Today is blast from the past day. I downloaded Adium and signed on both my AIM accounts at the same time. Apparently I hadn't signed onto the older one in a long time. My very first serious boyfriend ever signed on and we chatted on and off for much of the afternoon.

Much later in the afternoon I returned to my computer and saw this message from an account I didn't recognize,

"Good even, Miss Wren. You don't know me but your other persona and I went to the same community college years back. We were very good friends back then, until she transferred to [college redacted ;)] and haven't heard from her since. It was until a few years ago that her name accidentally popped up on the internet. Since then, I've been keeping tabs on her through your website and your two portfolio sites. That's how I came across your AIM account.
I guess she's not so thrilled about reminiscing about her days a [community college also redacted] especially with all the … “drama” and stuff she had been through during that time. All I want to say is that I'm glad to hear she's doing alright for herself and that she continue living out her life; happy, safe, care-free, joyful, and loving. If she ask, tell her this is from a tall, dark, and shady character with an unforgetable voice. Tell her...that I miss her a lot.
I apologize for any inconceivable Miss Wren, and I wish you well throughout the rest of your modeling career. "

It looks like the person doesn't speak English as a first language, but the only person who I know at the college who was ESL was a woman from Egypt. I have suspicions of who it is, but I don't really know what to say to the guy. For me community college was a long time away* and I don't really remember any detrimental drama, just acting out from a bunch of kids who were chronologically adults before their emotions and minds caught up. I just. What a strange message. I don't even know what to say.

*not in years, but in who I was then and who I am now.

And how weird is that, "you don't know me, but your other persona does" Who am I, Twoface? True, this is my stage name, not my real name, and I'm probably different in real life (I don't wear makeup, I'm shy, I wear men's shorts) than I am "at work" but I mean, it's not like you're going to tap me on the shoulder and I'm going to go all Poltergeist and say, "Isobel isn't here right now."

*wild eyed*

There is no Isobel, only Zuul!

Okay, so that "Buddhist" guy who I reamed a new one the other day? Despite my assertions that he not contact me anymore he wrote me a letter through MySpace. I rolled my eyes and deleted it. As I was blocking him I realized that his profile is Turdzilla.

For those of you understandably unfamiliar with "Turdzilla", he's the guy who got kicked out of GWAR and decided to start his own band, Turdzilla, in which he waddles around in a giant foam rubber suit shaped like a piece of poo (complete with over-sized corn and peanuts embedded in it). I had never heard of him until he wrote me on MySpace (three years ago) and asked me to be one of his "nurse dancers". For something less than 50 bucks a night I would escort him onto the stage (apparently a huge foam rubber shit suit is hard to move around in!) and then dance in a sexy nurse costume on stage for the rest of the show. He stated that I'd have to "interact" with him during some songs. When I pressed for details of the "interaction" he told me that it "could be as mild or wild as you want!" [copied from the original email]

In the end, I decided that the humiliation of being an escort to a seven foot tall piece of rubber poo (and of such acts inevitably being taped and ending up on the internet and in promotional material) would not trump the nightly 50$ and I told him I wasn't comfortable with his project at that time and would let him know if things were to change. Another factor in my decision was that a man kicked out of a band whose acronym stands for, "God What Awful Racket" makes certifiably terrible music....which I didn't want to listen to every night.

So. To sum. The man who [presumably] makes his living parading around in a seven foot poo suit thinks that what I'm doing has "fuked" me up, is mad that I've done "porn" and thinks that I can solve everything by becoming a Buddhist like him.

I'll give you a second to let that sink in.

...

Also in this crop of emails were a few from a "tiny dicked toilet slave" in which he offers me an all expense paid summer in his Italian villa in exchange for "experimenting" on him whilst he waits on me hand and foot. Of course, included in this would be his toilet slavery, which means that he is rewarded for good behavior by being allowed to eat everything that comes out of my rear end. Preferably direct from the source.

Yes. I had to google it to learn what he meant. Even afraid that I knew from the mere words themselves what a "toilet slave" does I still required mind bleach when the results came up. Reactions; Ew dude. Not healthy. How does one even take it "direct from the source? Wouldn't your breath like, permanently stink? and. There is a reason, "eat shit" is an insult.

