Sunday, January 23, 2011

Eve: Uncensored

Today I fell off the Vegan wagon.


I’ve been so proud of myself. I’ve felt great, lost a little weight, and was feeling really supported. My vegan friends were giving me cookbooks and even buying me food!

(Those friends should probably stop reading now to save themselves some disappointment and shame.)

Going vegan wasn’t at all as hard as I thought it would be and I was starting to think I could really do this.

Until today.

All day at work I felt strange. I had a very specific and intense craving and I could not put my finger on what it was I wanted.

The vegan zucchini bread did not hit the spot. The soup and salad I had for lunch almost made the craving worse. I left work feeling light headed and annoyed.

As I drove home, I thought about what I had in my kitchen. Lentils. Parsnips. Soy Ice Cream. Everything I had sounded like a chore to eat.

And then I saw it. It’s golden hue calling to me from the street.


Yes! That’s exactly what I wanted.


I shook my head, clutched the steering wheel harder and drove on.

I felt good about my will power. Proud I had said no.

Until I saw another one.

The golden arches were mocking me.

It took all I had to not turn in. Think how processed and disgusting. It’s so bad for my body!!

I drove on, resolved.

But then, only one block from the entrance to the freedom of the 405, there was another McDonalds.

Seriously. I’m just not that strong.

I pulled, in berating myself the whole time.

Don’t do this. You are stronger than this. Pull away. There’s still time.


Welcome to McDonalds what can I get for you?

Ummm…hi. I’ll have the Chicken McNuggets and fries.


But it’s true.

And they were awesome.

My fall from grace was not even small.

I didn’t break my veganism for organic, farm-raised, loved and cherished chickens.

No. I went for the over-processed, hormone injected, politically incorrect nuggets.

I was like Eve. If Eve had cut down all the apples, made twenty apple pies, force-fed Adam apple cider, and invited her snake pal over to party.

It was shameful.

(So was how much I enjoyed it.)

But don’t worry. I’m back on the vegan wagon!

Until I pass an In and Out.

Monday, January 17, 2011

I'm Sexy

I don’t have strep throat.

I recently went to the doctor because my throat felt like someone had lit it on fire. I was convinced I had strep. I even argued with the doctor when she said that I probably didn't.

But she was right. (Imagine that.)

And that information cost me a lot of money. So I’m going to say it a lot.

I don’t have strep throat.

That is just one of the many reasons I’ve not been blogging on a regular basis.

And here come the excuses:

I’ve started a third job to try to pay for my outlandish studio apartment lifestyle.

I’m taking an acting class, and I’m writing for this blog.

I know that most of you have been sitting at home just waiting and wondering when, when, will I blog again.

That time is now.

You’re welcome.

I would say I’m sorry for my absence to the 10s upon 20s of readers but in my acting class I’ve been told I need to stop apologizing. Every time I feel the need to say 'I’m sorry' I should replace it with 'I’m sexy.'


I’m sexy.

And I don’t have strep throat

Saturday, January 15, 2011





-Small Town Waitress

-Best Friend

-Girl Next Door

In an acting class I took last month I had to stand in front of a room of people as they shouted the first (nice) things they thought when they saw me. It was an exercise to help us understand what kind of type we immediately give off when we enter an audition.

I know what you’re thinking: where on that list is ‘super-sexy action hero’? I was surprised too! But as much as I’d like to walk into a room and have every man want me and every woman want to be me – that’s not my type. True, I could work at it. And given the chance, I would. I like to think I could rise to any acting challenge.

But there is one very specific thing I’ve never been able to play: GANGSTER.

Last year, I had an agent that didn’t know (or care) who the hell I was or what kind of type I played. And one day they called me for an audition.

Great! What’s the role?

You play a gangster in a music video.

(Slight pause.) What?

You have an audition for the role of a gangster.

Really? This is Jessica…. Runck. (CLICK) Okay…thanks.

For those of you who have not met me – telling me that I’m auditioning for a gangster is like telling Elmo he’s auditioning for the role of Hannibal Lector.

It just doesn’t make sense.

But like any eager, young actor I decided to go anyway.

I looked at the breakdown, noticed that it said “come dressed as a gang member from any era.” Since I lack a plethora of white tank tops, baggy jeans, and switchblades, I decided to go a different route.

I pulled out my white Hanes t-shirt, cuffed my jeans, put my hair in a bouncy ponytail, and transformed myself into a 1950’s, female, ‘gang’ member.

I would just like to say in retrospect: WHAT THE HELL WAS I THINKING?

On the day of the audition I skipped into the casting office and froze; every single girl was dressed like they had just come from robbing a liquor store. I sighed, pulled up my cuffed jeans, and walked in.

I plopped down beside a young woman who – I KID YOU NOT – had a teardrop tattoo underneath her eye. Now, I’m not up on my gang tattoos but I’m pretty sure that is a sign that you have killed someone. I smiled at her… surprise of all surprises the woman who looked like she just came from prison didn’t smile at the girl in the bobby socks.

I glanced around the room and noticed they were taking actors by twos into the room – one white girl and one black girl at a time. My name was finally called and as I walked in they introduced me to my scene partner. She had just graduated from Harvard and was dreading the audition almost as much as I was.

We walked into the room, introduced ourselves, and waited for instructions.

Finally, the casting director spoke up.

This scene is going to be improvised. You two are in a gang fight. When we start taping, Jessica, I want you to start screaming racial slurs at your scene partner.

I froze. WHAT?

I spoke up. I’m sorry. I think I misunderstood that last part. You want me to do what?

And without missing a beat the casting director replies: Scream racial slurs – just improvised. Don’t worry this is a safe room.

I panicked and glanced at my partner who smiled awkwardly.

So…I’m supposed to scream all the racists words I CAN THINK OF? ON CAMERA?

Suddenly the Casting Director shouted action.

I just stared at my partner.

My head was spinning.

What followed was the most difficult and humiliating audition of my life. I couldn’t bring myself to say any of the really ugly racist words so I just kind of, skirted around the issue… I was the most politically correct racist gangster you had ever seen.

I left feeling horrible; I should have been able to do that! I should be a good enough actor to play anything!


But I’ve decided not to beat myself up about this one. And maybe someday I will be able to add it to my type list:




-Racist Gangster

Thursday, January 6, 2011


I’m hungry.

I’ve been hungry for about four days now.


What I’m about to say is going to shame my beef-stew-making grandmother and cause my deer-slaying cousins to disown me.

I’ve decided to go Vegan.

But only for a few weeks!

I just wanted to see if the same girl who has had a stronger relationship with her refrigerator than with any man, could cut all that crap out.

It’s not been easy.

Also, because I’m a masochist, I’ve joined CorePowerYoga.

My other, super-secret and shameful reason for all this punishment is that Pilot Season is approaching. The BIGGEST season for actors. The season that could make my career!

And I don’t ever want to lose a role because I like cake too much.

It’s stupid, and hard, and unfair – but it’s true.

So friends, family, and the painters painting the apartment unit below me who inisist on starting at 6 am, FORGIVE ME.

I’m going to be one of those skinny, hungry, tired bitches for the next few weeks.

Now excuse me while I go eat my non-dairy, non-animal product lunch.