The Diary of A MALE MODEL
Now I can't even begin to tell you about how important getting a good nights sleep is. To us models, it's as important as putting vaseline on your teeth. I try to get at least 8 hours every time my head hits my pillow. I have a king size space age bed. It's been made using all the latest space age technology. It took a team of NASA engineers 10 years to design, I think. Apparently my bed, is made with the same materials they used to build the Space Shuttle.
My pillow alone cost $250. It reacts to the heat of my head and contours of my neck, to align perfectly with my sleeping position (my agent said you can buy the same pillow at Wal-mart for $40 but how can it be the same? Surely it's just a cheap imitation). My bed guarantees that I'll get the best night sleep ever. And I usually do, unless I'm feeling kinda horny. Or someone starts banging at my door at 3 in the morning!! Like this morning.
There I was, all tucked up, sound asleep, (I always nod off quickly after reading a few pages of my favorite book in bed; Naomi Campbell - The Swan) when it sounds like my front door is about to come crashing in. My first reaction is to call the cops, (I initially imagine it to be some crazed fan who I've upset but not replying to their e-mail, every models nightmare) but then I hear this little voice.
"Luke! Luke! It's me, Tom! Don't call the cops. I need to talk to you, she's left me."
Now, have you ever found that just when one of your friends seems to be getting over a a relationship crisis, that another friend falls right into one? And sure enough, stood at my door was my good friend Tom.C.
He's as drunk as a skunk and smelling like one too. I show him in and sit him down (I would brew coffee for him but I never touch the stuff -Models Poison- we call it. It browns your teeth, makes you twitchy and is believed to make your brain shrink. I know a lot of models drink it but I don't.)
Tom.C is inconsolable. I've never seen him like this before. He tells me he's been sleeping in his car and spying on his ex-girlfriends apartment.
"I've blown it for good this time." He blathers on. "I'm a failure. Two broken marriages and now I've been dumped again. What is wrong with me?"
I don't know where to begin, so I very politely tell him to remember his children and that one day, not now, but sooner than he thinks, he'll be over all this. Why he'll look back and laugh about it, so he will.
But my words do no good and he starts weeping like a new born kitten. I feel sorry for him and bad about myself because all I really want to do is go to bed.
I stay up with him for awhile and he talks non stop about his ex and their trips to Spain and how great she is, and etc, etc. Then, (thank the godfather of Male Models - FABIO) he falls asleep on my couch.
Tom.C is gone by the time I get up in the morning and to be honest it's a relief. I pour myself a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice and sit by my pool. I'm pondering the wisdom of relationships and if they are really worth it? They bring joy but also sorrow. But I concluded that they are a good thing.
Then the pool guy turns up. He seems in a particularly buoyant mood this morning and tells he's got something for me. He goes back out to his truck and I'm hoping it's not a donkey from Tijuana, when he comes back hand in hand with this portly middle aged Mexican woman (Suddenly I'm wishing it was a donkey from Tijuana). My pool cleaning guy explains that it's his sister and she could do a very good job cleaning my house, cheap too.
Now the last 2 cleaners I've had. I've had to fire. Both for stealing.
The last woman who cleaned my house, I didn't want her to begin with but was pushed into it. It was my brother's wife's sister. I know she was going to be trouble just by the shift in her eyes. And sure enough, as soon as she starts, things started go missing. Mostly my underwear but I didn't say anything because I didn't want to stir up any family feuding.
Anyway this goes on for awhile and the contents of my underwear drawer and getting sparser and sparser. So I finally decide to go around to her house/trailer and have a talk with her about it. You see I can understand her selling my used pants on e-bay (Who wouldn't bid on those?) but my pants come from the finest Italian designers (I've always been a big believer in good underwear) and this simply has to stop.
I rap on her door and she lets me in. I'm just about to explain to her, how I know it must be tempting to sell my silky y-fronts for money but it's really quite inexcusable and has to stop (I have a bag full of autographed pictures of me for her to sell, if she needs the money that badly). When in walks her hairy overweight husband, holding a beer and wearing nothing but MY UNDERPANTS!!
"You're fired!" I tell her. The families have been feuding ever since.
