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VOTE FOR ME HERE! to be the first PLUS SIZE MODEL for American Apparel!

Tessa's Comin' Home!

I wanted to thank everyone that donated to the fund I put up on my blog earlier this week! It only took 5 hours and we reached the goal! I am still in 
shock and feel so blessed!


I have officially booked my flight and am on a flight midday tomorrow to NYC, where most of you know I reside permanently.

I feel so blessed that even after the funds were raised generous offers by friends and loved ones kept rolling in. I feel like I don't deserve you all in my life but I hope to one day do something like this for someone else when I have the means.

This week, besides the wretchedness, has really shown me the love that surrounds me. 

Thank you so much again!


  

Get Tessa Home!

Hi Everyone,

I am writing to you all to help with a little situation that has arrived over in London. I decided to stay for another week for business opportunities that presented themselves while I was here. Tomorrow is my meeting and I was hoping to get home by Friday. But due to financial situations I won't be able to leave on Friday unless I raise a small amount of money. Especially with the new riot developments over here, I would love any contributions that could help me get home sooner.
Below is a link to how you can help! $1 or $5 or $20. Anything would help!



Thank you so much! Love you all!

An actual letter I wrote to Boyfriend, drawings and all

When I became super famous you could just live off me and play your jazz music but you would have to be prepared for the consequences of living with someone as famous as me.

  

Like you have to deal with my drama. I know what you’re thinking, “I already do” but real problems like the probable cocaine addiction I am sure to acquire and the groupies that will constantly be wanting to have sex with me. I won’t be able to help it and I will have no choice, nor anymore control over my own decisions, that’s why I’ll have a manager, agent, and producer. That’s right, a producer for my life. My Life Producer. My mom will probably stake claim on that one but this guy will be the one calling the shots, so basically I won’t have to anymore, which will be awesome. At some point my mom would want me to make a decision and then I would have to back hand her (like I would do to all my servants) and remind her why I keep a roof over her head and a horse for her to ride.

So having a non-relative as my Life Producer would just be better all around. I’m too tired to make decisions now, just think about how I’ll be when I’m famous? No. It’s settled. After famousity comes I will no longer be making decisions for myself. I’m glad I decided that.

One thing thing I am glad I decide---I love you sugarlump sexyman muffin doodle noddler fulumperarsaours!

Love Tessa

So long, farewell, adi-do-da-da dee-ee

Today I’m going to chop off my hair six inches.

It’s been three inches below my collar bone for years now and it’s time.

Some people tend to chop it off when they go away to college. Some when they (finally) graduate college. And others, like me, when they feel a change coming.

I did not instigate this. I would never. My agent did. But unlike instances before this when someone has made the suggestion, I didn’t cower away in disgust. I thought wholeheartedly about it. Considered the pros and cons, as I am one to do, and agreed. It needs to come off.

It needs to come off because I feel confident in me now.

Before my hair was a sanctuary that I hid behind. Yes I smile nice, my lips are full and I have nice skin. But my hips are baby baring and my boobs could be bigger.  So I had my hair. It’s a perfect combination of not too long or short, not too thick or thin. It’s a great head of hair. It takes color well and will adjust to any style willingly so I was confident in it when sometimes that pimple just couldn’t be covered up or that fever blister just wouldn’t go away. My hair had my back, literally and figuratively.

But I don’t need it anymore. I like my hips and my proportionate boobs. I like the way I can wear a pencil skirt like they are suppose to be worn and that I am actively preventing pimples and fever blisters at all times simply by not worrying about them.

According to my agent it will square out my jaw and broaden my shoulders (which evidently are excellent napping shoulders for friends but horrible sloping slopes for clothes to hang on).


I don’t need it. I don’t want it.

It’s coming off today. I might lose my job because the salon is going to take forever, I just know it. But hey, live life. Lose your job,  you can find another one. Cut your hair, it’ll grow back.

My short hair will be me just as much as my long hair has been. And heck, I can always fall back on the fact that I have an awesome guy that loves me no matter what length my hair is,  though he constantly asks me to go brunette. Which is just blasphemy.

Beards Beards Are So Fun, Beards Beards I Want One!

I went to Williamsburg for the first time on Saturday night. Everyone is very excited about this place. It is so cool. So hip. The place to be. The place to live. The place to drink and be merry.

