"Which Hill Do You Want To Die On"?
I was a male model for a while. My best friend who would eventually become #4 in the world, introduced it to me. The first show I was in was a Loreal Hair Show at the Birmingham Jefferson Civic Center, or BJCC. There were 3 of us guys; myself and my two best friends Nelson and Eric. Plus about 50 female models, which was the main reason Eric and I got talked into the career. Prior to the show, Eric and I stayed in the makeup room for about two hours; the blue tips they put in my hair were more impressive to others than they were to me. Then I was nominated to be presentation model making me the first and last to walk the runway. I'm shy by nature and wasn't excited about my new position. Plus, not to miss the underlying factor that I was an alcoholic and my friend and myself stayed out at Senor Frogs til about 4 a.m. the night before. "Hungover" was an understatement.
The Canadian hair dresser was super cool and would eventually become my friend Erics girlfriend. I snagged a temporary girlfriend that day as well. There were many to choose from. It gave me a comfort layer on top of the nervous interior the alcoholism created. That being said, there's not a girl in the world that needed the type of love I had to offer....think twice was my only advice.
Prior to the show the three of us were sitting backstage on a few speakers. The girls, which took much longer in the dressing room began to fill the backstage area around us. Most still half-dressed, needing one of us to help button or zip their shirts or even pants. Our designer clothes didn't take as much effort. I had a see through, black long sleeved shirt with skin tight black leather pants. Within minutes the girls needed somewhere to sit. Eric and I were happy to oblige. I had one sitting on my right thigh and one on my left. I remember the wet spot on my pants when she stood up from my right thigh.
One would think this would be a pinnacle of a mans' existence, yet it was anything but. We were all shining very brightly on the outside. On the inside I was in pieces. The designer shirt I was dressed with was wet from the alcoholic sweat running from my body. It was the most memorable uncomfortability one could imagine. I had it all but had nothing. The show went on. I was the first to walk out and the last to walk back. Afterwards my friend Eric and I went back to the bar. I had to.
"Which hill do you want to die on?" This was the phrase I heard in a meeting that rang so very true to me. I had everything a boy could want but was dying on the inside. Materialism became invalid backstage that day.