I just came back from a headshot photoshoot. Why, you ask? Am I going to Hollywood? No.
I am writing for a new magazine and they are nice enough to put me on their fancy “contributing editors” page. So, in typical D.J. fashion, I scheduled the shoot for the day I got back from a wedding. In fact it was on my way home from the airport, where I still reeked of plane farts.
That stale plane smell is really awful. I know people have all sorts of allergies and things, but why not some form of fragrence? Like that eucalyptus shit they douse spas in? That stuff is amazing. If I was going to wear cologne (which no man ever should, by the way – or at least no man ever should to work) I’m just going to rub a eucalyptus leave on my crotch. Wrists, too.
Back to the bad planning. I ate my ass off this weekend – was at an Hindu wedding, and despite their thin physiques, Indians eat stuff loaded with butter and oil. It’s delicious, spicy, and ruins your clothing. But also not low-cal.
Then I went to San Francisco and did more eating for two days. Then I boarded the plane today and came back. I’m totally going to squeeze my face fat out using Photoshop. Hey, chicks do in on Vogue covers all the time.
That’s all for tonight.
