DIRT: the grunge diaries (𝒱𝒾𝒸𝓉𝑜𝓇𝒾𝒶'𝓈 𝓋𝑒𝓇𝓈𝒾𝑜𝓃)

entry #126 - cliché

⚠️ a chapter in which absolutely nothing happens because I'm in a crap mood and I'm updating just for the sake of it. More coming soon if I get myself back together x ⚠️

the morning after
October 12, 1992
❤️ ‎فيزا

All mornings start with a kick, but my morning? My morning started at 8:00AM with my boyfriend snoring out loud into my ear, with his arms yeeted around me, and his heartbeat straight against my cheek. Ideal, I gotta say, so ideal that I would've liked to rot in bed and waste the day away under the blanket, buck naked with him... but heck no. I tried to fall asleep again, the three hours of sleep of the night were really weighing on my road wiped self and I was craving sleep pretty bad, but Sean's loud snoring held me back from getting some extra rest. I tugged his arm in the hope that he'd snore any less loudly, but on the contrary, he just began to snore louder, curse under his breath, growl... and last but absolutely not least, he wrapped me so tight into his arms that he almost re-broke my ribs on the spot. Plot twist: Sean was fully asleep and he didn't want to be woken up by any means... and after a little bit of snuggling with his sleepy self, rubbing his sleepy face and giggling like an idiot because he almost looks harmless when he sleeps, I convinced myself to get out of bed and do something with my fucking day. Because yes, unlike Cuntrell believes, I have a life and plans of my own that don't necessarily involve Sean. Slay ! Self assured slay !

My plan of the day, 9:30 on the clock, is to get ready to go drop my modelling portfolio at the nearest agency in this fucking ugly city called Denver. For this purpose, I called Barbaranne, Zakk's model girlfriend, I ruined her early morning fuck with her beloved blonde hunk, and I asked her for the address of the nearest agency in town. She hooked me up with the piece of information I needed, she told me that the casting lady is a bitch and rejected her application of two days ago, and she forgot to hang up the phone on me afterwards... so, I'm afraid to say I might've heard a bunch of her comments on how 'big' Mr. Wylde is, and how 'good' he feels inside. Ew. My Mr. of my own kept sleeping soundly all the way through my conversation with Barbaranne, and I left him there, snoring and sleeping like a tame chicken, and headed to the bathroom instead. I took a quick shower, I washed my hair, I sang in Italian and Arabic, I revised all of my knowledge about the urinary tract of dogs (because I'm always a devoted, veterinary medicine student, even when I'm on the road with my boyriend's band, and even after a partying night out), and I did my best curly hair routine for the day. Because y'know, I will be rejected by the modelling agency, but my hair will be luscious, and I will be able to flip it dramatically and slay the casting lady's 'get the fuck out, shortie'. I handle rejection well, I've already handled rejection a few times, aka everytime I had the guts to drop my portfolio at any agency in Seattle, except the one time I got casted for a sunglasses campaign....so the rejection of today won't come in as a shock to me. But I'm feeling courageous, and I know that if I don't try my luck again, I will never know if I can make some money with my exotic, unique looking face. I may not be pretty, and I'm not, but guess what? I'm exotic, and exotic sells well in this fucking country !

I head back to the bedroom, with perfectly shaped, bouncy red curls and a towel around my bust... and surprise surprise, Sean has somehow managed to stay asleep through my singing, my knowledge of veterinary medicine, and most importantly, through the hellish sound of my hair diffuser. What a trooper, what a heavy sleeper, I love him so much I just feel like I gotta kiss his sleepy face. Pretty hellbent on not wanting to spoil his sleep at all, but also pretty hellbent on wanting to go to that fucking casting, I silently sit down at the vanity table, and I spray myself with the most exotic perfume I own. My dad's gift from the suq in Al-Quds, aka, an intoxicating blend of oud, caramel, vanilla and notes of coconut. Hair done, smelling good as usual ... now I just gotta make myself look at least 35% decent, if I want to have a chance of getting booked for some photoshoot today. Reason why I grab my makeup case, and I ravage inside of it in search of the three, maybe four products I will have to use to do my no make up, makeup look. I don't have any face products, and honestly, I don't think I need any: I just wish I had some concealer to hide the horrible bags from under my eyes, but that's about it. I'm having a good freckle day, hundreds of little, light brown dots all over my nose and cheeks, and I have a rosey glow to myself. Pretty awesome, for someone like me who struggles with severe anemia ! Lacking concealer to save my life, and thinking that I may have to buy myself one today, among the many other things I gotta get done over the next twenty-four hours, I decide to make my whole make up look about my eyes. I inherited them from my dad, they're the only thing I actually like about myself... and now I just wanna bring them out! Reason why I grab my most trusted kajal, and I brush it well between my closed eyelids, like Fatima taught me. Then I curl my lashes, I apply a thick ton of mascara on it, and I wink at my reflection in the mirror when I see how the black contour and the sultry lashes are bringing out the bottle-like green of my eyes. Then I just brush my brows with wax, god damn me because I'm the only Middle Eastern woman with thin and light brows, and when I am pretty chuffed with the artificial arch I've given to my brows... I move on to the lips. Gotta make 'em look inflated, y'know, like any respectable, high end Middle Eastern woman. Hence I just line them in rich brown liner, I make sure to draw over my bow because I like it like that, and I use my fingertips to smear leftover liner over my fake, not fake at all lips. Not a slay, but I'm feeling quite comfortable with myself, and in and out looking not to different from how I normally do, with no makeup at all.