Friday, February 22

"All Things Twice"

New York circa 2005
......what happens once is always more fabulous the second time around.......

You know how people always say "walk away from stylists who promise to make your hair resemble the likes of Parker Posey circa 1999"? Well, no one says that really, I just made it up, but you should, and don't walk- run! That's exactly what my latest gal pal, Saralynn and I did one Friday night. I'm always sifting through newspapers for casting calls of any sort (a habit I wish upon everyone) being that I am an aspiring model/actress (big whoop right?) among other things you will discover later. So when I learned Matrix and another mysteriously unnamed hair company were holding hair model searches, I invited Saralynn due to her radiant beauty (my lack thereof admittedly rendered the need of a sidekick, I'll be honest) and we were over there faster than Michael Jackson can get himself into trouble.

Up first was Matrix, who you all should remember because back in the day there wasn't a damn teeny-bopper magazine that didn't showcase their edgy colorful cuts in an innumerable amount of advertisements. Well, they of course turned me down for lack of insanity and glowing porcelain skin, but adored Saralynn (go figure....damn sidekicks!) Yet there was something fatally wrong waiting in the midst. Turns out their revolutionary vision for her particular coif was to chop her hair ear length (now let me interrupt to let you in on a little secret about Saralynn, well not so much of a secret is you know of That Girl, and Sara is most definitely That Girl. That Girl is the envious princess that frolics through school with effortless style, somehow manages to pass all her classes though you always wonder what percentage of brain mass she actually maintains, and needless to say is one of a many growing breed that thinks their long, lavish locks are the key to success in life. You know what I mean. They sit around twirling chunks of professionally manicured tresses, are always pulling ponytails out in that Herbal Essence, Garnier, Pantene sort of way and constantly keep a brush in their hands as oppose to t Mobile like everyone else. And yet, we all want to be That Girl, because once we are, we finally experience the realization that the to secret prosperity is in fact a head full of flowing, luxurious hair. Shit.) So like I was saying, Matrix had in mind to cut her hair ear length, and then a dye job to resemble fire...I kid you not...that was the actual image they showed us- tomato red, Starburst orange and I'm sure some banana yellow was in store. So like I said, we did the smartest action we could at that moment- we ran!

Second time around was an answered prayer. We found out the nameless casting ad was for Scruples, another insider salon company. Although we were being digitally documented from the moment we arrives be a man sickly resembling John Galliano (minus the botox and pirate gear) they were not at all Courtney Love crazy and only planned a trim and highlights. Showtime was Sunday in the am.

Saturday afternoon was going to be shared with new gal pal #2, Morgana (a.k.a. Mama Cita as she clearly stated on my cellular phone book). She came to me earlier in the year with a Halloween request- "Make me into Paris Hilton". No comment. So we set out for the garment district in which I once saw a nude man playing trombone for quarters (yes I know totally irrelevant, but you had to be there...well I mean if you like that sort of things). Unfortunately, most of the............

Ok breaking news- "I'm friggin hungry." Papa Johns here I come!
To Be Continued.........
Ok I'm Back!!............

Unfortunately most of the fabric outlets were closed for the weekend and just as we were giving
up, there is was in the shadow of 38 st.s mighty towers, SPANDEX WORLD. Now I'm just human, but wouldn't you be deathly afraid and start picturing John Travolta in Grease or elderly male gymnasts in a bike marathon, or...ok you catch my drift. Well, that's what I was fearing, but we were involuntarily sucked in with ounces of hope. To much of our surprise, we found fantabluous (you like that don't you....and I don't care what anyone says I want full ownership to that word!) graphic print fabric that would do wonders recreating Paris' little Heatherette number from the Fall '05 runways. At only eight bucks a yard, it was a touchdown (or steal..w/e).

