Hoping for a Good Humiliation

I've been begging GayBoy to nominate me for a complete makeover and wardrobe overhaul by way of the good folks at What Not to Wear. My clothing's so wrong, man. So wrong. I have three, maybe four shirts that look decent, one pair of semi-decent jeans that are barely decent now after the X-Guy manhandling them all the time (which he deserves an ass-kicking for from yours truly), and I have, sadly, no leather jacket. No skirts. No good shoes. I'm a fucking mess, and the sad thing is: I have fashion sense! There's no reason in the world I shouldn't look cool, except for the small fact that I've been broke for far too long.

(I've been underemployed for a year and a half or so, and I should've done something about it sooner, but I didn't, so that's life, and here we are.)

I would kill for the makeover. I want to be nominated en masse, but that would mean telling you people all my private information. Not gonna happen.

Sigh. I want to get a makeover. Self-esteem is everything, man. Clothing's important. My stuff's all out of date 'cos I've lost weight and it all looks ridiculous on me now. My hair looks pretty decent since I splurged and got copper & gold highlights on the weekend with a funked-up new punk'do, but there's still the clothes. The sorry-assed, too-big-on-me-now, all-cut-wrong clothes.

Another problem is, they seem to think any chick who's plus-sized is big-boobed. Well, I'm not. I got a handful or so, but that's about it. No monster headlights on this engine, I'm afraid. Do you know how silly some of these shirts look, with darting where there are supposed to be Amazonian boobs of no compare? Tres silly, I assure you.

I deserve to get picked. I want to make an ass out of myself on national television at prime time.

For a $5,000 wardrobe, a trip to New York City, and a top-notch makeover, the list of what I WON'T do is pretty fuckin' short, man.