A couple of weeks ago while shopping at the market in Union Square, the strangest thing happened to me. There I was, minding my own business, talking to my mom on the phone (while buying a gingersnap homemade cookie), when a man walked up to me and handed me a business card from LUCKY Magazine. I was about to blow him off. I mean, come on dude! I’m on the phone with my mom! But as I held the phone to my ear, semi-listening to my mom talk about something she finds interesting, I realized that this man thought I was cute.
Next thing I know, I’m on the subway to Times Square going to the Conde Nast Building to get polaroid’s taken at LUCKY FUCKING MAGAZINE from the bookings editor!
They told me I’d probably get a call within the next few days so that I can come back into their snobby-ass building (yes, SNOBBY!) and take more pictures! Those girls from the office that I saw in the elevator must have known I had on an Old Navy corduroy blazer and not a Prada one while they looked me up and down. Yeah, bitch… the shoes are from MARSHALL’S!! But I didn’t give a shit! I was going to be in LUCKY Magazine!
Of course, for the next three days, I paraded around my apartment thinking I was a goddess. I thought I was so hot that I kept telling my cat that I was cuter than her! It isn’t every day that I get some guy coming up to me telling me they might be interested in having me be some kind of model in their magazine. I always knew I was cute, but not THAT cute!
But I wasn’t so LUCKY afterall.
I never got the call. And all I could say to make myself feel better was “I’m just not photogenic! The bookings editor probably didn’t think I took good pictures!” But as I started at myself in the mirror this morning wearing my Old Navy Blazer, I thought to myself….
“I paid $29 for it! Who cares if it isn’t Prada?”