I want to be a nude model

As some of you know, I recently started a new job. This past week was my first with the new company, and HO.LY. SHIT. The amount of information I have absorbed, and the fast-pace of this work environment, has me seriously contemplating if I have gotten in over my head.

Just to indicate how dire the situation is - I don't even know what this company does. Are you computing that? I was hired to help them compete in their industry and keep the company functioning at peak performance, and I don't even know what they do!!!! I'm learning the ropes, the terminology and jargon is slightly less greek to me than it was five days ago, but after waking up at 6:30 am, working for 12 hours straight, then stumbling back home around 9 pm, I'm barely able to digest and organize all the information that was thrown at me.

And it's even more than not thinking I can do the job - I don't know as if I want to do the job. Or any job that requires me to stay on top of 20 things at once, work 60+ hours a week, then feel like a zombie when I finally plop my ass on my couch.

This is why nude modeling has all of a sudden become an ideal profession to me.

My body isn't bad. I don't think it's Playboy ready, but I have the goods so that if I wanted to pose for Playboy, all I'd need to do is work out and tone up for a few months, and then Mr. Hefner might seriously consider putting me in his magazine. My boobs are already Playboy ready, not to sound like a raging narcissist, but every guy or girl who ever had the privilege of laying eyes on them has confessed that my breasts are beautiful. And on top of how gorgeous they are, they're natural. The genes I inherited made me struggle with acne (which has cleared up fairly well, BTW), but hey, I got a nice rack. Genes are very give and take.

Nude modeling - or any profession that required one to use their body as an object - always seemed below me. I eschewed the premise of not using my mind to earn a living because being intelligent and knowledgeable is the highest achievement anyone could pursue. Not to mention, intelligence is sustainable, whereas looks are not. It takes a lot of plastic surgery to nude model when you're 40.

But now I feel like a massive moron for not using what God gave me to bank some buck when my body was at the zenith of its suppleness. I have finally come to the conclusion that nude models are the most intelligent people in the world - they are hot AND they are geniuses. They realize that money means the difference between a good life and a bad life, and if you want a good life, why be proud? Why spout off about the integrity of intelligence and the goodness in bettering your mind, why bother to be an intellectual when it doesn't matter AT ALL how smart you are if you're living under an overpass and eating out of dumpsters?

And even beyond being smart - why force yourself to work 60+ hours a week for the good life when all you need do is take your clothes off and earn the same amount?

Well, most nude models probably don't make the same amount of money as say my boss, but they can earn enough to at least live comfortably - and all they have to do is stretch out on crushed velor blankets while naked! Jesus, I'd love to lay naked on crushed velor, but I can't afford crushed velor, and I don't have the time to lay naked on crushed velor! So to imagine doing so while getting paid for it - now that is the good life.

I used to think nude models, porn stars, and strippers were deluded and sad when they'd say things like, "I LOVE what I do for a living. It's the best job in the world!" But now I can see that I always thought like that so I could feel better about the path I chose, the path to be an intellectual instead of an object.

There's gotta be some downsides to earning a living as a sex symbol - I better see some in the comments before I decide to move to Cali and get a job as Maggie Gyllenhaal's titty double.

UPDATE: It is Sunday, and I have spent the past 7.5 hours working on this huge proposal my company has due tomorrow afternoon. And it's my first week. KILL ME PLEASE.

I feel like I'm constantly apologizing for this...

Yep, I haven't posted in a few days, and though I have a post or two in my back pocket for times like these (i.e. when I'm feeling lazy), I'm not going to publish them (because they suck). This week has been full of DNC happenings and veep choices (haha, ooook McCain), and also I'm trying to write stuff that will help me have a real career, so this blog will have to deal with being my neglected bastard child from time to time.

But I'd hate to leave you all high and dry, so I'm gonna do some piggybacking on the work of my college buddy, "Vern." He wrote this fake craigslist post, and it had me ROTFFLOLDFGYJNBVC (don't ask what that stands for, I just dragged my knuckles across the keyboard and thought the letters looked cool). Please don't be taken aback by its crudeness...ok, go ahead and be taken aback, but you CANNOT tell me with a straight face that the wikipedia part didn't elicit the smallest of laughs from you (there is a picture toward the bottom that is slightly NSFW).

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Hey, do you want to get fucked in your vagina by a penis? - m4w - 24 (SoHo)

Reply to: [redacted] Date: 2008-08-27, 12:57PM EDT

Then, my darlings, my lovers, my Nubian queens, you have come to the right place. Because I am about to unleash this dick all over your ass. Oh yeah. You read that right. This dick. All over that ass. Let me put it to you in even more ridiculous terms.

I have a penis. You can call it a lethal weapon. You can call it whatever you want to call it. Fact is, I'm going to elect your vagina to political office just so that I can assassinate it. I'm going to make sure that your vagina is not registered in the National register of historic places, because I am about to destroy it and I do not want to get fined. Let me break it the fuck down.

First, you'll pull up into my apartment complex in your lifted truck that you stole from your old boyfried, but it doesn't matter, since he's in jail and all. I'll open the door for you, wearing nothing but full body SCUBA gear. Yes, to answer your question, of course it will have a hole in it with my dick hanging out. I'll pull out the case of PBRs that I purchased, and we will slam them. All of them. Shotgun, bong them, whatever. I'll light a few candles. I'll then take your pants off, and singe a few pubes with the candles if you need it. You won't care, as you are already in awe of my penis. You'll be like, "omg, that looks delicious!". I will agree. I will then excuse myself to go to the bathroom. I won't move. You'll ask, "aren't you going to go to the bathroom?", and I will continue to remain still. Then I'll start pissing on you. You'll think to yourself "ohh...fuck". Covered in piss is no way for a lady to present herself, so I'll slap you in the face and tell you to clean up. You'll like it, since you are a sick fuck and you're into that kind of stuff. Whatever. I'll take you to my room, but since you are covered in piss, I'll pull the sheets off first. I'll then proceed to tell you that you look like Rebecca Lobo. You'll say "who?", and I'll get all pissed and make you look her up on Wikipedia before we proceed. The whole time I will be sitting on my bed jacking off while wearing batting gloves.

