I am not a hot mess. I will never be a hot mess. Anyone that knows me or stalks me on Facebook or Twitter knows this. But I know exactly how I would become one.
Back in January I modeled a wedding gown at a huge bridal show in Vegas for a local boutique, Bridal Elegant. You have no idea how fancy it was for me to wear a $2,200 wedding dress for a few hours. Now I know what a days of yore princess felt like everyday of her life. Almost everyone that passed our booth thought the models were mannequins. Then we blinked. Then they freaked out. It was hilarious. It was if they have never seen a human before. I get another opportunity to model at the Aria on the 16th. EEK! That's tomorrow. Holy excited, you guys!
Just yesterday a friend of mine told me I should become a wedding dress model-quin. I laughed, as anyone would, but he was 100 percent serious. Sadly, I would only be able to model for those that want me. Not a problem in his eyes. He told me I should just get a gun and force companies to want me to model for them until they gave me the job. He demanded that I show up wearing a wedding dress because it would be my supervillian costume. Of course. A supervillian costume. I decided that a custom-made pink Hello Kitty .45 pistol would be great for the job (that job being intimidation because the intimidation alone would get me the job. Definitely. Right?). Oh, and get this. My trademark would be to sip wine after each heist. Cool, huh? I can see it now.
And that, my lovlies, is how I would be my very own hot mess.