends....where that cute designer girl has perfect bangs. What the fuck is that about?? That's false advertisement. And so are heels, cause....my feet were bleeding today from wearing tattered uggs.
Had I been wearing stilettos.....someone would have had to report finding 10 toes, scattering the streets from 15th to SOHO. Like a crime scene, a trail to the toeless girl at the coffee shop.
That would be the outcome of heels.
So Lipstick Jungle, Sex and the City, Cashmere Mafia, I loved you, I had faith in you, and now.....I have wet bangs and blisters.
I also stumbled (from weak knees) past about 8 of my future husbands, if ONE could work out that'd be great....I believe I was on Broome?....if any of you men are reading my blog, I was the girl who stared at you open jawed, through wet bangs. But, with a really "bangin'" cute outfit.....since, ya know, men give a shit about that sort of thing.
NO, they care about boobs and bangs....but i'm too eskimo WRAPPED in 12 layers for them to see my boobs. So, they better care about the damn bangs.
You know who doesn't mind if I have wet bangs and pesto stuck in my teeth?? TwentySomethings (I love her.) and Exposed NYC (so sweet)....who have both met me for coffee/drinks this week and I can fairly say I have two new amazing friends in the city.
Cheers to that....drenched, calloused and sweaty.
THE MISSION: If I could find time for A MAN in the mix....that'd be GOLDEN.
I work 6 days a week, not including the freelance work, the magazine is great, work is tiring, I RUN AROUND A LOT and I can remain looking sexsamatastic, IF I take a cab.
Now, when I get home at night, it'd be nice to have someone to get in my jami's with, watch movies and have some make-out sessions. That's the goal.
As long as I don't introduce myself as, "Hi, I'm Chelsea Talks Smack, desperate for lovin' AND I'm fucking great. Take me out." It's never good when you could get to a point where that could accidentally slip out of your mouth.....wish me luck. I think I'm on the right track....