mizChartreuse || redefiningSuccess

Charlotte and Angelique, you must return to the house, pack your belongings, and go home.

Or go to the suburbs and drink.

Tuesday night Sean tells me I should go audition for America’s Next Top Model. I say, “Whatever. I’m not about to take the Blue Line all the way out there. Maybe if I could drive.”

“Dude!” He emphatically says. “It’s like two blocks from the ‘L’ stop. You can go.”

“Eh, we’ll see,” I say with the enthusiasm that I show for most things in life: whatever. I was making excuses as I’m so prone to do for things that I don’t take seriously (read: everything).

Wednesday I roll out of bed around 11 (yes, 11) and tell my sister that ANTM is auditioning. “Do you have like four-inch heels?” She asks, as she’s about 5’4.”

“That doesn’t matter; Tyra is looking for shorties for the next cycle. 5’7″ and under,” I tell her.

“I’ll be ready in ten minutes.”

I’d been texting Angelique about other arbitrary things that morning, and told her my sister was coming to scoop me and we were going. “I wanna try out!” Ange told me. Fair enough! I made arrangements for my sister to print out three copies of the 15-page application for the show, and told her to meet us there. I mean, I’m 5’5″. When am I going to grow another 2-3 inches?

Ange scooped me around 2:06. The auditions were from 10-3, and obviously if I’d woken up earlier I could have gotten a head start on things, but, ya know.

And we had to stop at McDonald’s because we were starving.

Yes, potential Top Models eating McDonald’s Chicken McNuggets and fries before auditioning. Hot.

So we’re eatin’, talkin’, rollin’ through traffic. “We’re not gonna make it,” Ange tells me. “We’re gonna get there just in time to be turned away.”

Faith, my dear, faith. You gotta believe!

We park at about 2:56 right across from the Donald E. Stephens Convention Center. My sister Chloe’s been there for about an hour. I’d told her to go in around 2:15, so she was already good.

Ange and I walked up to the front door and a security dude detains us. “Are you here for the 3:30 callbacks?” he asks.

“We just got here.”

“You’re too late,” he states.

I want to scream: But look at me! I could totally be it! I KNOW I’m what Tyra’s looking for damn it! Look at me!”

Instead, I say, lamely and half-not-caringly, “What if my sister’s already in there? I need to go find her!”

“Well, she’s in and you’re out,” he said, blankly.

Okay.

“Okay, well, what if I WAS on the 3:30 callback list? Hm?” I ask, defiantly, but only half caring.

Yeah, no dice. Our name would obviously be on a list of sorts.

Ange and I walk across the street toward where her van’s parked, right in front of Gibson’s. “I can just sit outside and wait for Chloe to get out,” I tell Ange. My sister was going to drive me to school for my night class at 7. I mean, she didn’t know it yet, but I woulda told her when she got out of the audition.

“I’mma have a drink,” Ange says, decisively.

Two glasses of Chardonnay each and about an hour later, Chloe calls me and meets us at Gibson’s. “I made it through the first round, but at the second screening they only took five girls out of the 60 of us that were in the room.”

“Good job!” My drunk (I mean tipsy) ass tells her. “That was a good run!” The three of us had some bathroom chatter and I took a couple pics with my sister before we decided to head out.

“We should go to Palatine,” Ange says. “I’m not gonna make my 5:30 class anyway.” It was about 4:45. True dat. We both grew up in the northwest Chicago suburb and rarely saw our P-town friends, so the offer was tempting.

I debated it in my mind for a minute, because I had a 7:00 class to go to, but decided that experiences are more important than dumb institutional things like school. At least that’s what I tell myself (and is the reason why it’s taken me so long to graduate…).

So Ange and I let our favorite Palatine girls, Celia and Senita, that we’d be in the area in ten minutes and told them to join us.

I love the fact that we have such spontaneous friends who’ll show up at Idol’s on Rand Rd. and Dundee Rd. on a whim for a couple drinks after work/jury duty/whatever life shit’s going on.

The four of us have a few beers, and a couple rounds of shots bought for us by some man at the bar. That’s how cute girls roll. And it was fun and ridiculous. And liquor-laden.

After a couple hours we decided to roll out. Ange and I were going to hang at Senita’s apartment in Schaumburg, while Celia was going home to prepare for Lost. Now, I don’t watch that show, but I understand the pressing nature of shows of that sort. I make it a priority to watch 24 every Monday night, and have been fortunate that I don’t work most Mondays.

“Oh, hell no, bitch!” Ange screams at Celia, throwing her purse on the ground. Ange doesn’t watch/get Lost either, like me.

“You wanna go?” Celia challenges. And with that, the two are wrestling to the death for the glory of dumb television serials. It was a laugh riot.

I’m not sure who won because I was smashed, but Ange and I grabbed two bottles of wine at a liquor store and went to Senita’s. Our friend Ryan met up with us with a 12-pack of beer.

We drank, talked, laughed. Watched some Cheaters and made fun of idiots. Drank some more. I played with Senita’s cat and dog and started to pass out around 8:30. Literally, head down, eyes closed on the couch. I fall asleep in public places when I’ve been drinking for a while. It’s what I do. Everyone has photos of me sleeping. EVERYone.

After hanging and catching up and me starting to fall asleep, Ange and I decided to head back to la ciudad de Chicaga where we both live. I couldn’t believe I’d been drinking for six or seven hours. That’s like an entire shift at work!

Not gonna lie- I totally had visions of being in the Top Model house in LA or NY and telling those other bitches what’s up. “I mean seriously? Have you not watched the previous 12 cycles of this show? You’re still acting like a bitch? You’re still crying when Tyra cuts your hair? You still don’t understand what ‘smile wit’ yo’ eyes’ means? Fail. Fail on your part, 18-year-old. Come live the hustla’ life with me in Chicago. You think this is bad?”

Alas, my tendency to sleep in and go through fast-food drive-thrus with my BFF completely prevented me from actualizing any Top Model dreams.

And honestly–I love modeling. I love being fierce, glamming it up, the works…but it’s not my passion. I’d never be one of the girls saying, ‘oh, my God, I love modeling and it’s my dream,’ because it’s not. It’s fun and I like dressing up and being fabulous, but let one of those other girls who thinks that she wants to be a model/actress/singer take my place. I’m a true martyr. I’m also good at blaming external forces for my shortcomings, but I’m totally being facetious.

Long story short, Angelique and I did NOT make the America’s Next Top Model auditions. We did NOT make it to LA or to the Top Model house. I didn’t even get to go through the dignity of thanking Tyra for the wonderful experience of exploiting myself on live television and acting like a buffoon and squealing whenever the Tyrant comes into the room. It’s all good. I’m a little too nonchalant/easygoing to take that shit seriously. Really.

And the alternative–drinking three types of alcohol over the course of eight hours and listening to Britney Spears on repeat –turned out to be much more enjoyable than sitting in a room full of estrogen and getting turned away because I’m not dramatic enough. I’d much rather hang out with my long lost high school loves. Really, it’s cool.

Really.

Maybe next year.