The Scandelles Journal
Tuesday, February 10, 2004
ACK. The Flare magazine spread is out, and I am that treacherous combination of pleased and depressed. People who are heavy, and therefore unable to find positive, sexy representations of themselves anywhere, yet are still brimming with self-confidence know this feeling well. You're all like "fuck you, I am one hot bitch!" and then you see a picture of yourself (naked, covered in gold paint no less, three days before your period and bloated like a dead Hell's Angel) and you're all like, "no I'm not. YES I AM. Fuck you, yes I am, and I am going to be hot on behalf of all those fat bitches out there who know they are too but are too scared to say it!"
Anyway, I look like I think I'm hot, which is hot, let's face it.
My mother is going to lose her shit when she sees it. "ARE YOU TRYING TO KILL ME? MY GOD WHAT HAVE YOU BEEN EATING?"
I already have my clever response: pussy. (I just came out to her, like, last year. She doesn't read my column.)
Venus just looks kinda bored in the picture, which admittedly, she was, after five hours of body paint. She also had her period, so she was all doped up on pills. But there we are, representing for MAC, a company which I respect.
I am in a tizzy about the show, for sure. Rehearsed three of my numbers today, all to great approval from Opal, my cat.
The Valentine's pasty collection is also coming along beautifully. I made a pair called the Stevie Nicks, which look like peacock feathers. Also, ones that look like the inside of a Cancan skirt.
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