EleGaNTLy wASTED

Girl of the month, November 2011

2011-11-27T17:54:40+01:00

* Agnès N @ VIVA Paris *

all pics © Mara Zampariolo

I shot these pictures of Agnès when she first arrived in Paris, back in July. I also recommended her to a couple of fellow lensmen. We are all enthusiastic about her.

Agnes impressed me right away with her amazing sense of style (she is wearing her own clothes in these shots).

When she started posing, I knew I was shooting one of these girls whose photogeny could be almost irritating, if I wasn't taking her picture !

You simply cannot get a bad picture of her.

She is so tiny and graceful in every movement, she made me redefine words like 'poise' 'femininity' and 'gosh I couldn't fit my pinkie in these shorts - not even holding my breath'.

Her face is a mix of classic features with a modern, elfish twist.

As all the dutch ladies I met so far, she is also a delight to work with.

So what's left for me to say?

Back in 1998, I thought dutch people were kinda cool because they let me stare at the same Van Gogh painting* for 3 hours in a row, before gently pushing me towards the exit.

In fact, hey most definitely are cool people, and I no longer need 'shrooms to be mesmerized by their beauties.

;)

* why did I stare at it for so long? Because I was counting the ants' .

** Yes, I am aware now these are no ants on this painting.

†

Kids: Don't do drugs, 'mk?

†

Girl of the month, October 2011

2011-11-19T20:40:48+01:00

† Valery K @ Marilyn †

all pics © Mara Zampariolo

Valery K @ Marilyn Paris

wearing photogrpaher's own Thomas Burberry black wool coat

Introducing Valery K,

17 y.o.newface from Marilyn, with some serious supermodel potential, in my opinion.

Here she is in natural light with zero makeup.

Valery is 17, from Russia, and when she showed up at my place she did.. with her mommy.

†

Here is the full story of our enconter, and of how I got my vampire ass busted despite my best effort to be more relatable.

Dr. YouDontfoolMe

or: How I learned to stop worrying and love mother Russia

Today I got to shoot another comp card for Marilyn, so I can afford my long distance - high maintenance lover and his caviar habit.

Baby girl showed up 50 minutes early, to find me brushing teeth in my pajamas, much to the horror of mother Russia in tow.

Oh, Aaaam so-wwy !

I was able to say, lathering like an epileptic

So, to make up for this terrific first impression, I decide to offer a real italian coffee with a huge smile, cookies, and make myself more relatable to mother Russia by wearing nice baby blue clothes, no studs or pins and no makeup whatsoever.

Now you tell me what am I supposed to do when pouring coffee to baby girl I hear mother Russia saying something that sounded just like

"skgrovieglieyfr naganiesckegjije ghiyriuftiyene goth fotografie ! "

†

2010-11-13T18:14:12+01:00

Hi everyone !

Today I am bringing you another pearl from my casting sessions, Ileana Bernardini @ VIVA. As always, there are only 3 rules to this project: 30 seconds, 2 questions, 0 makeup.

see more pictures of Ileana @ VIVA's website

I have incredibly high expectations for this girl; my bet is that she will be a supermodel before Berlusconi turns his latest underage slut into a TV HOst.

I'm posting two pictures I shot for her portfolio (the color one is actually her comp card) + this short video, which happens to be the very first one I've ever made.

Ileana is so versatile I just want to shoot her over and over again.

For this shot I asked Ileana to stretch like a kitty cat. What more can I say? Meow !

She starts off slow (not a morning person if you ask me: she won't say anything but Nespressoooo What Elseee? until 12,30) but once she gets it going she is going to blow your socks and your hat off.

My argentinian wonder is sexy but very editorial, she is skinny with a perfect bumbum, she is blonde yet not dumb, and she smokes so charmingly I don't even care if shooting this video I got cancer!

My portrait on Ileana's comp card

We recently worked together again for an editorial will be out next month in Milkshake Magazine.

Now, before you think that my life is all about models, parties and champagne, here's what I've been up to lately.

- I accidentally forwarded a virus to a potential client. Me, what a smart ass.

- I visited my boyfriend's family in eastern France, which involved a lot more cheese and red wine than I expected. Gotta update my clichés.

- I ate. I drank. I ate more. I drank more. I tried to decline any additional saturated fat, but granny wouldn't accept any apology.

