Why is Med School Mess in her underwear? (Tighty Whitey's photo shoot)

So I woke up with this rope harness still on, but it was surprisingly comfortable. When I woke up, Grrber was leaving for work. He reminded me of the uneaten shrimp (and pita!) from last night. Perfect. Breakfast.

I showered, moisturized, and got dressed for my ride to the East Side for Tighty Whitey's birthday photoshoot. His straight friend, who is a PhD/MD(/kill me) candidate, had some sick student housing: a roomy studio on a high floor with a view of the NYC skyline. The light pouring into his huge window was heavenly! I was almost an hour late, so everything was rather chaotic when I walked in from my four-avenue-block walk from the train. I set my bag down, greeted briefly, and got dressed. Everyone was asking what went with what and if they should wear this accessory or that tie or whether or not their white shirt would blend in with the white couch. It was actually a welcome break when I heard McNugget, our photographer, ask who was the tallest, calling Tighty Whitey and me over for some test shots.

Tighty Whitey: “Well, I’m not fully sure this is what I’m gonna wear.”

McNugget: “That’s ok. This is just for the frame. You don’t even have to pose or anything.”

Me (hitting an angle): “Hey, now! There’s absolutely no reason to take a bad picture.”

The shoot centered around 3 main concepts. The first was to be a sort of Velvet Mafia series billboard. The second was a fight breaking out during a game of strip poker. And in the final shot, everyone’s dead except for the birthday boy. It was supposed to be super decadent, sexy, and glam. We had some fierce hair and makeup people that really created the Mafioso look we were going for. Ernie and Med School Mess helped behind the scenes as well.

Me: “Yaaaaaaaaasss, girl! You are serving us cheek bones! Tyra would be proud!”

5-foot 8x6: “What? What's wrong with my cheek bones?”

Me: “No, I was just saying that the makeup really brought out your cheek bones. Tyra always talks about cheek bones on ANTM.”

Fifteen minutes later, 5-foot 8x6 was still freaking out about his cheekbones.

5-foot: “Do they look weird or something?”

Makeup artist, speaking softly and looking concerned: “I can tone them down if you want.”

Our call time was at 11, but we really didn’t start posing until about 1:30 or so. I was a bit worried that we might not have enough light as the day went on, but it worked in our favor, giving more of an impression of time passing between the shots. We switched places, we played with props, we gave face, and we served angles.

For the second shot (the fight scene), we were supposed to be stripping down. I was assigned to be punching 5-foor 8x6 in the face while Tighty Whitey hit me over the head with a bottle. 5-Foot 8x6 flask was spilling off the table, and Urban Sprawl was lying under the table drinking the spilling “liquor” while BRITney pulled him by the leg. We shot everything separately to be comped together in one frame, but McNugget had us shoot all together as well.

For the final shot, we got stripped down and bloodied up. The bruises the makeup artists did were surprisingly realistic, and Urban Sprawl talked about keeping his makeup on for the night. We draped ourselves in various positions of mortality as McNugget coached us.

McNugget: “Guys, I need more face from you. You’re supposed to be dead, but like…”

Me: “Versace ad dead?”

McNugget: “YES! Give me Versace ad dead. And BRITney, turn your head towards me more… more… okay, now make your neck go limp… more limp… no, turn towards me…”

5-foot 8x6 and BRITney had reservations about taking their shirts off. 5-foot left a tank top on while BRITney took hers off and draped herself over the arm of the chair face down. In the middle of this shot (with many adjustments, which left me lying on my back long enough for joints to start hurting), 5-foot stood up.

5-foot: “Wait, am I the only one with my shirt still on? Should I take it off? Is the picture balanced? I don’t wann—“

Me, hissing through my teeth: “You’ve had your shirt on this whole time, and it’s been fine. We’re almost done, so get the fuck back on the ground.”

Another 5 minutes, and we were done with the shoot (and a bottle of vodka).

McNugget: “Why is Med School Mess in her underwear?”

MSM: “Why not! I’m joining in on the fun!”

Me: “Aaaaaaaand she’s wasted!”

It took another 45 minutes or so to pack up everything and make the apartment presentable (including 20 minutes of fumbling with the vertical blinds Ernie had taken down). And someone had gotten fake blood on the white couch.

I had a huge bag of clothing options, so I hopped in McNugget’s boyfriend’s car since they were going to Harlem via the FDR.

Mrs. McNugget (slightly panicked): “Which way do I go? They all say bridges!”

Me: “Take the Harlem River Drive.”

Mrs. McNugget: “But it says George Washington Bridge on the sign.”

Me: “Ok, now we’re going on the Triboro. What up, Bronx.”

We ended up taking a scenic tour of Astoria, stopping for gas, and taking the 59^th st bridge back into Manhattan (so basically back where we started). But, it was easier than dragging my bags on the subway, so I kept my damn mouth shut.

Did I mention that Tighty Whitey had a gay party in his building that night hosted by a guy he met on Grindr (and that all of his friends were performers!)? Did I mention there was boxed wine and a pink gorilla suit? Yeah.

Click here to check out the first photo shoot I did with McNugget.

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Photos borrowed from Tighty Whitey's and McNugget's Facebook profiles. They're amazing without the blurring!