Friday, July 30, 2004

Big, Bigger, Biggest

'>Sid has become a bonafied porn photographer, woohoo! Okay, not really, since three BBW photoshoots does not a porn photographer make, but it sounds so much more interesting when I say it that way, and also maybe using the word "porn" a bunch of times will increase traffic to this unloved little corner of the web. Porn. Porn. Porn porn porn. Ahem. So anyhoo, I have this Internet superstar friend who has drawn me into her web of fantasy, or something, by letting me be her styling assistant/photographer for a few shoots for her site. I ain't no Avedon, but the pics always come out okay, and it's fun saying things like "pretty hands darling," and doing coke and all (y'all know I mean diet vanilla, right?). Being the obliging internet superstar, friend is ever mindful of her fans, and decided to do a special shoot according to this one fellow's really very particular desires. This required wigs, stockings, and fake lashes. Which required (yay! yay! yay!) a trip to a drag-queenie wig shop down on E14th. Yay! Anyone who knows Sid well must surely know of her love of boys in makeup and longstanding secret desire to be a drag queen, as evinced by her love of films like Priscilla, ABBA music, and newly begun collection of Eddie Izzard DVDs. Sid is not yet sure whether it is the bold take on sexuality and fantasy inherent in this sort of gender performance, or the mind-bendingly astonishing mastery of eyeshadow and stilettos that titillates her more, but there you are. So I was very happy to tag along. BTW, superstar friend is not a boy, but she is very tall and does wear death-defying heels and lots of makeup. Yay friend! Moving along, we went first to the Avenue shop down on, oh hell, I don't remember where, we took a cab, to get her some fancy pants and stockings. Which we did, and then we went to the wiggy shop, Royal Wigs, which was run by a very unfriendly Korean couple who became much friendlier once it became clear we were actually planning to buy something, and not just arse around and try everything on like a couple of irritating SVA/NYU/Pratt students. Then they regaled us with tales of the stars who had been to their store (Jim Carey, a news anchor from the 11 o'clock news, who knows which, and the cast of one of the many avatars of Law and Order. Each and every one of these individuals, should this be true, has some 'splainin' to do. Not that I object to the wig shop visits, but damn, you would think those folk would go a little more upscale for their weave). Friend bought two wigs and three pairs of false lashes. I bought one pair of falsies, which I promptly realized would go unworn, much like the pair of orange graffiti stilettos I bought last time I went shopping with internet superstar friend. Hmmmmm....slowly, it seems, Sid, too, is building an internet superstar wardrobe....are orange heels and false lashes, like, gateway drugs to internet porn-stardom?!?! Probably not. While we were out, we wandered into a Tex-Mex place run by a Chinese family. The restaurant was good, and cheap, but generally unremarkable, except for Lucky Fish, the restaurant's unofficial mascot and the biggest bloody goldfish I have ever seen. If LF hadn't swam so placidly back and forth in his tiny tank making kissy faces at us with his engorged fishy cheeks rather than snarling through the glass with 'roid rage, I would have sworn his flakes were being doped. But then again, what does a mutant goldfish snarling with 'roid rage really look like? Fish don't have many expressions. In fact, all they have is "kissy" face and "hook-in-mouth panic" face. So maybe Lucky fish wasn't swimming placidly. Maybe he was raging. Hm. We zipped back uptown and shot a bunch of nifty, not-naked pin-up style photos and then went out for dinner. On the way back from dinner, we stopped by a corner newsstand to pick up a copy of Big Butt magazine, for internet superstar friend has been asked to grace its pages, which information ISF happily shared with the vendor, who was relatively nonplussed, despite being in the presence of a potential future Big Butt magazine centerfold. I mean, really, does that kind of thing happen to him every day? ISFwas not offended by his lack of enthusiasm, and bought an $8 copy (big butts= big bucks, apparently) and we walked on. Until ISF took her mag out to peruse it and realized the covermodel and featured centerfolds all seemed to be ladies of color (which ISF is not). It was then that we realized she had purchased Big Black Butt magazine. Zoinks. What does one do when one realizes one has bought the wrong $8 fetishist porno mag? Why, one turns right around and returns it, bold as brass, of course. Which she did. Then we went to another newsstand/corner store and ISF looked for the real Big Butt magazine while Sid pretended to peruse Better Homes and Gardens instead of unabashedly flipping through Hustler and making ironic comments, which would have been the cool, New York thing to do. Oh well. Sid is lame.


At 7/30/2004 07:09:00 PM, Anonymous Anonymous said...

Siditty, I really like your stuff. You should write for the New York Times, or the Boston Globe, or the LA Times. You got spunk, girl! Keep up the good writes!


At 9/03/2004 06:04:00 PM, Anonymous Anonymous said...

You sure you aren't a New certainly have that rye sense of humour. Cool beans, dude!


At 9/03/2004 08:34:00 PM, Blogger Sid said...

Just as a follow up to this, I would like to point out that my mother, who reads this blog with my full assent, and who posted above about liking my stuff, beleived until last week that I was making all this up, and this blog was a sort of running fantasy, which is hilarious, because who would invent this life? No wonder she didn't seem to disturbed at first about my random exploits and porn photography...


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