Yet, the only conclusion I could gather as to why everyone is so enthralled by this place is that everyone, and I mean everyone, has a beard.

From my conclusion, I happened to also conclude that Williamsburg itself must have a beard.

And like the gods before it, human worshippers have come to emulate the wonderful wonder that has captured their attention and the awe-factor that controls their decision making abilities. Hence, all the bearded faces in Brooklyn.

Now, you all might be wondering whether all faces in WB are covered with hair. And of course the answer is no. Most of the women take it upon themselves to only marry, date, or lust a bearded man to show tribute to WB. Though, there must be some rogue, feminist women out there who need not a man to prove their love and don a scruff/peach effect to warrant not only attention but respect. Which we do, scruffy/peachy women. We most certainly do.

Let us count and ultimately judge harshly the men I came in contact with that happen to be sporting a bearded extravaganza. 

There was of course the ‘Swedish’ man (I say Swedish only because of his stripedy shirt, which is why we called him Stripedy all night. Not to his face mind you, behind his back, like the ladies we are) that roughly opened the bathroom door while my friend was merely trying to make her way out. He had no want of business but the business that he already had. His is what we call in the biz a teet. He hasn’t really committed to the beard but may or may not shave in the next couple days, giving the illusion that it just so happens he can grow this somewhat underbrush of hair on his facial region. He’s teetering back and forth. He is a teet.

This man was not alone in his beard strutting. His lover companion was sporting the illusive but always revered Red Beard. All you can do in a situation with a Red Beard is to look from afar and admire. Which we did, ever so cunningly. Well, we believe we were cunning…..he did keep looking at us…..but that might be because we kept pelting him with ice cubes so he would turn around so we could look at his beard. But I bet he didn’t notice. Yeah, he didn’t notice.

There was a lull for a moment where we believed that we had seen all the beards we would see that night but we should not have counted our chickens so early my friends. Oh no. There was more to come. We moved from our seats near the door to an opening at the bar itself so that we could further entice men to buy us drinks. (by the way, if you didn’t think that was what we were doing in the first place you don’t know me well enough and should stop reading immediately. Go out by the book, I Am The Awesomest written by me about me, read it, and come back and continue reading). Moving on.

That is when Bar Minimum Man happened upon us. Now BMM had hidden himself amongst a PFM, Pale-Face-Mob. This mob was a strange phenomenon to me. All were men but one lady, who seemed to belong to none of them in particular. Perhaps they were all after her? Perhaps they were all with her? Oh yes, I’m throwing it out there that perhaps this PFM was actually an OJWTH, Orgy-Just-Waiting-To-Happen. But who knows? Not I, certainly.  

Anywho, Bar Minimum Man came stumblingly up to the bar and proceeded to ask the bartender what else? What the bar minimum was and began to order drinks. That’s when my friend spotted it. His beard. It was full and on his face. She’s a quick one, she is. She then began to inquire about his facial hair and from her questioning something miraculous happened. He let us feel it. Oh yes. He claimed to be the bearer of the softest beard in WB. And by all accounts he was telling the truth. It was a glorious moment and one I will not quickly forget. However, the best was yet to come. A present left behind BMM was that though he ordered so many drinks, his friends were ready to go to another bar and he left them behind. This leads me to believe that if you touch a beard, you get free shots of Jameson and a pint. It’s the only logical conclusion one could make.

Now I am not claiming to be the expert on beards here or anything but I was truly shocked by the next phase of my story. There was a man at the bar that shockety shocked us with his beard, in that, we didn’t notice it for quite some time. That’s right my fellow chickedies. The Bartender himself had a beard! Here’s how I remember it: we conversed with Bartender. We took shots with Bartender. We bought drinks from Bartender. And it wasn’t until late into the night when we began to note how intoxicated we were, that we grasped that Bartender was not only a beard bearer himself but a secret beard bearer! The way I see it is somehow Bartender (Cavin was his name, by the way, though we called him Gavin all night until he emphasized it by making a “C” out of his hand for our sauced eyes and belted as loud as he could for our equally as sauced ears to realize he was making a “C” sound and shape, not a “G” sound and shape…I’m over 21, I promise)

had played the game superbly and only brought out his bearded magnificence when it suited his hand. He had let us become infatuated by all the surrounding beards but as they all dissipated into the background and/or street to stumble home, he had saved his poker face, quite literally, for the tenth inning (please note the mix of poker/baseball metaphors here, you’re welcome).

