first espresso of the day. Tel Aviv, Israel


I just got back from Israel, via a freakin' long ass flight time: 2 hours from Tel Aviv to Istanbul + 10 hours from Istanbul to New York + 7 hours from New York to San Francisco. I was lucky enough to jump onto a non stop from jfk to sfo, rather than my scheduled flight which stopped at lax for a three hour lay over. In New York, I hadn't slept for three days, so when I finally got to my cousins apartment (which was amazing btw, I had my own room) I passed out for 24 hours.
Thanks to a bit of a stomach sickness, I didn't eat anything during the flight period, but the constant altitude changes still caused some sexy nausea. I'm sure green looks good on me.
Israel was phenomenal, so much that I couldn't leave when my flight home came around. I ended up staying a month, and renting out an apartment in Tel Aviv, having a few men fall for my "personality", and working with a great agency, MC2 Tel Aviv. Here is a bit of documentation, if you can handle the excitement.

this camel did not want anything to do with us silly americans. Desert near the Dead Sea, Israel

it was very cold and windy, but we caught some awesome shots up on the roof. Downtown Tel Aviv, Israel

Hello old home

I suppose I need to move back to Los Angeles.

There is a show being shot in San Francisco, and about 90% of the San Francisco actors are getting work as extras on the set. My good friend Michael (shout out!) Cineceroz ( I'm spelling that incorrectly.) is shooting as a reoccurring extra, with potential of becoming a regular cast member.

Its raining in SF. I want to be in LA right about now.

Thanks for reading.

That is all.

Bedtime..

Whenever I am out of my own bed, and having trouble falling asleep, I flip on this website called Bedtime Tunes, which has a lovely mix of different kinds of sleep inducing music.
Mostly all modern, classified under genres like acoustic, or guitar, melancholy, or male vocals. Its nice to relax with out having to continue clicking through the music. Just set it and pass out.
Bedtime Tunes..

Wish me luck!

My fingers are sore from typing all evening! I am writing up a proposal for a reality TV show, centering around my life as a "start up model" and actor, and my best friend who has graduated from college with a communications degree (and is also the root of most of my bad behavior).

Together, we get into odd situations, and always wish there was a camera there to broadcast it across the world. I think we have decided to do this partly because it is unbelievable the situations we get into. We don't ask for it, but we attract a certain type of person I suppose. So, hopefully we will be able to pitch the show, and get it picked up. Maybe we will need to do some charming along the way..

Today was lame.

I was not productive. I added millions of people on my twitter, I just went from twat to twat, twatting everyone. At least I used protection.

and for the NOW's

--Listening to: Killing me softly covered by Sophia Hiller



And I got a thingy in my email, and there I was..












































So sunny, and SO cold. I would extend into a pose and hold until the photographer yelled across the field, then shrivel up into the fetal position. Not the most flattering pants there, but those weren't even made by the company. They must have been sparing my already freezing skin from with wind chill with the yoga shorts.

Day one.

At nearly 6 am, I still haven't gone to sleep. I would love to say that I have been working, jet setting around the globe, but the fact is, I had to clean my bedroom. From vacuuming the floors, to going through the closet and sorting items into 'throw away' and 'goodwill' boxes, I spent my night hours ridding my life of clutter. Hopefully, the physical clutter was some sort of cathartic gateway for the more, lets say, non physical tolls that have been impending.

Now, I will be honest, less than a year ago, there is no way I would have taken the idea of being a professional model seriously. In June of 2008, I was on my way to Isiolo, Kenya from spending my entire life in the US (I did go to Mexico and Canada though). Like most freshly 21 year olds, I had to get out of the box that I had made myself, and for me that was working for a health clinic. I wish I could say that it was the need to help other people, but the decision to go had a lot to do with wasting my physical body. I wasn't living a healthy life, or what I thought was healthy anyways. I ate what I wanted, smoked, drank a bit much, I wasted money that I spent a long time earning and saving. I started talking to people that I normally didn't talk to, and researching some organizations, watching documentaries, and writing people who were, and still are trying to help people who have no means of helping themselves. I have been spoiling myself, when there are people who don't have the chance to blow there money in Las Vegas, or smoke a pack of cigarettes in two days. Some people want to succeed, and I wanted to "give them a Steph" to help them do it. So, after contacting one of the women who ran Mamahope.org, I got a meeting.

Then comes early October 2008. The meeting. I was nervous, but just in the back of my mind was the thought of "if this doesn't fly, then do whatever makes you happy". I'm sitting at the restaurant, 15 minutes early, I figure she'll be at least 5 minutes late because of the traffic I just missed. 15 minutes into the supposed meeting time, still no show. 30 minutes, still sipping on my now room temperature Pepsi, and chatting up an older grampa looking type next to me. I finally get a call from the woman, she JUST left the office. A thought passed through my head that this meeting is already in the crapper. She gets there, strokes my ego of being young, innocent and full of naive life, then pulls out all the stops. I am too young, need to go out of the country more, and every one there hates white women. I put on a smiley face until she leaves, the I realize I had just gotten shot down while pleading for the thing I have had my heart set on.
Replaying the conversation in my mind, I realized that every time she said no, I had a valid and respectful rebuttal that should have made her say yes. I had backers, I know people in Kenya, I mean, no I won't get a body guard in case people really do hate white 21 year olds.

My friend, who was managing models at the time, finds me after that meeting of torture, and says, "Look, how about you try a few modeling gigs, and see how it goes. If its fun, keep going, if not, then you can move on to the next thing." So I did. And here I am. In January, I gave myself 6 months to get signed. In March, I got a call from City Model Management, by April the papers were signed.

Now, its the hard part. But we can pick up that story later on.