- I made a huge Tiramisu to get even, but my boyfriend's teenage brother assaulted it at night. I returned to Paris to find my cats too got considerably fatter;

note to self: ask the person who feeds them not to, and possibly chase them around the flat with a taser.

Hold on otno your boots, hon! Don't let your bf wear them!

- My boyfriend bought me a new pair of low boots because he hated my Demonia studded ones - he said I could get into a fight with some punks in his hometown for looking like a nazi.

Now he wants to wear them, and I can't stop him because we are both an EU 40.

Next time I'll ask for some motherf**** Louboutins.

2010-10-22T00:12:25+02:00

3 rules only:

30 seconds, 2 questions, 0 make up.

...Madé @ VIVA

NOTE: in my video & pictures of Madé (and all the girls that will follow) she is wearing absolutely NO MAKEUP WHATSOEVER

I know, it should be illegal looking like that.

Ok ok, I realize last time I posted something onto this blog bleached eyebrows were IN, and I'm sorry, 'mk?

I might be older, wearing a gardenia-print burgundy knit, which of course is covered in cat's hair, which have put up a few pounds themselves, I lost most of my hair dying it in platinum blonde, had crusts falling off my scalp for weeks, then the rest of it fell off, so now I have an 8 y.o. boyscout hairdo and no time to do a washing machine, so I just stopped wearing socks altogether but guess what?

I'm back, bitches !

I started "testing" newfaces for top modelling agents here in Paris, which means taking their first shots to build up their portfolios. Some of these girls have so much potential I decided to film them in order to make all of you jealous and self conscious.

Their agent just want me to some pics (in next post I will tell you what kind of pictures they like and also what they don't like !!) but when a chick is really unforgettable she deserves a video too, before she becomes a supermodel and forgets how quirky and simple and not-a-diva-at-all she used to be when she shot her first pics @ my filthy spot here in Paris.

Here's some of my pics from what her agent picked for her book. You can see the rest of her portfolio @ VIVA's website.

To me, she is a supermodel already. Will be shooting here next week in a real editorial. Until then, I guess I'll really have to do a washing machine.

Love,

Mara

ps. Please, take a look at my new website, will ya? C'mon, I work, like, for realz. It took me almost two whole hours to do it. Seriously.

( Vintage Vixen )

2010-03-09T23:26:53+01:00

all pictures © Boris Ovini

-----> Click Onto Pics To ENLARGE ! <-----

I'M WEARING

vintage styling: Inès Fendri; accessories and jewels: Baptiste Viry;

dust and french cigarettes: courtesy of the photographer, who got me rolling on the floor and smoking

- PART 1/

WHERE MY CHILDHOOD DREAMS COME TRUE : NOW I GOT SO HOT I GET PAID TO ROLL IN DIRT

Hi everyone ('cuz someone's still checking out mi blog, 'aight?).

Today I'm posting designer Baptiste Viry's SS 2010 lookbook to make up the late "distinct lack of posts". Baptiste is talented, french, dark and tall. And no, he's not even gay.

I've only realized this by the fifth meeting, making a huge ass of myself in front of the client (him).

He designs mens accessories for women, so he picked a boyish looking model to pose for him. He eventually realized my biceps looked trannylicious on film, so he's asked the photographer to airbrush the shit outta me.

I totally dig the result.

Baptiste's work has been featured on ELLE and other magazines, and I was lucky enough to get paid to wear his stuff while tossing half nacked on the floor, as the photographer gently rubbed dust on my face.

- PART 2/

WHERE MY PRE-TEEN MEMORIES COME BACK TO HAUNT ME; I USED TO LOOK SO BAD THE TEACHER GAVE ME A COMB

The Top Models from the Nineties are back. Claudia is back; Eva is back; Hélèna is back; Naomi, like herpes, just won't go away.

Back in the Nineties, I was no top model, but you know what?

I remember my tragic first steps in the modelling industry, and I might as well share these with you, if you don't mind.

I was 16 in 1996 (I'll spare you the maths: I'm 30 now), and my mother invited a friend over for dinner. A fashion photographer, Giorgio. He was dark, tall, and not even gay. And he was the first man besides my father to tell me that I looked hot.

How could I forget?

I have reached my final height at age 12 (5' 8,5" /1,75 mt.), but my feet decided to grow faster; at the time when usually girls borrow their mother's pumps and look all cute beause they cannot walk in them, I could actually borrow my uncle's shoes, and go hiking.