I vowed from that day on, I would never hire another cleaner unless I really really needed one. I promised myself that I wouldn't give in to the first person who got shoved in my direction and told me what a great job they would do keeping my house all spic and span!!
I now have a new cleaner.
And don't forget to vote in the poll!!!
Up early to give the ladies down the gym their weekly low calorie treat: me. This morning I did lots of stretching (to show off my perfect oblique muscles) and loads of lunges (my hamstings and glutes are just a delight to behold). I sometimes catch sight of myself in the mirrors and if I was anyone other than me, I would be turned on. I look like a dream, an oasis in the desert of the fat man.
After the gym, it was the usual Tuesday ritual of; sauna, Swedish massage, pedicure, manicure, enema and finally a tube shoved up my ass, for my weekly colon cleansing. I was feeling pretty good after all of that and enjoying my lunch of lettuce and wheatgrass when my cell phone rang (I always carry two cell phones; one for business, one for pleasure. I never answer either of them.). Intrigued to see who had been calling me, I checked my voicemail. It was the P.R woman from MTV!, she wants us to do lunch on Thursday and chew over some ideas she has for using me on the generation defining cable station!! I wonder what her ideas are? My own show? A reality show all about being me? A regular slot on someone else's show? Heck, I'd do anything on MTV!, read the news, present the weather, even talk to ugly sweating kids. I'll call her back tomorrow and confirm my availability.
Got home and Mark (The Male Model who's not as popular or as good looking as me) called. He wanted to know what I was doing tonight and if i fancied going on a double with him and this waitress he met on Saturday night? She's bringing along a friend and they want me to make the numbers even. They are all meeting in a Sports Bar at 8 o'clock. Was I interested?
There are so many things wrong with that question, that I don't know where to begin. I just put the phone down.
I felt kinda bad about that later and called Mark back (This was, after all, his 1st date since he got dumped), I had an inclination that he could probably do with my support (I'd been there when he got the 'elbow'). I told him that we must have got cut off earlier on the telephone and then I wished him luck. And I did really mean it. I know what it feels like to get dumped by a supermodel.
We've all been dumped by one supermodel or another. Some of us have even been given the old heave-ho by catwalk models. Or the hardest one of all to bare; a Victoria Secret catalogue model.
We all handle the rejection differently, some of us try to find solace in dating anyone, some write angry poetry and bittersweet love songs.
It's fundamentally hard, being a MALE MODEL in what is typically a female model's world. There are so many complications in relationships between male and female models. The main problem being, what to do when you look better than your partner (Have you ever wondered why so many beautiful models date such ugly men? Claudia and David, Naomi and everyone). Plus there are always rock stars, millionaires and business tycoons sniffing around, trying to claim the one trophy they have still yet to land. Dating in the modeling world is all fragile egos, broken promises and broken hearts.
I'm glad than Mark has climbed back onto the dating horse. It will take me a little while longer before I'm ready to get back into that saddle. It sucks to be lonely and I know one day, I'll see her again. It will either on the catwalks of London, Paris or Milan. What will I'll say to her? I really don't know, I used to think about it but now it changes everyday. Maybe time will have healed my wounds by then but at the moment I have a huge weeping puss filled sore that used to be my heart.
And don't forget to do participate in my daily poll!!
Now I've been training with this voice coach and she's meant to be THE best in the business. She has worked with some of the greats in Hollywood, and has helped many a fine; opera singer, pop singer, movie actor and real life thespian (including amongst many; Mr.T). This woman has done it all and knows it all. She teaches everything from; elocution, to pitch, to tone, to breathing and zoning.
I, like everybody else in showbiz, highly regard Mr.T's acting in the starring role of B.A Baracus (a member of the renegade team; The A-Team). A part he so divinely played, that B.A Baracus is now remembered as one of the truly great characters in America t.v history. So, when I heard the women who shaped and toned Mr.T's acting skills, was taking new clients, I simply had to snap her up.
She's very expensive and very demanding. And now I'm not so sure she's all that...
Today, she told me that I sing FLAT. She also mentioned that I sometimes sing off key and that I can't hold a note! Now I'm no judge on American Idol but I do know when someone is singing flat and that someone isn't me.
