BOOM! Head Shot

19 Jan

Twenty-eight is a strange age, so don’t let anyone tell you it isn’t. You’re old enough to recognize that you need other people to respect you, so you can’t slack off at work or get arrested for public drinking or be a general ne’er-do-well without repercussions anymore, but you’re still young enough that going out with some regularity, getting laid and having a really, really good time is still a higher priority than, say, flossing.

All of which is to say that 28 is an age at which I am finding it incredibly difficult to have a uniform, age-appropriate concept of self. On a Friday, am I still supposed to go out dancing at clubs or should I stay home and work on short stories so that one day I’ll actually publish one? Am I too old to be wearing these thigh high boots or too young to be wearing this brooch? Am I using this CrockPot too much to still be cool, cause I can totally order Thai food omglolrofl?  I should really have gotten rid of my tongue ring by now, right?  LIP GLOSS OR LIP STAIN?!?

I believe CNN calls this a “thrisis,” but I am not down with the popular media effort to turn every 5-year period in a person’s life into a differently named crisis, so I am just going to have a continuous lifelong crisis that I call a “whysis” and they can shove it till it’s time for me to quit my job, buy a hot rod and start banging a Jonas Brother.

THIS, ladies, is a crisis.

Ahem. So you’ll recall that on Friday I (young!) bought a ticket to Coachella and promptly realized that that was mildly financially irresponsible and I should figure out a way to make some money to pay for the associated flight and housing (old!). I scored a science writing assignment for a website I have worked with called thefix the other day so that took some of the edge off, but then I tried to hook up a quick cocktail waitressing shift (I worked as a cocktail waitress for two years when I first moved to NYC) and didn’t have any luck. At which point, I thought, “well, I dance, and I’m fit, so in the past, when I needed quick cash, I would just get a job as a club dancer. Since I am also hoping to meet new people and want to still feel sexy even though I am 28, it is maybe a good idea to do this again?”

So. Saturday morning I send a whole mess of emails out to Pacha and Webster Hall and The Box that list my experience. I attach a bunch of slutty pictures of myself in sequin bras in various colors.

This one, for instance.

And I figure I probably won’t hear back but at least I have temporarily alleviated the need to look for a job.

Then, late last night, I get an email from the manager of the Box, which, for the uninitiated, is a pretty wild burlesque club on the Lower East Side, offering me an audition as a backup dancer for some of their acts. This sounds perfect, because I have no desire to be a main act at The Box. Main acts at the Box are basically straight burlesque, and require lots of nudity and lots of sex and generally also some weirdness (The last time I went a headliner danced naked onstage then ISWEARTOGOD popped a fake fetus out of her vagina and ATE it). Being a backup dancer there seems like pretty standard gogo/half naked stage dance fare though, so I told the manager “Absolutely, I can make the audition tomorrow. What should I bring?”

The manager doesn’t get back to me until 2pm today, at which point I’ve eaten nothing but vegetables and water and am squirming with nerves because I have no idea whether my “audition” will consist of learning choreography, freestyling for the staff or doing a straight GoGo set on the bar in a thong in the middle of service.

The manager tells me I should bring dance heels and flats, wear form fitting clothes, and …

Bring a headshot.

Now, because I haven’t formally auditioned for many dance jobs in NYC, and have a day job as an editor, and am fucking 28 what-the-hell-am-I-even-doing?! I don’t have a headshot, and it is now 5 hours before I am supposed to be at an audition that requires one.

But thankfully, one of my fellow editors, the magnificent, unparalleled, saintly NumbaOnePunna, is also a photographer, and he, along with the help of a friend I’ll call SwedeyPuppies (he likes Sweden and dogs) in the art department, volunteers to craft me a headshot in less than an hour.

My office is, unfortunately, open plan, so in order to pull this off, NumbaOnePunna and I have to sneak out into the hall with his loaf of bread-size camera and my makeup bag without my boss noticing and make it back in time to meet some publicists that are visiting the office with (wtf) cupcakes and brisket in 15 minutes. While we are out, the art department calls a meeting, leaving just my editor in chief and managing editor alone on our side of the office.

When Numba and I return, the managing editor is making a sweeping motion with her hand.

“Where did you guys go?”

“Oh, ha. I needed a headshot for a…… moneymaking scheme? Numba said he’d shoot one.”

“And you have the art department directing it?” She looks shocked.

“Oh no. They’re having a meeting.”

“What kind of moneymaking scheme?” says my editor in chief when I return from red facedly pouring myself a glass of water.

“It’s a … a dance thing…”

“It doesn’t involve a cage, does it?” asks my managing editor.

“ha. ha. ha… ha……….no cage??” I squeak.

*Interoffice IM pops up on computer*

NUMBAONEPUNNA: “Good job. Now they think I was taking pictures of you in your underwear.”

But then the brisket and cupcake people show up with (I am not kidding) mountain dew/dorito cupcakes and distract everyone so I don’t have to continue the charade of being a respectable adult.


Anyway, check out the awesome headshot NumbaOnePunna and SwedeyPuppies made me in 45 minutes:

Elbow is gonna get ya. Elbow is gonna get ya. My elbow is gonna get. YOU. TO--NIGHT!

…Oh, and then the manager emailed me to postpone the audition, so I could have waited on the headshot. Oh life, you are HILARIOUS.


One Response to “BOOM! Head Shot”

  1. Greg Barnes January 19, 2012 at 3:54 am #

    Me likey!

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