Vintage Boots

Yesterday I auditioned for an acting class.

Which means that yesterday I almost threw-up, had continuous cold and sweaty palms, and wanted to die for the better portion of the day.

There is nothing that makes me more nervous than to have my peers and a renowned acting coach watch me as I try to prove I’m good enough.

At least in an actual audition there are only casting directors and producers who want you to be good to make their jobs easier. In an audition for acting class, you’re surrounded by people that are secretly hoping you will fail to make them look good.

As soon as I walked into the building I was uncomfortable.

The guy at the desk wearing a headset and suit jacket, greeted me with a smile that said, “I’m
way more comfortable than you and know exactly what I’m doing but I’m still going to be over-friendly just to prove how cool everyone is here.”

He told me to hand over my headshot and take off my shoes.

Excuse me?

He looked at me with an unwavering smile. He had obviously had this conversation before.

Just, take off your shoes.

I looked around. Everyone was in socks. Shoes were stacked in little cubbies all around the entryway.

I started to panic.

These shoes make my outfit. This is my power outfit. The one that says, “I’m cute and pulled-together but still edgy because look at my vintage boots!”

Without the vintage boots I was just…cute. Who wants to be ‘just cute’ in LA??

Now, I know taking off your shoes was supposed to make everyone feel comfortable, but of course (as things like that often do) it just made me feel less comfortable.

As I trudged up the stairs to the group audition in my tights with the giant hole in the toe (BECAUSE I DIDN’T THINK ANYONE WOULD EVER SEE IT) I already felt defeated.

But – I have to say; I really loved the acting coach.

For my audition I chose sides from one of my favorite real-life auditions. I played (as I often do) a comically upbeat woman who is desperately trying to hang on to reality.

Wait a second…

Something just clicked.

ANYWAY.

Afterward, as I was simultaneously listening to feedback and trying to swallow down my vomit, the coach asked me why I chose that particular scene.

I explained that I always go out for characters like that and I think that’s how casting directors view me.

And you guys, she literally said:

I don’t see that at all. You are sitting here right now and you look so cute and pulled-together.

I wanted to jump up from my chair and yell:

Wait!! Just let me get my boots!!

But despite my shoeless audition and ridiculous nerves, I got in to the advanced class.

Just one small step for me and one giant leap for my pocket book.

And as I was walking back to my car (in my boots) I thought long and hard about the shoe situation.

If taking off my shoes is going to help me get more acting jobs than I guess it’s worth it.

I’ll just have to buy some really cute socks.

Someday

I try to see as many live performances as I can in Los Angeles for two reasons.

1. If they are horrible (which, let’s be honest, most of them are) it makes me feel smug.
2. If they are amazing (about 5% of the time) it inspires me.

A few nights ago my friend Noah and I ushered a Sutton Foster (big Broadway star) concert. We couldn’t afford tickets but somehow Noah was able to snag us jobs as ushers.

As the House Manager of the theatre was explaining our very important role of handing out programs, he mentioned “unfortunately, you will be unable to meet Ms. Foster after the show because she has a red-eye to catch back to New York.”

That was fine with me. I would rather not meet someone I’m a fan of so they don’t have an opportunity to ruin my crazy, unrealistic, view of them.

When the concert began, I settled in – ready to be inspired. As I listened to Sutton’s incredible voice something crept in on me that I wasn’t expecting. It wasn’t inspiration and I definitely wasn’t feeling smug…

No.

It was pure, unadulterated bitterness.

Sorry, Sutton.

All I could think about was how much I wanted to be up there. How much I wanted to be able to say I had a red-eye to catch back to New York after a doing command performance in LA.

Instead, I’m doing a command performance at a restaurant and then catching the red-eye to my nanny job.

I tried to push my bitterness away: She had worked hard! I will be just like her someday.

But I’m tired of saying someday.

I’ve fed myself those stories for years.

Someday… I’ll tell Jay Leno how I used to eat popcorn for dinner because I was too poor to buy food.

Someday… I will give an Oscar speech about how struggling for so long has made me the artist I am today.

Someday… I will look back on my experiences and think about how being dirt poor was truly the happiest time of my life.

But I’ve come to a conclusion: Someday sucks.