Ok. So you looked that bitch up, said she was ugly, and got all sad. I said, "no way, baby, she's one of the prettiest women on the planet, just like you". You'll open your mouth in a huge smile, and then I'll jump up, stick my dick in it, and yell "siiiike!". HA! You just got served! SERVED! Oh well. I'll make you bite off my pubes, too. You sick little girl. But then I'll stop playing games and get back to business. And I am in the business of tearing that vag up. I'm like a fucking entrepreneur in that business. So I'll go to town, like a fucking jackhammer on your uterus. A jackhammer with balls. And ball hair. Shifting around, hitting all the spots, pretty much surveying all of the land with my wang, taking you to pleasuretown on the L train, you fucking hipster. I will pull it out, put it on your forehead, and knight you. I will rub ball sweat all over your hair, and then style it like Belinda Carlisle's. You will be moaning. I will make no sounds, like a silent ninja. You'll ask me why I am silent, and if I am even enjoying it. I'll cockwhip you in the face and tell you to shut the fuck up. Huh? You like being yelled at? No? Then DON'T FUCKING CRITICIZE MY SILENCE. You stupid tramp. I'm sorry. Can I put my penis back in your vagina? Thanks.

So, as I'm pulling into the final stretch, I'll start thanking all of the people who made this possible. I'll thank Craigslist, I'll thank God. You'll interrupt me and tell me to stop. I'll give you an angry glare and you'll get the point, lay back down, and shut the fuck up. I will proceed to thank my parents. I'll thank Al Gore for inventing the internet that I solicited you with. And, finally, I will thank you for taking the dick. Then, in my final silent scream of quasi-pleasure, I'll blow it all up in the condom. Because I don't want to get you pregnant. You don't even weigh less than me, and that's just sick. Damn. Get out of my garage.Here's an artist's rendition of the dick, since this is Craigslist, and I have to post my dick.






















Gosh Vern, you always were the charmer!

An achievement better than earning a college degree, or losing your v-card

Triumph!

Tonight marks the best accomplishment I have achieved in my adult life thus far. Though it has nothing to do with my career aspirations, money, or romantic life, it is a prime example of the rewards given when you are inexorably diligent.

About a week ago, my computer stopped connecting to the wireless network in my apartment. I waited it out, thinking that the networking problems were a glitch that would fix themselves. Wednesday and Thursday came, and still no ability for my computer to connect to the internet, even after I pulled every connection trick I knew out of my back pocket. My adapter showed signs of connecting on Friday, but my ability to access the internet was intermittent. The weekend arrived, and I left my computer alone, hoping that the router's signal would improve by Sunday night.

That never happened, and tonight it became apparent that the router was dead. And there was no fucking way I was going to endure another www-less night.

Purchasing a new router was the first inclination, but after scoping out prices on my roommate's computer (he still had internet access, since his computer is wired into the internet connection), I decided that wasn't happening - there are more colorful and majestic ways to spend $70, like on the rent, or dinner.

An ethernet cord lay in the spare room. Rather than go out and buy more junky computer equipment, I decided to make lemonade with my means; my "means" also included a ladies hammer and a chisel, as well as little care to what damage I did to my bedroom wall.

I endeavored a la Andy Dufresne in The Shawshank Redemption - hammer in the right hand, chisel in the left, I pummeled the plaster around the small hole my cable cord was threaded through. After about 20 minutes with little plaster eroded, I ran to a friend's and borrowed her power drill. The drill worked better, but in a strange twist, it turned out the wall wasn't made of just plaster - seemed there was some kind of wood holding the wall up, and this wood had hulk-like strength.

I persisted. I jabbed and sawed away at the wood, which for all I knew was actually copper plumbing or a beam that was supporting the entire apartment building. But none of that mattered; seriously, I was so obsessed with getting a connection to the internet that I would have taken a sledgehammer to the wall. Sweat dripped from my pits and forehead; my legs cramped from sitting on them for so long; my joints screamed at me as I forced my limbs into twisted positions, crouched behind my and my roommate's desks.

An hour of amateur millwork later, the hole seemed big enough from both sides. It took another hour to thread the damn ethernet cord through it, a job that made me feel very MacGuyver like - I actually used manipulated paper clips to hook the cord and pull it through the wall. But finally, after roughly 2.5 hours of drilling and peering through a dusty, jagged hole in the wall, the cord was swiftly plugged into my computer and the router, and after some minor configuring....TA-MOTHERFUCKING-DA! I sit here detailing my experience for you fine folks via the internet.

In a way, connecting to the internet is just icing on the cake. I'm oddly proud of myself for meeting this obstacle with ingenuity and an unwillingness to give up. I could have thrown my hands up at any moment, traipsed up to Circuit City and slammed $70 on the counter for a new router, and lived on Ramen for the next two weeks. I've never been especially proficient at handywork or using powertools, and the notion that I was effectively costing us our security deposit was always in the back of my mind. But lookee here! There are few times in life when you take on a project you are ill-equipped to accomplish, yet your sojourn proves fruitful - as far as I'm concerned, this is one of those times. Will I ever feel this glorious again? All I gotta say is that my firstborn better be pritty special if he/she ever wants to live up to my most awesomest accomplishment yet.