After gloating his beard in front of us and making our eyes and ears water, out of nowhere, he abruptly began to ignore us. It wasn’t until later that I realized he was being out bearded by the gentleman behind me. He saw his opponent, turned tail and ran. As I turned ever so slightly to my left, I saw it: the fluffiest and wizened beard of them all. Three inches long and gray as a dark sky on a rainy day, The Regular had entered the playing field.

Who would have guessed he would be my downward spiral for the night? The Regular, mind you, was an older gentleman, fifty five to sixty I’d say, that seemed to weirdly be hitting on me? I amused myself by openly telling him I had Boyfriend and though he was completely surprised, ouch old guy, he was not deterred. It was as if he knew I couldn’t turn around and begin talking to my friends, who seemed to have thrown me over board into no man’s land with the oldest beard around, so he started telling me his life story, starting from when he was a child. A CHILD!?!?!?!?

But I took it. I listened intently and sympathized with his childhood issues and never wandered into my own head……and wondered what could be living in his beard…A menacing hobbit?....A juggler? Would he know? Would he care?.....and Being the only Girlfriend out of us, I felt I needed to take this one not only for my friends but for all the single ladies there that night.

I caught a couple mouthed “thank you’s” as I was leaving the bar, which made me feel like I had just volunteered at a slut home and all the sluts were thanking me for so they could have a chance at bat with all the youthful beards around. I felt like a momma hen mixed with a little bit of pimp with a touch of goddess. You’re welcome sluts of WB, you’re welcome.

And so it goes lovely peeps. Though I’m not entirely sure what I learned from this night except that I am still infatuated with beards and I guess now I know where to find them. That could be a witty yet educational lesson I may have learned. But I still think it’s always important to remember that if you follow your hearts you will find what you need and most likely it's a beard.

all the example you need:

While working on another piece, I thought I would share this....

My LOVING mother asked me to reconsider the trip I want to take to Europe in July to possibly work as a model. She was concerned about the political unrest and the hostile environment that I may be subjecting myself to if I was to travel to England and Belgium.

Though I am one to take people’s opinion and whole heartedly try to see their side of an argument or discussion, I simply could not do anything other than send my poor mother this…

Me: By my calculations...I am WAY more worried about you.

LOVE YOU MOM!

IPhone Techniality

I have decided to start having an affair with my Iphone.

Techniality (technology+beastiality=techniality), not to be confused with technically which is what autocorrect believes I meant and though I usually defer to the almighty power that is autocorrect, what I am attempting to do is called tech-ni-ality. No “c”.

Even though I may seem to be gloating my new found flame, I am not proud of the fact that, only purchased a couple of days ago, I have replaced all emotional feelings I had for my Boyfriend with an obsessive, unnatural need to be with my Iphone at all times.

You snooze you lose, Boyfriend. You live 1600 miles away? You’re going to lose my love to something that lives in my pocket, purse, and occasionally my bra. You can’t win. You simply can’t.

I used to bemoan the people that would be on their Iphone nonstop. If they weren’t on it, they were holding it. If they weren’t holding it, they were talking about it. If they weren’t talking about it, they were having dreams about it climbing a high tower to rescue it from the evil dragon that had no data plan or Apps.  

(I seriously just checked my Iphone in the middle of writing this blog without even noticing.)

But NOW! Now the world is at my finger tips. Fingers that are finding the perfect balance between a swipe touch and a texting touch; learning the insider tricks to conserve battery and the expert way how to play Angry Birds; how to search for that perfect App that you didn’t know you could live without 15 minutes prior and how to be snooty to your non-smart-phone-having friends.

The night I bought it, I will always remember how I didn’t have a case for it yet so I took off one of my gloves in 20 degree weather, slipped it inside the cottony blackness, and put it in my pocket so it wouldn’t get dirty. Oh the memories!!!

I sleep with it, I bathe with it, I eat with it. It’s my constant companion.

(I just checked it again).

It’s me and my Iphone for all eternity. I love it.

As Taylor Swift’s “You Belong With Me” starts to play softly in the background, while you see a ragged picture of Iphone and me swinging on the old porch swing at our old ranch in Newt county and there is a audible sigh from the audience as we fade to black.  

AAAwwwwww

I know, sugar dumplings, I know.

It’s a love story for the ages, Iphone and I. For the ages…