I think I know what the problem is and to be honest, it's the only possible answer I can think off. I think my voice instructor is gay and doesn't know it. What else could it be?
I think I might have to let her go soon, if her attitude towards me doesn't improve.
Not that it's all Dr. Marten boots and eyebrow piercings, she has been helping me with my broadcasting voice (which is good for my MTV! career). She says I can now pronounce words clearly and that I don't sound so thick. I'm not sure what she means by that but I do sound great!
I don't think I'll have any worries with regard to pursuing a singing career, even if the 'so called' experts don't agree. I mean there are loads of singers who couldn't carry a tune in a bucket if they tried. J-Lo for instance. She cannot only not sing but she can't act either (and I've heard it mentioned in some circles, that she's also not a very good driver).
Besides I'm different from most, because I not only sing but I also write all my own songs. I've just penned what will be my 1st number smash hit; "I'm more attractive than a big bag of money!"
I don't want to give the whole thing away and I don't want anyone to steal it (I'm watching you; Blink 182). But basically it's a song about me and women wanting me. The way I picture the video is like this; I'm in a nightclub, sat at the bar, minding my own business, when this sexy stripper type of chick is getting all hot from just looking at me. So I stand up and rip off my shirt (revealing my beautiful Ab's) and then burst into song;
"Girl, you've been watching me
thinking about touching me
but honey I ain't that easy
you've got to please me
get on your kneesy
because I'm more desirable that a big bag of money
a jar full of honey money
a bag of balls
i always stand tall
because I'm desirable."
It's the rock ballad for 2004.
Don't forget to vote in my daily poll.
The Cheese String Incident!!
Down the gym early as I like to give the ladies a treat. It can't be easy being a working woman, what with having to balance calories and sitting on your ass all day. I think any woman who drags her cottage cheese like butt out of bed first thing in the morning, and tries to keep some kind of hold on her runaway figure deserves a reward. And that reward is watching me bend over. It must be like feasting at a fitness banquet watching me workout. The sight of my firm calves, my rugged hamstrings and my rock hard butt, is the equivalent to dining out at the last supper. I swear I can feel a million pairs of eyes burning a hole in my butt.
After my 3 hour workout (My Ab's looked great), I met my agent for brunch. We usually always meet in the same Spanish restaurant; El Matador. I don't know why it's called a Spanish Restaurant, as everyone who works there is Mexican. All the dishes are Mexican, the decor is Mexican, even the oranges are Mexican. I've modeled many a time in Madrid, the capital of Spain, but never in Mexico City. I don't know what that means but I do know my Californian Breakfast Burrito from my elbow.
Anyway, my agent who is enthusiastic and useless, in equal proportions, was more excited than usual.
"Luke!" he said,"Have I got great news for you!! There's a possibility that you could be the new face of.... String Cheese!!"
Apparently some new company are about to launch a new range of String Cheeses and String Cheese accessories and they want my face to front their dairy delights.
"Does this look like the face of String Cheese?"I shouted at my hapless 10% man, before storming off.
Memo to self; Fire that agent soon.
Got home and checked my messages. One from my friends: Mark, who is also a Male Model (not as popular or as good looking as myself) had called me. He wanted me to go with him to the ball game tonight. It seems the baseball season has just started, again, and he had a couple of free tickets, good seats too. But being seen at a ball game is so last season. Ever since Ben-Lo did the whole 'watching working men's sports' thing last year, being seen at sporting event is kind of sleazy.
The powerful politician's mother who is still in town, has left several calls for me. She keeps saying, that she simply must see me. She also said she had a present for me, it best be better than the Star Trek DVD box set she gave me for Christmas.
I said I'd meet her for dinner tomorrow night.
Spent the rest of the day trying to write poetry about being lonely but it was crap.
Lentils and Hemp!!
Didn't get out of bed 'til late as I was deep in thought. Sometimes I like to just lay in bed and think about, you know, deep things. I think about the earth, the disappearing ozone layer and how blessed I am to be so good looking. I can't really remember all my brilliant thoughts but I think I decided that I really should do more with all my beauty and wealth that just please me. So I got out of bed and donated $25 to The Tijuana Donkey Sanctuary in Mexico. It's one of my favorite charities, I've always loved donkeys, and llamas too.