My mother didn't wear heels anyway, but she looked amazing.

I remember the look on the face of men when she'd enter a room. An all-italian beauty with long, black, curly hair and hazelnut eyes, whose delicate features were covered in freckles, an whose voluptuous body gave the shape of an hourglass to any potato sack she'd wear.

As for me, I'd give the shape of a potato sack to anything she'd buy me.

The worst part is, she'd purchase mini-me versions of her own wardrobe, so I got to see exactly how much worse I made look anything she owned.

I asked her one day: "Mom? Why does this skirt look all droopy on me?". She looked past her book and she'd just whisper softly "'Because you have no hips, sweetpie".

I tried to make my hips fuller by pulling them apart with my bare hands.

Despite doing so, the largest part of my body were still my knees.

Back then, I've looked like a homeless person as long as I could remember.

My mother would buy me clothes that were too big for me "So you get to wear them longer", and I'd wear the same pair of pants until it got so short I looked like Pinocchio.

She used to braid my hair, and it actually looked cute for an hour or so. Then my thin hair would turn into a gipsy-esque do, which would have been the perfect look for asking random people for their spare change.

If I got to sleep at my fathers', he wouldn't undo my braids, so the following day I'd just go back to school with the same hairdo. My teacher gave me a comb one day.

She probably thought my parents couldn't afford one.

Then, one day in the summer of 1996, Giorgio said that I should start modelling.

Everyone laughed their heads off.

The following day, mother took me to an agency in Milan.

At Riccardo Gay, they got me waiting amongst heavenly creatures that were talking on their cell phones - which weighted more than themselves by then - looking glamorously bored.

I tried to emulate them.

I knew for sure how to look bored - hours of Latin verbs conjugation became suddenly of some use - but I couldn't grasp the fashion in it.

Pouting while applying lipstick, while crossing and un-crossing long legs, while whining on the phone, while flipping through a gossip magazine, while pointing at a picture...I've never been that multitasking, so I just sank in the sofa and tried my best to look glamorously bored until a gay, tanorexic guy came to pick me up and bring me into a dark room.

Next thing I knew, he was measuring my ass with a taylor's tape. He told my mom that I had to lose weight on my hips and buttock, if I ever wanted to start modelling.

So it turns out my hips did grow somewhere between age 12 and 16, and I wish I knew the darn day they hit the right size, 'cuz there must have been one, right?!

- PART 3/

WHERE I FINALLY GET AN AGENT, AND LEARN IMPORTANT STUFF ABOUT MODELLING

To make a long story short, I lost some weight and got myself an agency in Milan. My main booker was Ricciarda, an old, skinny lady whose only gods were Skinny, Skinnier and She Should Start Smoking, She'd Lose Some Weight.

She'd only eat bread-crumbs at lunch, so the girls nick named her Roach-arda.

The other booker was Gandhi, a gay guy who'd show us videos of top models to teach us the catwalk. He'd always fast-forward on Claudia Schiffers' part, because she walked like....

- "... a drunken milkmaid at the Oktoberfest"-

"....The Mafia's given her some concrete shoes"

- "... the runway is covered in ants, and she bet with Naomi she can crush'em all"

- "...Catwalk is actually intended for cats"

My modelling career never took off for a few different reasons, and by a few different reasons I mean I invested on a degree instead of a nosejob.

Thirteen years later I am indeed a PhD, my nose grew bigger (but that don't cost a penny) and I keep getting modelling jobs out of nowhere !

Back in 1998 nobody saw avant-garde when looking at me, but a chick with deep inset eyes, broad shoulders and an italian nose.

In 2010 I still have the same face, and on top of this I am kinda old BUT NOW with a half shaved skull and a pair of studded Docs I have unique features, my body is androginous and f**ck it, let's just face it: my nose will keep growing until I pass.

Nevertheless, I am now getting paid to wear Margiela's !

I'm currently wearing their latest runway collection, which includes 100% latex blouses, floating waistline pants, wolf fur coats and other amenities, and I intend to write a post on the life of us girls at the showroom.

They have a tradition of wild casting, and by wild casting I mean picking up from the street trannies, rockstars, punks and half-eaten bags of Cheesy Poofs.

Soon enough you'll see some pictures of my girls.

For now, don't worry: most of us are just punks.

