Like One of your French Girls

Backwards baseball caps are making a rise this season. Something I never thought I'd see after my fourteenth birthday...That has nothing to do with anything. Really, I don't follow much for fashion, but while modeling for an art class, you kind of run out of conversation topics with yourself and I found this to be one of them.
 Baking under show lights so a group of ne'rdo well painters can focus on that ever so slight crook in your nose that got busted up while playing basketball in fifth grade, I'll guarantee you'll get bored, and sore, and start to slightly hallucinate.

Trying to sit still for three hours straight is a lot like trying to hold your arms over your head for three hours straight. Sounds plausible, but go ahead and try.

"Oh, you big baby!" You'll say. "I commute to Chicago and back everyday and that's six hours in a car! I do just fine."
"Pansy"

Trust me, I considered this fact. But let's also consider all of the motions you go through in a minute while driving. Hands are constantly supporting the steering wheel, feet are moving slightly to accelerate or brake, your head and neck get to crane to check your mirror for blind spots or raging drivers, and if you're me, you are jamming out full-blast to whatever song may come on the radio.

All of those glorious movements that are stripped from a model. I plopped down in the seat--fully-clothed, mind you. All of my relatives may now exhale deeply in unison--and found a comfortable position. Or so I thought! *Ominous background music* The director continued to badger me, make sure you can hold that position. Focus on a spot on the floor to look at. The lights will blind you, you might want to look away from them. I was chuckling at her concern. Getting paid ten bucks an hour to literally sit on my butt. Please. I've got this.

As we began, my eyes began to well with tears because the five hundred watt bulb was still in my peripheral vision. The spot on the floor I started to focus on was suddenly moving and changing colors. Soon my back, which I hadn't noticed was slightly twisted to one side, began to ache with the pain of a thousand needle pricks. And for the love of all things holy, my NOSE ITCHED.

I chanced a quick flick of my eyes to the clock.

Ten minutes.

And I was scolded for moving my eyeballs.

I started to talk with myself. Realized that I am incredibly boring to the point where I started trying to remember lyrics to songs. I realized I was much more of a fan of Macklemore than I recalled being and could make it fairly far through Thrift Shop. Impressive.

At the end of the session, I was applauded for my cheek bones. They gave everyone a challenge, I was informed. Not quite sure how to take that one, but I'll file it under compliments.

I wish I could post the pictures that were done. Some were incredible and make the sit of death worth it, but alas, I do not own a magical device that can take a still image and transfer it to the mass of interwebs.

Perhaps my modelling career will explode and you'll get to see some in the near future. Or maybe I'll file down to a church basement again and this time, I'll bring my camera.