I then spent the next hour sat by my pool, touching up my tan. I put coconut oil in my hair (if you want great hair - soaking it in coconut oil is the secret) and a factor 30 on my skin. I always use a high protection sunscreen, I don't want leathery skin, I'm not some 70 year old crocodile, I'm a bronzed Adonis.
The pool guy turned up to clean the pool while I was catching some rays. He's this little Mexican guy, I was gonna ask him if he knew any donkeys but my Spanish isn't so good and his English isn't so great either, so I didn't bother. He does do a good job of cleaning the muck out of my swimming pool, so I don't mind that his English isn't so good. He seems nice, we nod a lot at each other, which is polite.
After I showered and dressed; jeans, grey t-shirt (if you're a man and have a great body always wear tight grey t-shirts. White makes you look gay and black is for winter and celebrity rock concerts only) sneakers and Ray-Bans.
I headed into town and decided to check out this new health food restaurant; Tofu and Lentil. It's a small little place and the decor was not unpleasant. Bright yellow walls, with funny framed pictures of the Mid-West hung at queer angles. There were a couple of long haired types eating there, which put me off a bit but I try not to let those hippies upset me too much. I ordered a Lentil and Hemp bake with roasted potatoes and pine nuts. I would have enjoyed it a lot more, if it hadn't have been for my waitress. I can't blame her for fancying me and her flirting was rather amusing but please, I'm eating. Does she not know how important eating is to us models?
After the hippie-fest, I purchased some groceries, mostly organic (It's so much better for you) and a copy of the local gossip mag'. Surprised not to see my face in there, linking me with the latest dumped Hollywood actress. Not even a picture of me leaving a nightclub!! Decided it was best to do something about that, so I spent the rest of the night listening to Coldplay. Not because I enjoy their particular brand of dire, miserable music but because one of them is having a party next week (Don't ask me which one - Tim? Maybe?) and everyone will be there. Apparently, Coldplay are still very much, still, "in". And my agent thinks it would be good for me to be seen there. I guess any publicity is better than no publicity in this game. The things I have to do for my art. I'd rather smash my foot into a door but my sock modeling contract won't allow it.
Another party and another headache. Oh how these things bore me now. When I first arrived on the California party scene, it was exciting. Rubbing shoulders with the stars, drinking champagne and eating shrimp. It was good times. But now it's the same old faces, the same old stories, the same old Moet. To be frankly honest, I'm probably the most interesting person I met at that party tonight.
After I got cornered by this old Hollywood film bore, (he kept telling I should try out for this new film he was directing), he told me I would be perfect for this one character he had in mind. (But we all know what he means by trying out for a role!) I made my excuses and left.
I stole some vodka and cocktail weiners on the way out, as I hadn't eaten all day (Tuesday is my colon cleasing day) and drove the short distance home.
It was nice to get back to my pad, (do people still say pad?) and chill out.
I spent an hour looking at how fine my Ab's are (from every angle) and they really are fine. You see, I have 3 full length mirrors in my bedroom, it makes for great views of myself. I can see myself from every angle and I must say I look pretty hot. I'm chiseled like a rock.
When, I can finally bare to drag myself away from my own reflection, I go and check my messages. My answer machine is always full. There's the usual calls, people wanting me to model for them, one about a motor oil ad but I won't do that. I'm no dirty greaser, heck, I won't even change the tire on my bicycle. Have you ever tried to scrub the dirt from under your nails? Gross. I let the Filipino women down the saloon do that.
And then there are the endless calls I get from women wanting to see me. I won't name names but a very powerful politician's mother is in town for a few days and she wants me to see her Bush!I don't need booty calls like that right now. I'll stay clear of her for as long as I can. I will have to make sure I catch up with her before she leaves, as it never hurts to have friends in high places, no matter how old and wrinkly they are.
I think the colon cleasing must have wiped me out as I'm exhausted, maybe I didn't need that extra Pure SeaSalt enema.
A quick glass of vodka, brush my teeth and then bed for me.
I hope tomorrow is a bit more exciting, I seriously wouldn't have gotten out of bed all day today, if it hadn't of been for that party and to get my rectum flushed. What a drag.