In one of his letters he goes on in graphic detail about how he imagines my excrement. While it's nice having someone appreciate me so much that even my droppings are, "ambrosial" I don't think even a free summer in Amalfi could balance out having to poop in someone's mouth.

Today's email sponsored by the word, "Poop"

So I was in a lousy mood this morning. A shoot canceled on me, his mother in law died, so I couldn't really ask him to pay my cancellation fee (what kind of ogre does that?) but I'm in the hole for this trip now and I was feeling shitty. ....then I got a nasty email from some holier-than-thou douche. They say to exercise when you feel down, and I've got to say nothing cheers you up like the physical exertion of ripping someone a new asshole. I feel great now!

*Note, in his email, he's referring to the post on my personal pay site where I apologize for the temporary discontinuing of updates, as I've been having, "personal/mental health problems". On one of my modeling profiles I wrote that I've been having health problems due to a sudden reaction to my birth control implant. And that's all I've said publicly, so you can understand how this makes him an expert on me.

His email:

U must learn to disappoint people-your idiot generosity has fuked u up-wake up!

Hi Isobel,
i have watched your progression into hell over the last three years. First let me say i DO NOT want to take your picture, nor meet you or want anything from you now. I am a Buddhist am i am reaching out to you to offer a sane voice by email that you can communicate with.
You must learn to disappoint people. I think you put yourself in a horrible situation and got tortured because of your willingness to please which caused your complete mental brakedown.I imagine this did mess with your head and still on your blog you are saying,"sorry to disappoint you".
You fuked up fueled by easy money and put yourself into some sort of hell realm. there is always a way out of this so don't lose hope say NO to this lifestyle, you already closed that easy door of the town to town nerdy nudey traveling thing even if you don't realize this yet.
here is what a Rinpoche has to say about IDIOT GENEROSITY:

...super long quote removed...

So really wake up gal, you have tasted your own personal hell now and its time for a fresh start. get out of this shit and start over, reinvent yourself, but not in a "take my picture" sort of way.
If you want to talk i can help as buddhism is about overcoming mental distress and stopping personal suffering. there are no GODS in Buddhism, its about your own mental landscape and i could be of some service. i never want to meet you personally, just so you know I want nothing from you but to help.
dave.

My reply:
"Dear" Dave,

You are an idiot and an asshole who can't even spell or punctuate correctly. How on earth do you ever expect someone to take your shitty, inappropriate, unsolicited critiques well if you can't even write?

I only have a few things to say to you and I'm only going to say them once before I block your address, so let's hope you read better than you write.

First of all, you don't know a damned thing about me so you cannot even begin to presume to judge me or my mental condition. You know "Isobel Wren", my stage persona, who is only a partial construct of the real me. It just so happens that my mental disorder has nothing to do with modeling. It's a long term, managed condition that I have had ever since I was a child (which flares up from time to time, especially when I lose my health insurance and can't afford to pay for the medication temporarily). Why on earth you'd just assume that I'd had a mental breakdown is beyond human understanding. You had no evidence to go on and it is callous and cruel for you to presume to know.

Secondly, don't presume that you know what I would like and dislike. The phrase, "one man's trash is another man's treasure" applies here. You say you've been watching my career for three years. Isn't it possible that you've been watching me advance, get more opportunities in my chosen field and grow? Isn't it likely that if I keep getting farther in, I've chosen and in fact enjoy this field and the direction I've gone in? Modeling and acting is hard work and there are few opportunities. I've fought hard for every step I've taken "into hell". Clearly I want to be here. The only deception taking place here is in you. In your own language, "wake up"! You're an even bigger asshole than I thought you were if you're simply watching me, hoping that I, "[progress] into hell" and I suspect that nobody on the planet could be that big of an asshole, so we both know what you were really doing whilst watching me. I suggest you get some therapy for this desire you have to trash those who you are attracted to.

Third, "I'm sorry to disappoint you" is called good customer service. It's like, "I'm sorry for the inconvenience", not some proof of a non-existent mental deficiency, you presumptive asshole.

