Wednesday night SUC and I got to the IO and my Fashion Police buddy had reserved us a table, making us feel all special as everybody said, "Oh, you're Annabell, right this way." We got towards the start of the second of the three Harold groups performing, and who was right there on stage but our Level A improv instructor who disappeared two weeks before the end of our session! And he was hilarious, particularly as he (a short, squat, balding, doofy looking middle-aged man) and this tall dancer-looking girl did a dainty ballet routine. TJ and Dave did what I thought was the best show I'd seen thus far. It was much more cohesive than their others and they introduced fewer characters, allowing them to really develop the two main ones. I tend to like Dave's more understated style while TJ is sillier, but in this show TJ captured all these brilliant subtleties, making the whole thing just beautiful. I know that sounds corny, but it was. Beautiful, I mean.
Thursday morning I went to take a shower. Hot water? What hot water? Just brown sputtering sludge. So gross. The cold was running clear, so I stuck head under the freezing faucet and just washed just what was necessary. So gross.But there was sun! Clear skies and perfect temperatures at last! We walked through Millennium Park where the Chicago Symphony Orchestra was rehearsing. Something I miss from Interlochen is having a soundtrack playing everywhere. iPods don't count; the music isn't live and everyone isn't listening to the same thing.
A lot of the other girls only recently moved to Chicago and hadn't seen "the bean" before. We took a group photo in front of it and within moments we had tourists requesting pictures with us. I suppose 12 girls in fashion police uniforms is a bit of a spectacle. As we headed away from the park (apparently you need a permit to pass stuff out there, too) a couple from out of town stopped us to ask where they should go for a good Chicago-style hot dog. There was a clear split between those who stayed to offer suggestions and those who kept walking. Four of five of us all stood around discussing and debating where the closest and best Chicago hot dogs could be found while the rest couldn't be bothered with such things. Hold that thought, as I want to talk more about the general narcissism and entitlement later.That night I had plans to go to Green Mill with Red and his woman and we were going to call Him and invite him, too, but I was completely exhausted. The shoes they gave us were cute flats that looked quite comfortable but they lacked any form of shock absorption or support, so my entire legs hurt like crazy. The hot water came back on and I took a long, wonderful shower and planned to spend the rest of the night watching TV in my underwear when NBF called. He was on his way to the El stop by me to meet with a friend from his law school class to "study" and thought I should come and hang out. Hell no. Too tired. But the bastard coaxed me out with the promise to buy me beer, and besides, it was much easier than Green Mill and the dog needed to go out so I'd have to give in and put on clothes anyway. I was cranky and shleppy, but had much fun anyway. His study-buddy and his study-buddy's fiance are quality, entertaining people. I ate too much and they accomplished exactly zero studying, but I was glad I went in the end. NBF's friends were driving NBF home, but first they following me to my apartment in the car with NBF yelling construction worker-esque come-ons in Spanish. Oy.
Friday morning before going in to work I bought insoles for my shoes. I wonder how much money I spent on and during this thing. Nowhere near the $600 I was making, but still significantly more than my normal spending averages.
The El was stopped due to a "maintenance problem" on one of the trains at one of the stops. Probably a jumper. Creepy. I wasn't worried about being late, though, since I knew a whole lot of my fellow promo people rode the same line and I got there early enough that it was likely to effect almost everyone. When we did make it to the stop by the hotel, a huge number of the fashion police poured out. No one cared.
The weather was nice again but we went back to the same area we'd spent most of the past three days. There was no race to get through the flyers since there weren't that many left, and we were all running low on steam. I mostly waited for people to stop and listen to whole shpeil, or I'd just smile and say "Marshall's Fashion Police" while handing them a flyer. My partner for the day was one of the good people, which was very nice as the promotion itself had lost its charm and reasons to keep smiling were getting hard to find.
At my pre-break assigned corner (yes, that makes me sound like a whore) I found myself competing for passerby attention with a homeless man, a guy asking people to take a survey, and a swarm from some "Save the Children" organization. It wasn't long before I gave up and crossed the street where I didn't have to make fashion sound more important than starving babies in third-world countries.Friday night was my current improv teacher's show. As I waited for the El at the stop by my house I hear from behind me, "Annabell?" I turned to see the guy I had barely noticed reading a book on the bench was an old friend of mine from high school I hadn't seen in like four years. Crazy. He looked exactly the same and is doing almost the same thing as the last time we saw eachother, only now he's working at a camera shop near my apartment. My life has been a bit more changed in the last few years. We exchanged numbers and talked until he had to change trains. He's one of the people I usually liked "back in the day," so I'm glad to know he's around now. I'll have to call him.
The show was reasonably funny, with highlights being the song "I'm gay and I have cancer" and the arranged marriage of North and South Korea. I like my improv class friends. Just in case you didn't notice.
Saturday was finally the last day! I got paired with a prime example of the entitled narcissism. We were supposed to be driving around with the fashion show to all the suburban Marshallses, but instead we went back on the Magnificent Mile.
People sucked. There were tons of passerbys, but heaven forbid they make eye contact with us or acknowledge our existence in any way! We were going to get picked up around 2 and driven over to Wrigley Field before the Cubs game, but if we got rid of the last of the "citations" we didn't have to go. So fuck you, Sucky Mag Mile shoppers! We walked a few blocks down to Chicago and State where there were far fewer pedestrians but they were much happier to talk to us and take their "chance to win $1000." I handed out the last citation around 1:50 and headed back to the hotel with my partner to wait for our manager and the rest of our team.The staffing agency's head of the promotion (who was very nice, though definitely One with the Peroxide) collected our things and sent us home! Yay! We were allowed to keep the shoes, which I did despite the pain and blisters, and I a little bit stole the hat. Hello, Halloween costume! I wasn't planning to go to my improv class at all, but I made it there by 2:40 when they were coming back from break. I was so glad to be there and I was "on" for once, despite/because of my being a bit crazy hyper.
So, now that it's all over, I have to say something about the other fashion police girls. Some were good, solid human beings that I liked very much. Most were not. They were used to having boys stare at them and do things for them. There was an overwhelming lack of real community or willingness to help anyone else. There was a point I was towards the back of the group going through a door, and I watched as not one girl held it for the next or even made sure it didn't slam her in the face. Everyone asked for things and no one offered things. I was the freak offering to share my bandaids, food, and assistance. The writer/improver and LA transplant also offered. I think that's what I liked about them. They didn't have "ME ME ME" tattooed to their foreheads, the expectation that other people (mostly boys) would do everything for them. And while I'll admit I kind of got off on the constant male attention and expected servitude of the other gender, I'd rather that stay a novelty and keep on doing things for myself and others.
Yes, that's me with my face swirled out in some sort of anonymity attempt. Now that I have a Halloween costume, I need to find a Halloween party. Hmm...
First impression: I had stumbled into a sorority girl-laden peroxide pit. I was almost definitely the only natural blonde there, but maybe a third of the 40 girls were sporting lighter versions of my genetically granted hue. The girl I was sitting next to was merely highlighted, but as we waited for things to get started she talked to her agent on her cell phone and read over a script for something and scribbled things in her planner. These people were all beautiful or at least beautifully done. 
I had to remind myself that I'd tried to "do" myself to the best of my abilities that morning and that I'm "cute" and pretty in an odd way, and that I looked just like my photo that they'd seen before choosing me, so to at least some degree I belonged. I've always been convinced that all the beautiful people of the world have some massive club or an island somewhere with a great secret society of perfect smiles and good skin and uninterrupted grace. This was like being invited to their tea party.
I got home and completely passed out until NBF called to tell me to come over to watch 
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