My Piece

Apparently, I’m funny.

I never wanted to be. Growing up I was the cheery, happy girl who wished desperately she were more sullen. I wanted people to take one look at me and think I was mysterious and intriguing. I was the girl who made-believe she was the servant not the princess because it was so much more tragic. The girl on the Speech team who always did the monologue about rape, or cancer, or the-sister-who’s-other-sister-drowns-in-a-lake-and-now-she-has-to-secretly-raise-her-dead-sister’s-love-child-as-her-own. (Real example…)

Instead, I was a glasses-wearing, permed-hair-sporting, Laura Ingalls Wilder-loving, well-adjusted and dare I say…happy….child.

So I became an actor.

I sank my teeth into the meaty, juicy, serious world of the ‘the Theatre’ (to be said in an English accent.) I lavished in the overly dramatic, confusing-as-hell kind of plays. You know the ones – where everyone is in a body suit and they keep repeating the word ‘cocoon’ for no apparent reason.

When I moved to Los Angeles I was still on a warpath for drama. But as I went on audition after audition for the sweet, innocent girl who’s lover dies, or who’s mom leaves her, or who’s secretly addicted to crystal meth, I would look around and realize that everyone else wanted to be that too.

It was just bad odds.

So after a few well-received comedic scenes in my acting class, I started to think that maybe I should try comedy….it seemed to be more of a niche market.

And last week, in an attempt to try out my comedic chops, I auditioned for something called Mortified. For those of you who are thinking… “Umm..that’s a state of mind,” let me explain. Mortified is an amazing real-life comedy show that celebrates the crazy, funny things you created as a child (poems, journal entries, etc.)

Long story short, I submitted and got called into audition (I think it was the poem I wrote in 4th grade about what it’s like to be a black slave….pause for horrified reaction….that really secured my place in auditions.)

But as I stood up to read from September 5, 1997, something strange happened.

I didn’t want to.

ME. The girl who writes about her life and posts it on Internet, DIDN’T WANT TO TELL STRANGERS ABOUT HER LIFE. I sat there gripping my journal and realized I was worried they wouldn’t think I was funny. They wouldn’t think my life was worth putting on stage. That these most private of thoughts were not funny at all but actually just pitiful.

Maybe I didn’t want them to know I had a big crush on Brandon Albrecht in the 8th grade (don’t worry Jessie Albrecht I’m over it…), or that I thought Titanic was the best movie EVER, or that I ever had the audacity to write an entry that proclaimed “They’ll see, they’ll all see….I’m going to be someone!” But I buckled down and relived junior high.

And they laughed.

A lot.

And despite the fact that sweat was forming unappealing half moons under my arms and my belt that was really cute when I left the house now felt like a ring of fire in the non-air conditioned studio, and my skin was one big nervous hive, I felt good.

And then one of the producers said something that changed everything:

“You are really good at playing yourself.”

And that, loyal readers, is the golden ticket, the whole reason I put you through this long, tortuous entry. This may seem obvious – of course I’m really good at playing myself, I am myself – but for me it was ground breaking. I realized that I am not a tragic, bummed out, girl-who’s-raising-her-dead-sister’s-baby. I don’t even have a sister.

I am just me. Quirky. Funny. Who sweats under her arms and breaks out in hives when she’s nervous. And that’s better than the dramatic girl I wanted to be. Because she’s not real. And ironically enough, Hollywood expects actors to bring one thing to the table – your true self.

And yes, yes…all of you actors reading this and thinking “But acting means playing someone you’re not” can put down your pitchforks and Stanislavsky manuals. I get it. But we actors bring a piece of ourselves to every character we play.

And I’ve finally found my piece.