( I'm sorry Mara, you know I love you)

( Lacey Lorraine )

2009-12-26T18:31:06+01:00

all pictures © mara zampariolo - please ask before using

-----> Click Onto Pics To ENLARGE ! <-----

LORRAINE IS WEARING:

Lace dress: vintage; Destroyed legging: Zoe's Tees; Black tunic: Agnès b; Shoes: New Look;

I am currently in Italy for Christmas Holidays, staying at my father's. This means that I am force fed far too much italian food to make any sense in English anyway. I beg your pardon.

As usual, my pictures have little to do with my writing but you know what? A slice of Panettone has enough carbs to put me in a vegetative state for hours. This is as fashionable as I can get by now. I hope you can handle it.

FUN FACTS

This morning we went to the local bar to have a Cappuccino with pastries, and I took some time to observe the Italian Bar Crowd, which included:

- The chain-fighting couple, which works as follows:

She is fighting with him --> He isn't listening because he's on the phone with his mother --> His mother seems to be reproaching him something as well --> Their poodle is trying to copulate with his leg and he's hating the fabric of his boots

- the Christ of Rio de Janeiro

Usually aged 65/85, the Christ of Janeiro is a very dangerous subject that can be found in many italian bars. He terrifies waiters and kids.

This guy enters the bar, places himself in the very middle of it, and waits a couple of minutes before deciding to take off his coat. In order to do so, he suddenly spreads his arms in a T shape, like the statue on top of Rio, managing to knock over 5 pastries, 4 expressos, 2 cappuccinos, 1 waitress and a small kid,

all at once.

Thanks him, I do believe in miracles now.

- Hoochie mama + Baby Snail

Hoochie mama was wearing barely enough fabric to clean up after her baby.

But she didn't.

Instead, she'd let her slobbering Baby Snail reach small object from the counter (candies, lollipops, sugar cubes..), suck onto them, than she'd carefully put them back where they belong to.

I didn't dare saying a thing because last time I came to Italy I witnessed a flight attendant begging a mama to curbe her son, who was decorating the front seat with a black marker.

The mother replied that by no means she'd traumatize her son by repressing his creativity.

Something tells me this young man will grow up to be the next Keith Haring.

Or just another 18 y.o. brat with a Porsche, a fake tan, and Roberto Cavalli sunglasses, but only at night. The kind of person that thinks Donatello was a soccer champion in the Middle Age, and David was his lesser talented brother (albeit quite hot).

Either one or another.

Lorraine, giving her best Margiela face.

Lorraine jumped on the red lipstick bandwagon. Me thinks bleached hair + red lips + white lace is a weapon of mass seduction.

( I am kidding you fellow italians, you know I love you )

( Métropolis )

2009-12-20T20:46:34+01:00

all pictures © mara zampariolo

(Click onto pic to elarge it. Please ask me before using my pics)

Paris, Sunday 6th, December 2009

I'M WEARING:

Destroyed T-shirt (prototype): Maison Martin Margiela; sweatear: Dries Von Noten; mens pants: Comme des Garçons; studded boots: Demonia, vintage leather blazer: Kenzo; snake ring: Estrosia; bag: vintage (Adom, Paris rue de la Roquette); scarf: Burberry;

Have you ever read "Zazie in the Subway", a novel by Raymond Queneau? The story is charming.

Zazie is a little girl who gets to spend the weekend at her uncle's in Paris, while her mama is screwing her new boyfriend.

All the girl wants is to take the underground.

Unfortunately, the subway workers are on strike, so she runs away from her uncle's apartment, angered with him and those lazy asses who "dare doing this to her".

Since I moved to Paris, they dare doing this to me all the time. When they don't, I take the subway and get to witness some interesting characters.

Click Onto Pictures to ENLARGE 'em, you Punk!

So without further ado, I bring to you my RATP Horror Picture Show

( aka: My Métro Memories )

1 - the Chinese Esthetician.

This woman sat right in front of me on line 2. First off, she cleaned up her ears with her bare hands. Consequently, she started clipping her nails.

I suggested that she'd give me a baseball glove for me to catch her biological leftovers.

She shrugged, spat on the floor, and got off.

2 - the Goth-est Employee on the Month.

I thought I checked into the RATP agency just to cancel my annual subscription. I didn't know I would get a free lecture on the following captivating subjects:

- The top ten of successful suicidal spots in the parisian subway, divided per line

- Funkiest flasher ever*

- How to to interpret the messages from the voice over.

