Saturday, June 28th, 2003 - Into the Belly of the Beast First off: yes, I know it's been awhile. Yes, it's hot. Yes, Tim and I are moving, or at least looking quite hard for a nice place to move. We looked a lovely one-bedroom with lots of windows and a cool, redwood-filled stone patio owned by a wonderful man named Larry. I like Larry. I like his house. I want to live in his in-law apartment with Tim. Ok. Now. So, on Tuesday I went to a modeling agency. I'd seen a listing on Craigslist for plus-size fit models. Fit models are basically human dressmaker dummies who happen to be the exact measurements of the size they model for (and are at least 5'6" to 5'8" tall -- I'm exactly 5'8"). Looking at their measurements, I thought, "I bet I'm pretty close to that", and when I got home and measured, I was. So I emailed them and was invited to come have them remeasure me again. The agency is a rather big-name one located in the Marina district of San Francisco. The cab ride from work (I was doing this on an hour lunch break) was very expensive. I sat in the lobby and watched beautiful children sit unnaturally still beside their stage moms; I listened to the moms discuss their daughter's careers as they stroked the girls' long hair and the girls exchanged unnaturally big-eyed glances. I'm not a complete stranger to modeling/ acting agencies -- when Holly was a teenager, she was determined to become a model/ actress and spent a good deal of time and money travelling up to Chicago for auditions (the penacle of her career was starring in an afterschool special, "Love Hurts"). Still, it was amusing to watch stage-moms at work. I was called up by two beautiful, thin blonde women who were both very nice and friendly. They measured me over my clothes, which distressed me because I was kinda worried my waist was too big. It was, on first measure, but when they let me find my own waist it was closer to what they wanted. They looked me up and down, said to one another, "she's very well proportioned" and said encouraging things to me. When their camera had no film, I offered to send them digital photos that night. They were pleased by this. I left feeling very optimistic and good. So, yesterday I was called into the belly of the beast. I'm not sure I'm supposed to tell you all who (though I haven't done a California Hand-shake, so I dunno), so let's just say it's a certain clothing designer/store, three letter word, starts with a "G" and rhymes with sap. I nervously chatted with another girl who was trying out for my job too. She was nice, and, I hope, too busty :-) I was actually pretty sick yesterday, so I was holding on and concentrating very hard on acting well and not throwing up (luckily the posh offices where the G** headquarters are happen to be air-conditioned). I was also trying to do this before I went to work, so I was a bit hurried feeling. Anyway. The woman doing the measuring was very nice, despite the fact that she was running late because she'd slammed her finger in a door and had just had her ring cut off the swollen, purple finger. She did my measurements very professionally and matter-of-factly, but couldn't help commenting on how "very nicely proportioned" I am. She asked to check what size pants I was wearing, and thank god they were the exact size they want a fit model for (they fit me really well, too). Anyway, she seemed really encouraging, and even though she said, "We want to see as many people as possible" I feel like I have a good shot. God, I hope I get this. It's only 5 - 10 hours a week, but when you consider that this pays so well that 5 hours, even after the agency cut and taxes, is about what I make in 40 hours at Blowfish, you begin to see why I want it so badly. I'd work part-time at Blowfish, maybe even give notice if the G** job looks like it's going to be permanent and steady. They even said something about flying me to New York occasionally. I'd have time to write, only working 10 hours a week. I'd have lots of money (well, enough); I might even be able to pay off debt, if I did it long enough. The only drawback is, of course, that I can't lose weight. Or gain any, but, well, I'm not really at a healthy weight. Tim pointed out, however, that I'd be saving my hands/ arms (which are really bad and need a break from a daytime computer job soon before I cripple myself) in exchange for a few years at an unhealthy weight. And it doesn't mean I can't exercise -- I just can't diet (and if the exercise is too effective, I guess I just eat lots of ice cream -- oh, the horror!). I think it's funny, that I might get paid big bucks for being plus-size, and I love it that I'm someone's ideal figure (besides Tim, of course). I rode the elevator with a couple of thin G** models I've seen in their ads, and I actually felt a bit smug listening to their conversation. My worries will be eating too little. Hah! Tim is trying to keep me from wanting it too much. Holly is so jealous, it's tangible. Tim keeps singing stuff like, "I'm dating, I'm dating, I'm dating a model!" We joke about telling folks that I'm a model for a living. Tim threatens dire consequences if I get this and work only 5 - 10 hours a week if I don't use my extra time to "write as much as I would if I had that kind of time". We're all excited and hoping so hard that I get this job. This is an amazing opportunity, if I get this. Keep your fingers crossed for me. Weigh in.

Exercise Log: Can't do too much, can't do too little. Writing log: Getting back to work on the YA Novel. Words written since last entry: 1076 YA Novel Wordcount: 20,140 Current Publications: "Famishing" in Strange Horizons. My first pro sale! "Wetting the Bed" and a collab with Tim Pratt, "A Serious Case of Fairies" in Floodwater Currently Reading: China Mountain Zhang by Marueen McHugh Read recently: Nekropolis by Maureen McHugh Donate money to my teeth, our moving fund, our wedding fund, or our writerly projects (Floodwater and Flytrap!). Every little bit helps!

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