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Monday, February 26th, 2007

Subject:kok mobster
Time:1:54 am.
In Paris this summer, I went to a Jean Paul Gaultier sample sale and bought a dress for 10Euro. It was outrageously slutty: skintight crimson nylon microfiber with a huge fluttering fishtail trailing off the back like a flaccid dimetrodon fin. Underwear not even a remote possibility. But what the hell, it was a genuine Jean Paul Gaultier dress, in my size, for 10Euro; I bought it with a quickness!

The first time I wore it was to a bar in Paris. This happened:
Me: "Hi."
Smarmy Frenchman: "I love your bod-dee."

The second time I wore it was to Christmas brunch with my family. As my great grandmother bent her head to say grace over her eggs Benedict, I began to regret the incredibly vain decision to break out the Gaultier and get all sexy on Christmas, of all days. Not only that, but the voice of God kept booming,"The baby Jesus can tell thou art commando under there."

The third time I wore it was to a casting in Hong Kong. Mere minutes after I lurched back into my apartment after an epic day of cataloggin' in China, my agent called me, timidly requesting that I freshen up and proceed immediately to a late-nite casting. She was so apologetic that I knew she was expecting me to whine and try to beg out, and I felt guilty for being a fundamentally lazy person. My act of contrition was to don the Gaultier dress, go to the casting, slap my biggest smile on my face, aim my nipples directly at the client, and do anything I could to book the shit out of that job, no matter what it was.

Thanks to Jean Paul and his crimson microfiber , I DID book the job, and "whatever it was" turned out to be an incredible TV commercial, shot in Bangkok by a French production crew, and starring a boss Chinese actor whose identity I was specifically requested not to reveal. But you've heard of him. And it's not Jackie Chan. So chew on that.

So now I'm in my hotel room in Bangkok, beholding my lovely "daily replenished fresh fruit basket" and becoming dead doubtful about my ability to give this client the performance he wants, that is, conjuring up the same Gaultier-clad Princess T.H.O. that kicked so much ass at the casting. Furthermore, the Actor has requested that I arrive in Bangkok a day early so that we could meet before we start shooting, which means I will be performing as Princess T.H.O. starting tomorrow. Oh god, I'm so nervous. So addled by jet-lag. So obsessed by fears! What if I eat Thai street meat, get sick, and fuck up the job? Or if Actor meets me tomorrow, decides my T's are not H enough for his liking, and dismisses me? What if I suddenly go bald or lose an incisor? I am quaking like a fucking Chihuahua right now.

Update: The casting director just came to my room to tell me what I have to do tomorrow (only a fitting at 4:00pm, ha!). She said, "Actually, the job is not easy for you. You have to wear, a sling? And swing around, um, a big pole? [Makes spiraling-up-and-up motion.] We filmed your body double today and she said it really hurt. Oh, and your costume is quite...quite unbelievable."

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