#BLOGMAS DAY 4 Get some belated insight....November

Let's go back in time to November 30th, when I planned on writing this but forgot I had to be somewhere at eight and was way too tired afterwards (I need to go to bed at eleven the latest. I'm that old)....

Today's motto is "move b*tch" by Ludacris. It comes very handy while shuffling out of the train behind the slowest people ever (MOVE) when I'm already half an hour late to a fashion shoot (A group work, so the fear of being strangled with nude underwear is there). Or at the bus stop, where I'm contemplating to buy hand sanitizer for the visagist, who forgot hers. However, if I leave my frozen place now, it would be just my luck today to catch the next bus in an hour, so I stay. Praying for the bus to be early for once in its lifetime. I can't believe I'm this late when I didn't try to be for a change. I'm not sure what I'm even gonna be doing at the shoot, but being there would be a good start, I figure.

I was perfectly on time yesterday, when we launched our student magazine (Hell, it's called. Goes well for describing the process of making it, too). But the technic guy messed up, shining a red spot when no one was supposed to go onstage all the time and not getting our slashing neck motions. He especially didn't get it when my audio was playing, stopping it halfway through and shining the darn spot for so long that I finally went onstage, did my thing and left to stand in the curtains, loathingly glaring at him for the rest of the performance. My dad mumbled something about high school lit class presentation. Poor thing seems to realize just now that this whole school is one big high school lit class. We all wore artistic black, me in a sheer blouse and ballet flats, shivering all the way through but from the cold, not fear. Still, authenticly enough.

We did it. We shot the shoot. I hope I didn't mess up the poor model's earlobes when I fumbled with her earrings. She didn't scream in pain, but then again, she might have been too polite to do so. She was only fifteen and way more gorgeous than most fifteen year olds are. When I was fifteen, I had my first mixed party and decided that I would never invite some particular guests ever again because I realized I didn't even like them. This girl, she's shooting in underwear with a twenty-something guy with a great body all professionally. Oh well. It was good fun, sprinting into the lights in between shots, looking important while fumbling on the clothes, or the hair that fell out of place every five seconds, or screaming "clips! We need more clips", or standing behind the camera staring at the model the way I wanted her to stare at the camera, "Imagine you're in the arctis! You're so excited! But, like, only with the eyes!". I wouldn't want to have to do it as a job, because I'm too prissy to steam clothes and stuff, but assisting and confidently yelling "That's it! That's what I want!", that I can do.

Love,

Rosy Smith