Yes, I will accept this rose *insert tear*

As you can see, I don't oft write about my personal life in this blog. (Unless you would make the argument that television is pretty damn close to my personal life at this point, in which case I would not argue with you.) However, on Saturday I auditioned for The Bachelor in Philadelphia, so I hereby deem this experience as having enough journalistic integrity to blog about. I present you with a play-by-play of the day. Looking back it may have been a hell of a lot easier to just "tweet" as this were happening, but then I would have completely lost all respect for myself and that's not good.


Saturday, June 13, 2009
6:00am - Wake up, shower, attempt fierce hair and outfit. Flip flops for now, heels and makeup will come later. It's too damn early.

7:40am - Arrive in Chinatown at bus stop. If I'm going to be enough of a crazy person to travel to Philly to attend a cattle call for a reality show, I'm at least going to do it on the cheap with the Chinatown Bus (got the NY->Phil bus for only $1!). I have a moment of "why the hell am I doing this?"

8:15am - The bus departs (fifteen minutes late), and I begin filling out my casting application that I printed from the ABC website. I don't even know if I need this thing, but if so I'm sure as hell going to put some thought into it.

8:50am - What the hell is my unique talent that I'm most proud of? And what does this have to do with whether I'd be a good contender for Bachelor X's love?

10:10am - Arrive in Philadelphia (almost on time) and find a McDonalds in which to grab an Egg McMuffin and apply my face.

11am - The McDonalds lady tells me that I look pretty as I'm wielding a mascara wand. This makes me feel confident (I think). Board local bus to mall slightly outside Philly where the casting will be taking place at a Dave and Busters.

12:30pm - Arrive at mall, and with only thirty minutes to go before the open call starts I am SHOCKED to see no 500-deep line of overly made-up girls . Decide to shop a lil instead of being one of the first to arrive and looking like a tool. Glance around H&M at other girls in cocktail dresses and heels trying to play it off like this is how they always dress for their lazy Saturday shopping.

1:02pm - Enter Dave and Busters and find the casting tucked into a banquet room in the back. A few dozen girls are here, some holding carnations. Did these bitches get chosen and get "roses" already? Dammit! Proceed to the check-in table and am asked to fill out an application (done and done bitches!) and sign a short waver.

1:05pm - Sit down at a table of several girls to begin waiting. Two options: sit in silence and awkwardly stare down the competition, or make awkward small talk. I choose small talk and open with a joke about signing our lives away on the waver. We all did, obvi. (The confessor admits that this waver actually wasn't that bad, suspects that a way harsh one comes later in the process.) Through small talk, I discover that one girl came from Boston and feel less crazy that I took a two-hour stinky bus from New York. I also (thankfully) learn that the carnations have nothing to do with the selection process but are rather promotional items from a cell phone company who are pimping themselves out at today's casting.

1:25pm - A twig-like girl who claims to be 26 but looks about 19 casually mentions that her manager advised her to get to this audition early. After her number is called to go into the interview room, another girl at the table turns to me and asks if she heard Twiggy correctly about being sent to the open call by a manager. I confirm, and we roll our eyes and share a good laugh. Girls continue to rotate in and out of the table as numbers are called and fresh meat arrives. It is around this time where I begin to share a bond with the girls at my table.

1:45pm - A woman with a microphone bearing the name of a local news radio station approaches during a one-on-one convo with my new table-mate claiming that we "seem talkative". New friend turns away leaving me as bait to this reporter. I answer her questions about the casting and my thoughts/intentions on the show. Genuinely caught off guard by a few questions. This girl is good.

1:55pm - Begin to wonder if there are hidden cameras/microphones anywhere on the table or in the room, any moles/spies among the applicants, or any other form of secret evaluation going on during this waiting period. The producers would be very smart to have done so.

2:00pm - A boy sits down at the table...and he's cute! All eyes perk up. The casting is open to "eligible men and women", but save for one dorky guy on the opposite side of the room this may as well be a clam bake. The producers present even admit that they're pretty sure they already have the next Bachelor chosen, but men are invited to give it a go. The attention and conversation at my table takes a noticeable shift in the penile direction.

2:15pm - The topic of conversation turns to what we think they're looking for. I comment that most of the girls here seem fairly down to earth with differing degrees of attractiveness, but there's a few that draw immediate attention because they are sooooooo put together. In my opinion, they're probably either shoo-ins or totally wrong for this show, but personally they're rubbing me the wrong way. I didn't mention any names (because duh I didn't know anyone's name!) but made a motion to an overly-giggly bleach blonde with a perfect fluffy side-ponytail and a red dress which could barely contain her (not that great) breasts. Yes ladies, the claws are coming out.

2:30pm - Finally my number is called and after they take a few snapshots (the PA on camera duty assured me that my eyes were open), I am instructed to sit at a new "on deck" table with about ten other girls. Suddenly exhausted from over an hour of small talk and so not feelin the girls at my new table (including the aforementioned "perfect" blonde and a few prototype Jersey girls), I shut down for a bit and turn to a discarded issue of US Weekly. Rough calculations show at least 30 more minutes of wait time, and Kate Gosselin's dramz is holding my attention more than this lot.

3:10pm - My turn for reals now! I am escorted into a back room and sat down for an on-camera, one-on-one interview with a producer, who is impressed that I brought a few computer-printed snapshots with my application. She gives me a clip-on microphone and begins the interview about my hobbies, family, and of course dating life including my lack of serious relationships, why I think I'm still single (way harsh), and why I want to find love on The Bachelor. I think my answers were okay (or at least I was being honest and felt pretty comfortable) but one never knows how she's really being perceived or again, what they're looking for. Find myself wondering (but not wanting to ask) whether I should be looking at the camera, my interviewer, or neither. I think/hope I finally settled on making eye contact with the producer.