Lastly, it's funny, but I don't remember seeing, "write an unsolicited critique of a total stranger's lifestyle and mental health" in the tenets of Buddhism when I studied them. I'm sure that the righteousness of the eightfold path does not include being self righteous. I believe that the Judeo-Christian Zealots have that under control and I'm very sad to see you bringing self-righteousness into one of the most humble religions.

Never do this to anyone again, it's not 'helpful', it's 'holier-than-thou'
Isobel

Tags: asshole, critique, he deserved it, isobel wren, mental breakdown, mental problem, modeling

From Mayhem, subject, "I" body of the email, "Love your work like a fat kid loves chocolate cake."

It's from a male model, so I am not going to respond but it was funny, though totally not right, and I had to share it.

My "no interaction with male models" rule comes from the unfortunate fact that every single male model (except the one gay one) who I have interacted with has tried to have sex with me. They write and say, "Hi there, I'm looking to get some couples shots in my portfolio, I think our looks go well together." or, "I have some contacts who like your look, they'd like to take some couples shots of us." I used to respond, "Oh that's great! Who is the photographer and what is the compensation?" If they have a photographer, that person is usually mediocre (There have been two times in my history when the photographer was good. I agreed to the shoot and immediately regretted it). With males in internet modeling the supply far outstrips the demand, the compensation for an unsolicited male model shoot is Trade for Print (or TFP, meaning images only, no money).

If I then express interest in the shoot I mention that I need more commercial images (stuff you'd see in a magazine ad or on TV, "girl with puppy", "businesswoman in hallway", "happy couple at park") and then inquire after the photographs that the photographer and male model need. After all, a trade shoot means that everyone gets what they want from the images.

He will then ALWAYS respond that either he or the photographer want nudes. It's usually "artistic couples nudes" but occasionally it's "erotic couples nudes" The difference being that artistic is anything from, "Let's see how a male body and female body look in the same frame" to, "These people are snuggling or having breakfast together, or laying in bed" and erotic nudes always are supposed to look like we're having sex.

I will tell him that I'm uncomfortable doing nudes with male models and that I'm not the model for him.

The male model will then say, "You're perfect for this shoot that I want to do. I don't want you to feel uncomfortable. I know that comfort levels are important when working together! How about we meet each other beforehand? Say I take you for dinner? We should get drinks too. I can pick you up if you need a ride! And of course I'll cover the tab. Purely business, so that you can get to know me before we shoot nude together. We've got to be comfortable, and have some chemistry together, after all."

As an ecologist I am well aware that "the exception IS the rule" so I hate to say that this happens every time without fail....but it has been my experience that it does. So think me a heartless bitch, but I am here to work, not to go out on dates with male models who want to have "chemistry" when we get naked together.

So, like everyone who has an attractive woman as an avatar, I get a lot of random mail on myspace. The great majority of it seems to be from people who lack punctuation or shift keys. Looking at one of these emails this morning it occurred to me that perhaps these men are not stupid and lazy, but are instead beat poets. How many different ways can you read this missive?


"how you i like to know you tony my name"

how you
i like
to know you tony
my name

how
you i like
to know you
tony
my name

how you
i like
to know you
tony my name

how you i like
to know you
tony my name

If you fuss with it enough it becomes like the love child of e e cummings and beat poetry. I am seeing open mid night, a hot, soulful young African American woman in a flowy printed top with a gold torque around her neck, short dreads pulled back from her face with a wide scarf. With her eyes closed she chants these lines, crooning, snapping a finger and stomping the opposite foot to keep time. Her face catches the glow of the spotlight while she, enraptured, finishes, in her smoky voice, "TONY....MY NAME." The house maintains an appreciative silence for a moment before a respectful snapping of fingers from the crowd prompts her to slowly open her eyes, smile shyly, and step down.

So you know how when you get into a repetitive kind of thing even when you get bored you can't stop because it's almost trance-like? Yeah. I'm stuck on my MM email right now. I've winnowed down 76 pages of email to 45.

Can't. Stop.

I found two emails that spark great stories for the possible future memoirs. Here's one of them.

"Hi, Isobel,


How would you like to ride a flaming, flying dragon?

It would be done using green screen techniques and a virtual reality dragon model.

There's more...!

Please give me a telephone call < > so we can discuss photoshoot ideas and details.

