being aspirational...

in the commercial industry there is something called an aspirational model. this being a woman or man who looks "regular" enough by industry standards but also one that all the truly regular people of the world wish they could look like.

so, I figure it naturally stands to reason that there are also jobs out there for the opposite type. take, for example, the Weight Watchers audition I was sent out on the other day. my manager sheepishly called me and asked if this is something I would even consider doing - "it's a only a demo, they won't even tell me how much it pays, blah, blah, blah, so if you don't want to do it it's ok."

no, no, fair lady, I'm doing it! for I'm not only trying to embrace my current physical shape but I'm also now required (by my sugar daddies over at the Department of Labor), to keep an actual log of all my futile attempts at getting work in this economy. so my answer is an emphatic "yes!" I don't even bother asking her what side of the diet I'm supposed to be on - I figure it'll become apparent as soon as I get there.

"business casual", she says (which basically means don't look like a slut or surfer). so I scoured my closet for anything left that remotely fits and is not either a halter, maxi dress or pair of sweats and headed over to the audition.

when I got there, I rode the elevator with a fairly broad-beamed girl who pressed the button for the same floor. she refused to meet eyes with me to share the "yes, I'm auditioning for a weight loss commercial, guess if I'm the before or after?" face, but instead ran ahead of me to beat me to the sign-in sheet. I think she may have burned two points doing that.

as I scanned the room to size up the competition, I thought - ok, I am totally the "before". I am TOTALLY the before! all the skinny Nancies from the fancy agencies are the "afters" and me and elastic-waist-Wendy are totally the befores. the Nancies are aspirational and we're...well, what are we exactly?

so, I try to own whatever it is I'm supposed to be but it's no use as I'm feeling quite alien as the softer side of Sears. I stand in front of the camera for a full length shot. remember: lean forward on the balls of feet to appear more inviting. tilt head down to look younger, up to look older. down head. down. and hold at a slightly three quarter angle to hide the hole from my nose ring and to highlight the impressive jaw I've been using to EAT THINGS.

ok, [Luvy], now we'll need you to do some profile shots. aw, fuck, I'm thinking, I didn't wear my Spanx. slamming my tongue against the roof of my mouth and sucking my gut in as hard as I can I turn sideways. right. left.

turn front to breathe.

ok, so now I need you to hold your cell phone and look really happy that you just lost two pounds in one week. two pounds? TWO pounds? is that all you think it would take to make me call someone on the phone and gush with excitement? not on your life. try TWENTY, sweetheart, and then you'll get a smile all the way back to my the gold crown I ground a hole into with the massive jaw I use to EAT THINGS.

but, I obeyed and started mouthing into the phone "I'm so excited I lost two pounds...this is just SOOOO exciting!"

the casting lady, who is all of about 90 pounds herself and has NO IDEA how annoying it is to be overpadded says "yeah, maybe the miming into the phone is not working. just smile and hold the phone to your ear."

good, cuz this face don't lie, my skinny sister.

and then, in an attempt to at least decide my fate as the inevitable before, I thank them and add "ha ha, two pounds in one week would be a fucking miracle!" to which she laughed dismissively in return.

imagine my horror when, a few days later, I'm looking at the breakdowns and I find the original casting notice:

WEIGHT WATCHERS ON CAMERA DEMO (1-2 DEMOS)

SEEKING:
[FEMALE] CAUCASIAN ONLY - Real, but aspirational.

needless to say I did not get chosen. it's ok. reeeeally, it's ok - for I got my biggest reward in coining an all-new commercial adjective for myself:

fat•spi•ra•tion•al
(adjective)
providing or showing fat you wish you looked this good in:
that girl was mad fatspirational - she wasn't even wearing Spanx!

Back on the radar: The Mayor of Fatville!!!

Good day, precious lambs, do I have news for you. Ready? You may be as surprised as I was when I found out. I have just been elected Fatty McFatterson, the Mayor of FATVILLE!!! That's right - my running mate, Chubby Chubbenstein, and I are back on the radar here in the Real World, Hell's Kitchen and we are FAT! Whoo hoo - it feels naughty to say it but it's decidedly true! Let me explain...

Take, for example, the (formerly) "fat" skirt I split the seam on yesterday. You know what? I gots to give that girl a rest 'cuz she don't like being stretched that way. Or the 7 year old who asked if I was pregnant the other day? She knew exactly who she was talking to - she saw me campaigning over on the corner of Ice Cream and Wine! Or the new fall "campaign" clothes I bought at Old Navy - double the digits equal double the fun for chubby chasers like Mr. Chubbenstein. And the best evidence of all - no one throwing you a bone when you admit it yourself. Ahem.

So, we've returned to life as we know it in the city and are now all pious

and spare - eating produce from local farms and hungry man salads for dinner. It blows. I've been trying to psych myself up with little affirmations like, "Today, don't judge yourself by the fruits you bear but by the seeds you put in the ground." The only word I latched on to in that sentence was "fruit" because if it weren't for my gay I'd be much more concerned that my poor, ragged liver is now trying to file an unemployment claim and is hoping for extended benefits. We'll see, cranky.

The only thing that really got my motor running (at least in my head) was the gorgeous, tiny, sexy, tall amazing man that (sometimes smokes,












proving he is indeed flesh and blood) but we still call Mister President last night I mean, come ON people - have we had better than this?!?! Hearing him last night so passionately defending his health care plan - neither stopping for applause nor heckler (asswipe!)
- but just being the incredibly charismatic speaker that he is, made me leap out of my lazy boy and beat my chest for I heard him loud and clear. His message was to me, McFatterson, "TAKE ACTION. NOW!" I was inspired. I mean, if some of us can't even do that in our own personal lives and yet he's even fighting for the I'm-so-fat-I-gave-myself-diabetes-and-now-I-have-to-shop-the-Walmart-in-a-Jazzy people, then what does that say about us? Or more specifically, what does that say about me? He's not trying to be liked - he's the fucking President, he doesn't give a shit! He has his own health care and could probably personally take care of many people's health care. He's here to help us! Christ!

So. I've put aside my slick campaign promises for now - no more hidden agendas -
and am taking action. I went for a run. Again. It was hard. The wind was blowing at me. I felt it's weight against the weight of my poor, tan and a little too-relaxed body. I walked. A lot. I did it for an hour. I tried to visualize great things, but all I could think of was Merlot. It was hard. I was slow. But I took action.

Thanks, Mister President, for inspiring me. You are truly a gift to us all. As my running mate (who is, incidentally, cleaning up his own act as well - I think he's secretly planning on running in 2010) said to me last night, "I hope the next president will be a fucking Mexican. Or Chinese." "Or American Indian?" I ventured. But that would just be too symbolic and perfect, wouldn't it? And after all, once you go black...