True Story Tuesday

As it would seem, I have a "thing" for tryouts. Similarly, it would seem that tryouts don't requite my affections. As previously posted, I had an ill-fated audition to be a Hokie cheerleader, but apparently those results did little to dampen my spirits to be part of a shallow, highly attractive clique.

Fast forward five years from fleeing Cassell Coliseum in tears, and Lobster and I are standing in the midst of hundreds of girls vying to be Tyra Banks's minion for the latest "cycle" of America's Next Top Model. Let it be known, that I cannot stand Tyra Banks. I utterly adore ANTM (although not so much since the departures of both Janice and Twiggy), but Ty-Ty Baby has got to go. Anywho, even the threat of the TYRAnnosaurus Banks wasn't enough to deter Lobsterita and me from our endeavors.

We practiced our respective walks for weeks. I went for the more fierce-more horsey style, while Lobs preferred for the more laid back, hip swingy stride (my hips do not swing, sway, or swish. They do not move at all, hence this stomp wasn't ideal for me... Miss J always coaches girls to find their signature walk, and that one is not mine. Trust me). We worked on "smiling with our eyes," a Tyzilla must. We even consulted past cycles (which we have seen about 1934812 times anyway) to determine the best outfit for "go-sees" (we considered ANTM auditions the ultimate go-see). We were ready.

When we arrived at the hotel hosting the Top Model casting call, we were pleasantly surprised to find that we were only numbers 147 and 148 in line. We figured we'd go in, knock 'em dead, be given spots on the show immediately and still have time to grab a smoothie on our way home. We sized up the competition, laughed at some girls who seriously thought they had a chance (we truly didn't intend on garnering a spot. Neither Lobster nor myself - except Lobster could really be one - consider ourselves "Model Material," although Madame P's sweet girls told me I could be a model because I have "cute hair, cute clothes, cute face").

After 6 hours of waiting, we finally made it into a holding room full of mostly gorgeous girls (some were pretty heinous, but Tyra always says she doesn't like "pretty-pretty girls." What an underhanded compliment.), and we were S-T-A-R-V-I-N-G. I texted Sis, explained our growling tummies and begged her to bring us sustenance. Her lovely, supportive reply: "Models are supposed to be starving." Fabulous, thanks for your help.

2 hours after that we finally made our way in front of the judges. I was nearly delirious from hunger and should have given in to my urge to pass out (I bet I would have made it into the clip show or something). I resisted, however, and tried to maintain an "I'm-so-cool-and-modely-and-moody" vibe, of course the ruffles on my shirt and pink pumps probably gave me away immediately.

The judges, who had probably been gorging themselves on sandwiches all day, asked me to repeat answers to questions that I had filled out on about 4 different applications. I think things were going well until they asked me who my favorite model was. I immediately answered, "Heidi Klum." They then caught me off guard by asking who my least favorite was, "Tyra Banks, duh!" I blurted out carelessly. "I'm sorry, what did you say?" they asked looking aghast. "Kate Moss?" I offered pathetically. "Right, well, thank you for your time," one judge found the enthusiasm to say as the others furiously crossed my name off their lists. I was shown the door. I gave them my best Hokie sparkle fingers and smile. Apparently, that's the only way I know how to exit after failing miserably.

On our way back to the car, we passed a mom with 3 little girls.

"Are you models?" the girls asked hopefully.
"Of course," Lobster replied.
"Look, girls, real models!" the mother exclaimed.
"Can we take your picture?" one girl asked.
"We're models. We love having our picture taken, and we're good at it," I answered cheerfully.
"We'll teach you how to pose," Lobster explained.

Several shots were snapped with us posing professionally while the little girls imitated our moves. After a few rounds of cheesin' it, we gave the girls our autographs and told them to look for us on the next cycle.

"Is Tyra down there?" the mother asked us eagerly afterward.
"Um, no, and Tyra is really mean," Lobster answered.
"And she hates little girls," I offered helpfully.

As they left us, we brushed our shouldas off. All in a day's work.

The Lobster and I outside of auditions. You wanna be on top?