I would prefer to speak with you direstly rather than through impersonal and inefficient computer communications.


Thanks a bunch,

*name*"

So, dutiful model that I am, and intrigued by the "flying flaming dragon" idea (nerd) I called him.

Oh.
My.
God.

You know how when someone is a little out there or kind of weird we're like, "oh man, he was crazy" and we don't really mean it? Yeah. This guy was actually, legitimately crazy...and coming from me who has had a serious mental disorder since 19 or 20, that means a LOT.

The call starts out fairly normal, but within a few sentences I realized that this guy was not of this planet any more. It was so fascinating to see THIS level of crazy from a rational-sounding person who was allowed access to technology like the internet and a telephone. For the rest of the phone call and the rest of the week I found myself thinking that if he had revealed that he was really from Earth 3 and not our Earth 1 that would have made sense.

Now, I am a scientific person, but I'm not all up on the most recent scientific breakthroughs, so when he started telling me (using very real, actual scientific words) about the latest in VR technology it sounded interesting and I listened. I asked him some very pointed questions because the items and technology he was talking about weren't commercially available (at that time) and I wondered how he could have been using them. He told me that he was a physicist and computer engineer who had retired and was now working on computer and VR stuff. This also made sense. I asked him what he'd worked on in his career (because I LOVE physics), and he started talking about how he worked on some regular physics stuff, some chaos theory stuff, satellite tech and the he started talking about how he worked on some new scientific breakthroughs .....that haven't been made yet.

His terminology and lingo were all correct, but he was talking about breakthroughs that we're years away from making. The items that he was telling me he was using to make his photos have just now been released, two years later. This guy was talking about things that wouldn't happen for years but using then-current events for his examples, like finding Saddam with the satellite that he'd been a part of programing. My own mental disorder reacted to his by going, "well clearly this all makes sense because we are talking to someone from the future." and so I stayed on the phone with this lunatic for HOURS chatting idly about breakthroughs in science from the future as though we were simply 7 years or so ahead.

I am not a phone person, so every 20 minutes or so I would try to get off the phone and he would say something else that would twerk me back into the conversation. It was like being in the black hole of crazy. A few times I could hear a female voice in the background. She sounded worried and was clearly begging him to get off the phone. In the end he decided that he would hire me for several days to create this dragon shoot of his for which he would pay me a generous sum of money. I never heard from him again....and I'm fairly sure that I'm glad that I haven't.

Do you want to know something REALLY weird? He's still online. Still active as a photographer. He has some pretty cool "hot girls in nature" photos, but no flying, flaming dragons, and all the models look sort of worried.

Randy, you should post another update to the email war.

I mention this because Model Mayhem, the site that is taking over the internet modeling world, but is a tad difficult to navigate has just added a functionality that allows me to keep track of emails like the other modeling site does....MM is SO going to kick OMP's ass now. So of course I have to go through all the email that I have gotten through MM and categorize all of it.

The email system that they have stacks your mail chronologically so it's super easy to miss a message (which I do all the time). Some of the messages I'm looking at I've never seen the end of the correspondence or the email at all (this exchange being one of the former).

I'd posted a casting call for trade content for my site. I was looking for someone who had a website, preferably a website with explicit nudes so that we could both get content we could use and trade exposure. A photographer responded, but he didn't have a very developed portfolio, no website links and no nude photos on his portfolio at all. I wanted to see some samples of his nudes, to see if he could shoot them. I responded to his, "I'm interested in your casting call" message with:

"Hi there,

Thanks for your interest in my casting call. However, you have no nudes in your portfolio. Are you sure that you're interested in shooting some? I like your work but I don't want to bring you over to 'the dark side' unless you're sure that you want to do it.

Isobel"

Normally when someone writes me but has no nudes in their portfolio they've written from their work safe portfolio or something like that. In other words, they DO shoot nudes, but don't post them for whatever reason. Hence my political reply and not, "send me nude samples" so that I didn't bust him in front of his wife/coworkers/mom who didn't know about the nudes. I fully expected him to write me back with samples of his nude work, but this is what he wrote back instead;

"Isobel,

Good point. I had never thought of it like that before. Thank you!

