I was privy to a spectacular! moment involving my 2 ½ year old nephew, McDonald’s, a urinal, and poop. Yep. The little tike crawled into the urinal, (mind you this ISN’T a toilet) sat in all the pee and germies, then proceeded to take a number twosie in it. My sister, his OCD freak mama who couldn’t take him into the bathroom because of her own germaphobic issues, had to go in there and clean up the mess (which, really, involved only pulling his pants up, stifling a scream, and running out the door). She came out, hyperventilating/sobbing, chanting, “I have to go to the hospital, I have to go the hospital, hospital, hospital…” She really thought she caught some suuuuuper contagious disease in there, like maybe Diabetes. After my sisters and I all shared a good laugh (at her expense, of course) and some Purel, we left before the Mickey D staff found out it was one of our kids who pooped in the urinal. Madness, I tell you. Never a dull moment with my sisters.
I have officially trumped my previous most embarrassing moment. I’d tell you what it was, except it was so underwhelming I don’t even remember it. This, though, I’ll never forget. Last night I was (yes, again) benzoed out. I wasn’t wearing any pants or annnnny underwear. And my bro-in-law was over. I wasn’t aware. So I wandered out there. And just stood there. And I’m pretty sure he saw. Everything. I’ve been doing the sob/cry thing, you know, where you’re like hysterically laughing, but that only fuels the madness more, and you can’t stop crying, and pretty soon you can’t breathe and you just can’t remember why you’re not wearing any pants in the first place and why was I out there just standing there doing nothing and he just saw meeeeeeee--! Yeah. Rough. I’ll never be the same again. Doubtful that he will, either.
I’m in a bit of a pickle, too. I haven’t done any modeling for a long time, as in, nearly five, six months. My agency only knew that I was “sick,” and they told me they’d tell clients who requested me I was not available until I felt up to it – they also told me I needed to gain some weight (shock!!!) before I came back. So, naturally, I just never called. My treatment team has not been anything less than explicit that modeling is something I cannot EVER return to. Doom to me if I do. So, you know, I accepted it, whatevs, and moved on. But they called me last week and left a voicemail, just to check up on me, and I promptly repressed the memory and moved on. But they called again last night; a client I worked with a lot in the past is requesting me for a runway show, and I just panicked and deleted the message again. Well, this afternoon, when I got into work, there was an email for me in my inbox from one of my agent’s assistants asking what’s up, am I available for jobs, etc? I have the hardest time just telling them to GO AWAY. And they never do. They’re like white on rice or me on
So, yeah. Poopy issues, bein’ seen in the buff stuff, modeling shenanigans…weird. Yes indeed.