3:20pm - Interview over, I'm standing doing a slow twirl so the camera can get a full body shot. Praying that I don't have VPL, but glad that I get to show off the gams. Twirling for the camera doesn't feel awkward or contrived at all *sarcasm*. The producer informs me that they'll be calling in about 4-6 weeks. In hindsight I realize I don't know if this means they'll call either way or only if I've made it past round 1, but let's just say that in mid-July I'll abandon my policy of not screening unknown numbers. She also says that filming will probably begin in mid-October lasting for a few months and asks if I'd be willing to take time off work. I stammer and say that I probably would, but that's a long way off to know where I'll be in life, ya know, recession and all. Must have started babbling because she kindly tells me that I don't need to give a firm answer right now. She says it was nice to meet me and extends her hand, and I realize that she knows every ounce of my pathetic dating life (and is probably laughing on the inside) but I don't even know her name. I ask for it because I feel I at least have the right to know her name if not her sexual history. We shake and I exit Dave and Busters, pausing to say good luck to my new "friends" on the way out. I also notice at the sign in table that there have been not even 100 girls registered for today's casting session. That's about 10 times less than I thought there'd be...that's a good/scary thing.

3:23pm - The inner analyzation of the interview starts (and will probably continue for 4-6 weeks). Did the fact that she told me the filming dates and asked if I could take time off mean I have a shot? I didn't hear them ask any other girls that...or did I?

6:45pm - After the bus ride back to downtown Philadelphia, getting caught in the rain, and a delish chicken carbonara sub at Quiznos (note to self, these will need to cease if chosen as a semi-finalist), I am hastily ushered onto a bus to New York (I hope) by a high strung Chinese woman. Realize that I must scream "walk of shame" with wet hair now in a messy ponytail, my high heels in one hand, and (promotional) carnation flowers in the other. Perhaps this whole experience was just one big walk/bus ride of shame from Manhattan to Philadelphia trying to find love, but every now and then those can lead to real relationships...right?


Stay tuned...

My 15 minutes

Guess who guest-blogged about The Hills for Gawker?

Popping my fashion week cherry...

…and it was everything I’d always hoped it would be ;)

Last week was Mercedes Benz Fashion Week in NYC, and for those who have never experienced it, it’s everything you’d expect…and nothing you’d expect at the same time. The famed tents in Bryant Park are pretty amazing, not gonna lie. You’d never even realize you were technically in the great outdoors. The shows themselves are also every bit as glam as they look, and the models are every bit as skinny as they look. It made crave a Baconator.

What I was not prepared for was the process of fashion week. You arrive at the show, stand around for at least 15 minutes before they even let you in, and then even once you get in you may or may not actually have a seat. It all depends on how important you are…which I’m not. And thus I slump to the standing room in the back. Then the show never starts on time. Never. So all in all you’re standing around (in 5 inch heels…obvi) waiting for at least 30 minutes before the show even starts. The actual show is no more than 15 minutes long. At best. Allllll that waiting around inflicting pain unto the balls of your poor little tootsies for 15 minutes of couture that may or may not actually even be worth seeing. The process is exhausting. I was drained by the end of the week.

I know, I know, my life sounds sooooo terrible and difficult last week standing around watching 17-year-old anno models walk around in designer clothes. Well it’s harder than it looks dammit!

But I assure you that I’m not taking this for granted, I know it seems very glam and fun, and it is. Let me remind you, going into this season I was a fashion week virgin. And even at the beginning of the week I had ZERO invites, and then ended up at 4 shows. Thus is the magic and subterfuge of fashion week.

A co-worker gave me 2 “non-transferable” invites she wasn’t using (Charlotte Ronson and Benjamin Cho). So I went to these shows pretending to be her. Thank goodness no one at fashion week cards. Except for business card-ing…oops! “I’m so sorry, I don’t have any cards under my name…I’m actually just representing VK…I’m her co-worker/assistant/beneficiary…My name’s actually…” Somehow I still got in. I’ve come to realize they must get tons of these scenarios. No harm, no foul. And this actually got me a 3rd row seat at Benjamin Cho, right across from Mary Kate Olsen! Alas, at Char-Ro I was stuffed way too far back into standing room to get a glimpse of Li-Lo and Sam-Ro. Sigh…

Then I was sent through my job to the Malan Breton (former “Project Runway” contestant) show to interview him, getting to use my very own name! I guess I’m moving up in the world. Sat 2nd row and the show was amazing, beautiful evening gowns and elegantly flirty casual wear. Loves it! Alex and Simon van Kempen of “The Real Housewives of NYC” were in attendance…and will obviously do anything for a photo-op and a hot sec of attention. After the show, I was escorted to the super-private Mercedes Benz VIP lounge for the interview. All of a sudden I went from getting into shows under someone else’s name to totally ballin out on my own accord. Too bad it was 10:30am and I was working…that champagne looked pretty damn tempting. Malan was such a sweetheart and it was a pleasure to interview him…VIP room or no VIP room.

I still have no idea how I pulled it off, but through some sweet talking and identity stealing I somehow got into the hot-ticket Project Runway finale fashion show. Don’t ask don’t tell. Had to stand in my Michael Kors stilettos (just in case he saw) on the press riser for like an hour and a half, but it was worth it. Pro-Ro actually lasts about 45 minutes since 6 designers show collections…they try desperately to keep the identity of the 3 finalists secret. I’m sure there are tons of other reviews and spoilers out there so I won’t bore you to death with my humble opinions, dear reader, but let’s just say Jerrell or Leanne better win this shit.

And that, loves, is fashion week. And I’m still soaking my feet from shoe abuse.