*name*"

Ten medical facts about Isobel Wren:

1)I suffer from often debilitating chronic heartburn that doctors are at a loss to treat but enjoy running up bills looking at.

2)I can roll my tongue, taste that one chemical that only people of European decent can taste, and can also taste and smell a chemical that very few people can detect at all when it is injected into them. I am a genetic freak.

3)I got chicken pox as a child and loved every second of it. For some reason I totally got into the itching and the disgusting scabs. My mom was so grossed out. Since I was the first kid in the neighborhood to get it, all the other moms brought their kids over so that they'd get it too. I was thrilled to be a disease vector. I became totally megalomaniacal about it (which also freaked my mom out).

4)Also as a kid I contracted a strange, antiquated disease that no doctor in the Washington DC area had ever seen before (they thought they cured it like, 10 years before I was born). It slowly paralyzed me and would have killed me had my mom not finally found a doctor who knew what it was.

5)I have excema, but only in my scalp, eyebrows and immediately under my nose, the latter only when I'm stressed out. I was once totally unable to convince a potential lover that the excema under my nose wasn't proof of genital herpes.

6)I have been hospitalized for mental illness once. Overnight. At the time it wasn't cool, but now it's kind of funny.

7)I have a "hairy nevus" that's a big honking mole that hair grows out of (which I promptly shave). I should have it removed, but so far I haven't.

8)It is so hard to puncture my veins with a needle to draw blood that the nurse at my student health services would cry when she saw me coming. I am not making that up.

9)I have never broken a bone, but I've chipped my right ankle and splintered a portion of my lower left jaw in a bike accident. You can see the scar on my jaw if I smile really big or squinch up my lips. It's a little line/pucker under my chin.

10)After having "too many" teeth my entire life I was told that my wisdom teeth did not need to be removed. Three erupted successfully on their own (but for a bitch of a headache on the first one, no wonder babies cry about that shit!) but the fourth dropped its roots into the nerve on my jaw. One morning I found myself in intense pain, unable to open my mouth. I was glad to learn that I hadn't gotten lock jaw, but the tooth did get infected and required several rounds of drugs before it could be removed. Between the infection and the subsequent surgeries it was nearly two months before I could open my mouth.

And one more just for good measure; I had braces for 5 years. My orthodontist told my parents that my mouth was just too small to straighten all my teeth and that, "If I make her lower teeth totally straight, the gums will recede so much that her lower front teeth will just fall right out of her head". This terrified me and I immediately took off my retainer in refusal to let my teeth "fall right out" of my head. Turns out that this would not have happened, and now I must save up money to foot a second set of braces to fix what terrifying visuals ruined.

I totally just wrote this entry about how RK Milholland isn't playing the war of the fanmails game anymore so I was going to go ahead and play with myself ;) and then he posted a new war of the fanmails. This fanmail holds no candle to his but I've already put it here and editorialized on it so hmph. I lose again. Maybe I'll post a second one in an attempt to keep up.;

Dear Isobel,

How did I settle on you? With all the porn in the world, why you? Good
question. Honestly, I'm really not into the caging and transporting of
women between kennels, you know, with enemas up their asses and shock
treatment collars around their necks. Your thing, maybe. Not mine. No.

*Not that I've ever DONE this, being caged and carried with an enema and/or shock collar. but okay, go on*

However, after you so GRACIOUSLY allowed me into your free yahoo
web group the other night, one photo set you had posted quickly caught
my eye-- Humiliatrix.com.

*a)I don't run my yahoo group and it says so on the group. b)All adult groups must age verify their members, hence members must be approved first. c)I didn't post the photos from Humiliatrix and it says so on the photos*

Ah yes, Humiliatrix. Domination, prissy little princesses, butt
worshiping, butt kissing, butt sniffing, this site has it all. So,
today I take the big plunge: I join. At 34 bucks a pop, that's a
pretty big investment for a 28 year old poor grad student like me.

