FATE

[Agatha LeBreun]

AGATHA MARIE LEBREUN,

TRUTH BE TOLD, I'M LYING,

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[Agatha LeBreun]

MOOD: TIRED

DEAR BLANK,

I'm dead on my feet. Apparently, arguing with mom is not my thing. Aside from that, apartment hunting is also the pits. You would think that a developed city like NYC would have something better to offer to a college student other than a one-bedroom whatever with a bathroom that's full of roaches. Um, ew? Thanks, but no thanks. I just want a place where I can crash, and study, and eat and you know, live normally. I'm through being a college student and living with my parents. I mean, I love them, but uh, hello? Independence anyone? Mom's still not entirely convinced, but after today's round, she tried to help Nona and me find something. That's progress, right?

Anyway, if any of you guys have a clue about where I could find a decent apartment, hit me up through a comment either here, or @reply me over on my twitter.com/clandestine. ORRR my SN, I'm almost always on: SHORTxLIVED. Pretty, pretty, pretty please? I don't care if it's in Manhattan, or the Bronx, it just has to have two bedrooms and a decent bathroom. Oh, and a kitchen. A good, good kitchen! Thanks!

PEACE OUT,
AGATHA MARIE

[Agatha LeBreun]

MOOD: ANGRY

DEAR BLANK,

I could rip his head off, throw it to the vultures and cackle while they peck his eyes out.

Literally.

I'm not kidding.

Who does he think he is? Were on a business contract, meaning that both of us had to be professional. But nooooo, that's not physically possible for douchebag extraordinaire. UGH. Just thinking about it makes me so angry I feel my blood curdling. Not kewl. Even with half a bowl of Nona's pasta safely tucked away in my tummy, I'm still feeling agitated. And believe me, Nona's cooking is enough to knock out zombies. It's that amazing. But this guy? This guy makes even recently squeezed milk turn sour. He's like the rotten apple of the modelling business. Well, photography business. Whatever! I don't care! ARGH!

Okay, deep breaths, Agatha. Maybe I should just chill instead of trying to document the horrid events of this day. But I need to vent too. Oh, dear, the dilemma. Bleh. Okay, so I replied to this internet ad about this guy needing some 'scene' models for a shoot. I know, it sounds dumb, considering how dangerous it could be, but save it. I already got that discourse from Nona today, no need to add yours in your comment too. Anyway, I replied, because I'm in dire need of the money, yes? Apparently, moving out implies exorbitant amounts of money that I just happen to not have, and since mom is so against the idea, she really isn't cooperating, so I can't just ask her for a loan, or whatever. Point is, I have to make money. Pronto. So I decided to reply to this ad. I mean, modelling isn't so bad if you get along with the photographer, and you can even get good pictures out of the deal. Who knows, maybe you can come out with new friends out of it too, right? All in all, not bad. I've done it before with decent results. This time around? Not so much. I figured it wasn't going to be all roses and ponies when we exchanged comments on his journal, considering he thought my Chanel bracelet was some weird kind of sci-fi movie artefact, and how he replied to me just wasn't...nice. Anyway, I still had a sliver of hope, you know? It's how the saying goes, hope is the last thing to die, so I went. It probably didn't help that I got there a little bit late, but I did manage to catch a couple of Friends' reruns before I left and stuff.

So, I get there, my hair mess, wardrobe changes in knapsack, and there are two guys inside this place. At first I got a little scared, because Nona has really made me paranoid with the kidnapping business, but I relaxed when Fredo took charge. He's this adorable gay man that I took home in my Vespa...but that's another adventure for another post that's not so madly driven as this one. I HATE LUKE SHAW! And yes, I did Google him to find out his last name, and no, I don't care if he does have decent shoots in his portfolio, because as far as I'm concerned, he's an idiot who can't distinguish the sky from his butt. There. Got it out of my system. Now I can proceed. Anyway, the shoot started, not with him being nice, but with snide remarks barreling at me from everywhere at a thousand mph, I swear. I wasn't happy, he wasn't happy, nobody was happy. Not even Fredo, and I can bet my dad's salary that he's a very jolly fellow on any normal day when he's not around Luke. Needless to say, it all ended in a fight, and I stormed out of there, not before flipping him off, which I should be ashamed of, but I'm still angry enough not to? Eh. At any rate, he mentioned that our contract stipulates he can keep shooting me until he gets the desired results. Hopefully, after this, he won't want to see me unless I'm in a black, plastic bag with a tag on my toe, and therefore won't call me back. Because I'm stupid, and left my personal info on the contract. Even my screen name. Frick.

Shoot me now.

BBYCAKES OUT,
AGATHA MARIE