Because you deserve to know if you must wait because of a passenger who fell ill, a technical problem, or if actually somebody threw himself on the rails and they are collecting his bodyparts.

* You want to know it, right? You sicko.

So it's a woman who wore nothing underneath her fur. She layed completely naked on the rails spreading her legs and screaming "Jesus Loves Me". They were able to rescue her. She is now maire in a small town in southern France. Not.

- Madame Le Pigeon

Pigeon Lady would carry problably the ugliest living volatile on earth in her purse. And she'd whip it out inside the train; and she'd talk to him.

"Don't worry my dear, mama is with you. They don't understand you are handicapped, humans are mean, they are worth nothing. But you, my dearest, you have a heart of gold".

The Ugliest Pigeon on Earth, standing on his only leg, nodded diagonally with his mangy, twisted neck. Moved by this precious moment, I drew my Iphone and shot'em both.

They no longer suffer.

The parisian subway is actually one of the best I've ever tried. I grew up in Milan in the Eighties and by then all we had were two lines, the red and the green one. I guess only a color blind could get lost in it.

Today I live in Paris and I ride a bycicle. Because God knows I'd rather be pedalling in the blizzard with no gloves, 10 kilos of litter hanging on each side of the handlebars, avoiding suicidal grannies while inhaling Co2 directly from your exhaust, instead of going underground ever again.

(I am kidding Métro, you know I love you)

( Pont Neuf )

2009-12-14T15:15:17+01:00

....ClicK oNTO PiCtuRE tO ENLARGE...

Friday, December 11th 2009

Paris, Pont Neuf

LORRAINE IS WEARING:

Leopard print dress: Sinéquanone; belt: Primark; lace tights: Le Bourget; low boots: Zara; furry collar coat: vintage; arlequin print scarf: H&M

Introducing my dear friend Lorraine Cassen, photo stylist and notorious shoe addict.

She will be regularly featured in this blog, modeling many of her amazing looks

Lorraine believes in bleached hair, designer sales and red wine
She also has a fashion interview in my old blog

-

Lorraine has the superpower of looking always expensive while wearing mostly vintage and small brands
I would pick this over invisibility anyday.

-

Can you believe these open toe ow boots are from Zara? Where was I at when they sold these puppies out?

(More of Lorraine's looks Coming Soon)

( Eeny-meeny-miny-moe Catch a Model by the toe... )

2009-12-09T18:44:55+01:00

....... if she vomits let her go.

Wedneday 9th, Dec 2009

@ my place, Paris 11

VICTORIA IS WEARING:

L'Oréal lipstick N.710; PIMKIE marinière Tshirt; DNA-lottery winning body and face

Today I had lunch with Victoria, my model friend. I had quinoa and veggies.

She drank my blood.

I love my model friend, even though she bites me on my neck and she makes me look uglier by comparison. Here's why:

1 - She can have my model-friendly lunch. Than also a ginourmous portion of Sicilian Cassata. Amen.

2 - She speaks in three different languages, none of which fully understandable.

She is fluent in FRENCH; I'll give her that.

She'll text you stuff that needs to be read out loud in order to be figured out. Lucky me; people pay for Sudoku books, I get this stuff for free.

"Sallut Mara, je ne jouis pas disponibble dement kar mon agent ma dit dallé me faire au moin un castingue et c'est la crème-midi alors si on se voix dimanche on yra courir aussi, on est dakkar?"

In English it would sound like...

"Hi Mara, I won't be awaylovable toomorro be-cause may agency told me to go to go-Sea in the after-moon so why don't we go running on sundae insteady? Can we have a degree on this?"

She does UNDERSTAND ENGLISH:

She nods cleverly.

She also speaks in perfect Model-Language

I do not understand a word of it, but I am positive they are planning to kill us all, we average looking people. Need some evidence?

"Uiscgi jiji siki dighitiii gusuu viini jikir atuu photo ELLE dinirujuini trikki laduiscghivikkitlii juvuschku jiguthukki lar a esijkilk Maquillage Prostitutka"

See?

I am telling you, it's that ModelTopia thing; they want to eradicate mediocrity.

3 - She will wear anything I need to put up on Ebay.

And it will be sold for more that I actually planned. PayPal bless her legs.

4 - She makes artsy videos of her grandma mumbling in ukrainian, and all you can see is a cracked wall and the sink. Priceless.