*It's a site about point of view humiliation and financial domination. Of COURSE the price is high, that's part of the fetish. You're trying to make me feel sorry for you? I don't feel sorry for you because you indulged in your fetish.*

So there I am in the thick of it, Humiliatrix's members homepage. I
check out the blonds, I check out the girls with buck teeth, I
check out the girls who aren't quite pretty enough
to make the
first 2 pages (and believe me, Bel, those are some long
pages not to make). I look over them all. Finally, I come to you, the
reason I've joined: "Sassy Princess Isobel Emasculates You: What He
Gets, What You Never Will."

A promising title. This is the one I've been waiting
for. The video downloads as my hands begin to tremble and slide over
my pants to unleash the fury of my massive cock. The video begins, and
*drum roll*...

**snort* The fury of your massive cock. Sure. You joined a site that does nothing but tell you how your cock is so small you jerk it with Cheerios and you want to interject "massive cock" into the conversation? Let me tell you how I do not believe you. 9.95 a minute.*

You start talking. And talking... And talking. And just
as I'm about to take my by now flaccid, sleeping penis and leave,
things get interesting: you start doing comedic improv as you lie
there in bed:

*Oh what the fuck ever. You can't join Humiliatrix and not know that the entire site is all POV humiliation videos. We talk. That's ALL we do on the site. That's why you'd join the site, because you want to see women talk about how much more awesome than you they are. It's obvious. It's ALL OVER the site. Nobody gets naked, nothing happens. It's all talk. It says that on the site. If what you were REALLY interested in was me getting naked, you would have joined MY site, that's all over my yahoo group, that has nothing put naked and plus naked pictures of me. I STILL don't feel sorry for you.*

"Yeah the girls who show up missing teeth...? Right. When SHE
shows up to your house and is like 'where's the guy I'm supposed to
fuck', and you say **high pitched voice as music drops out** 'It's
meeee. Ah'm the guy you're supposed to fuck.'"

I'm a
goner. I can't stop laughing. Who does character voice
impressions while shooting porn?? I love it. You are really, REALLY
funny and gifted. You couldn't just be marginalized as another dumb
bimbo on the site, huh? You had to inject your intelligence, humor,
and zest for life. I love it. You rock, Bel. You seriously rock. And
I know it's not Bel, I've only been calling you that to get under your
skin.


Any plans for Christmas? Where's home? I live in LA, but will be going
home to Arizona.

*You write me an email (in which I can appreciate that you're into POV humiliation and Fin-dom and that you like my l33t skillz in "acting") and end it with hey, I've been trying to annoy you this whole email....and then you want me to answer a question and write you back? Stellar introduction.*

So it's only noon, here are some notes on my day so far.

If your gym workout playlist consists largely of nasty gangsta rap and other things pulled of the "gentleman's club mix" on Itunes, and you are prone to singing under your breath, you should not work out in the "women only" section of the gym. Mumbling, "Heels strapped around her ankles...call that bitch Bojangles" while powering through the elliptical machine workout gets nothing but nasty looks under those circumstances.

Also if your playlist is gangsta rap, be prepared to have said songs stuck in your head all day. To me, they sound like nothing but, "Cracka lacka wacka cracka, bitch fucking ass like a salt shaker, unnnnnh". Consequently, this is what I've been singing all day. At least I'm amusing myself?

Self tanner has a very distinctive smell. Even after it's faded from your skin you can smell it in your crevices....uh, like um, your wrists and stuff. You shouldn't put self tanner in your other crevices. That's probably a bad idea.

I got a new jar of mayonnaise today and that little tab on the lid wouldn't open. It would have been probably a better idea to just stab into the top of it with a butter knife and then twist the knife, pulling the safety seal off. This is what I usually do. For some reason, in my post gym haze, I decided I should open it with my teeth.

I latched onto the thing like a terrier, gnawing and pulling and shaking the jar. With a pop the seal came off, as the mayonnaise bukkaked my face. I took the foil seal out of my mouth and stood there with a shocked expression on my face, covered in mayo as my roommate walked in.

"Uhhhhhh." He pondered me, "Good morning?"

I nodded slowly, wiping my face clean, the shock fading from my expression. "Mayonnaise." I explained.

He gave a look like this explained nothing at all and, took something from the fridge and left the room wordlessly. It was only later that I realized how responding, "Mayonnaise" really DIDN'T explain anything.

Tags: bukakke, gangsta rap, gym, isobel wren, self tan