Just like men after hours of sports (or sex for that matter....hmm ok maybe not hourssss then) we too needed a desperate refuel via T.G.I Fridays soda pop and sundaes. It was your average midday hour in Times Square. Pedestrian tourists couldn't help but get in our way, deterring us from our meal plan with their J-walking, flyer-passing-outing (is that a word?), "Hey there sexy mama" shout outs, and random movie filming (this was of course back before NYC slapped a million dollar price tag on shooting in the city, so every loser and their mother had a permit to take their stab at Oscar...not Wilde...the statue..) So that last bit, I never thought would cross my path. Not yet anyhow (remember- starving wannabe actress). Just when I was fixing to hail a cab to drag my tired tush six blocks we could have easily walked ourselves (let's get real though right, we're talking city blocks) an obviously foreign man with a video camera stopped us dead in our tracks proclaiming we had great style. 'Ok guy' I said to myself, 'tell me something I don't already know'. I just had to choose my Jean Paul Gaultier tee that I scored at Century 21 for just thirty bucks (a real steal if you know the brand, but not so much if you know the store) and matching hair flower broach. Well it paid off. The videographer wanted some genuine stylish NYC street hoppers for an upcoming film dubbed "School of Fame". You know those annoying flashing slides that pop up randomly at the beginning or ending of movies and stuff (ie. all those hug-happy people at the end of 'Love Actually' of the best movies of all time!....if you like chick flicks like me) Well, that with a dialogue including, "This is School of Fame in New York! Yeah!!" was our get famous quick gig. I've got to say, although highly eccentric what with the little oriental man's frustrating instruction repetition and his jersey-wearing assistant that had way too much fun distracting us with that 'follow my finger with your eye' technique, is was all quite exciting. I'm still pondering what to do with my soon to come fame and fortune. Maybe dinner with Ashton Kutcher. Demi Moore who?

So when we did finally get to T.G.I. Fridays it was as if heaven held a conference and chose teenage girls as the new lucky species of the day. It was the Fridays on 42nd and Lexington, paired next to Grand Central Station that we found where all the 20-something, tropical island, dreamboat waiters were hiding. note to girls with pestering single friends that try to steal your man: take them there! After massive flirting with cornball lines like, "Since I am Halle Berry's daughter and she personally sent me to fetch her food, can I get nachos with this platters instead of potato skins?" Morgana helped me write a note with my number on a napkin to leave for our adorable waiter (he sort of resembled that guy in Crazy/Beautiful with young Kirsten Dunst but who went on to make like 3 more D-rated movies that were all crap while Kirsten is living in her posh Spidey mansion and that's why I don't remember his name..) Anyway, embarrassingly enough, he came to pick up the check right as we were leaving the note. However, you should always go with your lustful instincts because there are a thousand Fridays restaurants, but only a handful of drool-worthy guys. In an almost marathon-paced sprint, we reached the door before realizing, "What if that ugly ass bus boy picks it up instead?" Oooppss.Lesson: If you have the guts to even click open the pen and fetch the napkin, stick to hand-delivering your love notes. I mean would you really want Gary Coleman to call you instead of Usher..or Carrot Top instead of JT? *Quivers*

Sunday came in a flash, and unfortunately without any cute waiter phone calls (one can only wonder). It was time for Saralynn and I to meet Kelly Deboe of Sruples at the Jacob Javits Center for our modeling gig. The place was the size of a MTV Cribs reunion special and we felt all diva sashaying past the pushy public without VIP passes. It was a whole different story when we got to the other side. Turns they didn't realize my Beyonce bronze tresses and Sara's Lindsay Lohan auburn locks were extensions, which was a no-no for chemical coloring. So they sent us off with free gifts and we sadly dragged ourselves past the signs of Paul Mitchell, Redken, Pantene and every other hair care company known to man (girl rather) all the way to the sign.

My motto though, is to always seize the day (the Romans say Carpe Diem, now go try it around people who think you are uneducated). So instead of have my wonderful new friend go all the way back home to Willamsburg (Borrklyn) full-handed but empty-hearted, I decided to drag her reluctant tush to the Hell's Kitchen weekend flea market Morgana and I saw from the bus window the day before. Her spirits were low and so was our jewelry hunting luck. After paying a dollar to get in and another on coconut icies, a two dollar subway ride home did sound more exuberant. It was on West 23rd street with its unsightly garbage and usual suspect warehouse deliveries (black market?) that we unwillingly discovered tucked away in a parking garage ramp was yet another treasure hunt market! Saralynn finally found a porcelain bangle to call her own and I went greedy on plain gold chains with matching charms that cost us both only a buck each. The to our surprise, we saw that there was a downstairs!....There were racks of vintage frocks, foreign jewels and delicious designer bags. Note: Try not to get disheartened by some of the vendors' prices because it is true there is a match made in heaven for everyone if you just keep looking for it. With stomachs full of artificially flavored ice, and jewels that I planned on saying came from Tiffany & Co., we went our separate sub-ways. Right before I hit the underground, for about three more dollars, I snatched up yet another NY Times to scour more adventures for the next week!