5 - She is fabulous with nothing but red lipstick and a marinière**

** euh Punky, moi j'en ai toujours pas marre !

( Come on Vika, you know I love you )

See a fashion spread I shot starring Victoria on my website

Victoria V. is represented by Major in N.Y. and by Studio KLRP in Paris.

( bAG laDy )

2009-12-05T22:54:24+01:00

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Satuday 5th, Dec 2009

Simply Market, place Léon Blum, Paris

I'M WEARING:

fitted leather blazer: vintage Kenzo; nude fishnet knit: Maison Martin Margiela, line 1; beige sweater: Dries von Noten; destroyed T-shirt: Maison Martin Margiela, (prototype, eventually didn't get manufactured in this color); draped skirt: Rick Owens; checked scarf: courtesy of Korea Airlines. Ok ok, I stole it; studded boots: Demonia; snake ring: Estrosia

(entering the aisle in a cowboy walk empowers me; seeing my complete lack of grace in still pictures a couple of hours later does not).

Going to the supermarket is one real pain in the ass*, and should not be taken lightly.

I have always managed to avoid malls if any of the following would be on my mind:

- I have 100 euros left on my bank accont, give or take 10 cents and a pack of Pringles`

- I'm high. Soon enough I'll be craving chocolate

- Somebody else will eventually take care of my cats' litterbox, right?

The problem is yesterday I couldn't come up with a decent menu using what we had left in the fridge (half a rotten onion, vinegar, capers and some Vitamin C tablets). On top of it, my cats still won't learn how to clean after themselves.

I had to go get some stuff.

I wore my shabby chic look then grasping onto a Post IT note, I headed to closest Simply Market store, in the hopes of getting out fast and unnoticed.

And by "getting out fast and unnoticed" I mean threathening the cashier with a golden foil laserbeam sword, trying all tights samples on my face, reenacting the forest sequence from "Crouching Dragon, Hidden Tiger" on shopping carts and eating white beans right out from the can.

Two hours, 99 euros and one raging headheache later we got out, and by "got out" I mean they kicked our fashionably clad asses out, i still cannot see why.

We bought a bunch of crap that was not on The Original List, which included boring items such as toilet paper and milk.

Who wants toilet paper and milk if you can get fresh salmon eggs, a bottle of Martini and a life-size Barbie doll head and torso to let out your inner tacky chinese make up artist?

So I didn't listen to anyone (Walter, the Original List, my guilty conscience speaking in Eric Cartman's voice) and I just kept packing my cart while giving my best angle to the camera and shouting directions through the racks stacked with italian Panettone:

<< I NEED MORE DETAILS MAN !!!

WHY DONT YOU TAKE A PICTURE OF ME FROM BEHIND, LIKE REALLY BOTTOM UP IN A SUPERWIDE ANGLE, AND PLEASE REMEMBER TO AIM THE AUTOFOCUS AT MY ASS OR ELSE IT WILL BE BLURRY, R U LISTENING ? >>

Here's your unwanted piece of advice of the day: Don't ever let a photograper talk you into taking his picture; you are so going to regret it.

Walter is indeed already regretting it, this but it's too late for him.

I made him sign in blood an agreement in which it is stated that I can use him as a living tripod / camera trigger to take my pictures until October 2066.

In case you are wondering no, he's not a photographer, I am one so I gotta take care of everything but "pushing the button", ( camera settings, lighting, editing and artistic direction of the shoot).

I also get to retouch myself, which is quite a moment of acceptance of my humanly imperfection, now in 21,1 Megapixel of gross details to zoom into.

That's right, since I got the my Canon 5D mark II I have 7000 more pixels to hate myself, and my external hard drive just asked me a raise.

So what's a girl to do? Check out a couple of "plastic surgery gone wrong" videos on YouTube then finally Photoshop the misery out of my face before you guys get to see that I too have pimples and an interesting nose. God forbid.

No Martini? No hangover.

No, I want the other yogurt brand, the one with all the good bacteria and stuff which are going to turn me into the flawless goddess of un-constipation.

I don't care if you have just three items, slightly bad hair day, dyslexia, your period and your dog is old and waiting for you outside in the rain. if you cut me in the line I'll cut your fingers off, bitch.

* the only worse "pain in the ass" places to go I could think of, besides the obituary of course, would be the dentist and a sunday trip to any IKEA in the world.

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