And there’s no amount of pep talks or good vibes that will change that fact.

Actors are always trying to reassure themselves that their situation is not permanent, but what would happen if we were simply okay with the fact that sometimes its just too damn hard to see the positive?

To just… sit… with that reality? And it’s okay… It’s okay to hate it.

It occurred to me the other day – after I opened my fridge and found only mayonnaise – that I’ve struggled enough, thank you.

I’m done now.

So, Hollywood, you can call off the dogs! You got me! I admit it! I didn’t know it would be this difficult, I thought I would rise above the average actor, blah blah blah.

I know now that this business can be rough.

And ugly.

And unfair.

And lately I’ve felt like taking a big, heavy sigh and just…giving up.

(I imagine it sometimes and relief washes over me like tequila – I mean rain.)

How good it would be to admit defeat… To look Hollywood, and all it’s bullshit, in the eye and say, ”NO THANK YOU. I choose something… else.”

I’m sure Hollywood would respond with a resounding, “What was your name again?”

And inevitably, just when I’m on the edge, ready to fling myself into the sea of other failed actors and writers, something pulls me back.

Sometimes it’s my competitive nature.

Sometimes it’s my friends.

Sometimes it’s not really anything at all.

This time it was an audition.

I think my manager must have sensed my desperation when she called me the other day.

I had an audition for Cameron Crowe’s new movie starring Matt Damon!

And like a bolt of lightning I was back. (Matt Damon can do that to a girl)

I could be in a movie directed by Cameron Crowe…

Someday.

Show Me The Money

In the last few months the words “Book Club Distribution” have become as elusive to me as the words “Work Out Every Day.”

When Book Club began (I know, I’m talking about it again…feel free to navigate back to Facebook, or Twitter, or that website you were looking at that you don’t want anyone to know about.)

But seriously, when Book Club began the feeling of all involved was that if we just made this one pilot Hollywood would come knocking! They would burst down our door with streamers and money and a maybe a gold leaf plaque that said something like “BEST WEB SERIES IN THE HISTORY OF THE WORLD.”

It was a glorious feeling.

It was an uplifting feeling.

It was a shortsighted feeling.

Now, as another month sneaks up on us, we are still waiting for that call from Hollywood.

I’m starting to think they lost our number and maybe I should try calling them.

Yes, hello? Is this Hollywood? Yes, I’m just calling to tell you that we are still waiting! What? You’ve never heard of us? But…we did this really great pilot of a web show about a book club and – What? Oh, no…I’m not a millionaire….I beg pardon? Oh, um…no I would really prefer to keep my first-born child. But thanks for asking.

Apparently, you not only have to create your own work (check!) but you also have to create you own distribution deal. Everyone always told us that if we just took the time to create what we believed in, work would come to us. It turns out those people failed to mention they already had major connections in Hollywood.

Hollywood is full of people with money. But guess what? They are all financing their own movies.

So this begs the questions, how to three young producers who live in small apartments and consider “splurging” turning on the air conditioner, find the funds to film the first season of a really great show?

I think this is all coming to light for me because I’m in panic mode.

I’m just done waiting around. I feel like if I have to follow one more dead-end lead my head might explode.

And then Hollywood will be sorry!!

Or they’ll rejoice because they can stop listening to me call them and ask for funding…

I’m sure you’re all wondering how much our little web series could possibly cost.

Let me say, it’s a lot more than you might think. To do it well, to pay people what they deserve and keep up the quality we set in the pilot it would be…are you ready? Somebody make sure my grandmother has oxygen…

$200,000

For twelve episodes.

It sounds like a lot, right?

But then, if I think about what people spend on TV shows out here (7 million an episode!!) it sounds like pennies.

But it’s not pennies to those of us who actually count our pennies.

And so the search continues.

I cannot tell you how maddening it is to have the actors, the scripts, the crews, the location, and the passion. And just not have the money.

It’s like building the perfect car and not having money for gas.

For those of you who think I’m losing faith – I’m not. So many people have told me Book Club is worth something. That it’s a great comedy worth funding.

And it is.

We just need to find the people who say that and then hand us a check.

BANG

I was late.


As usual.

And not in the pregnancy scare kind of way.

I was late for my audition at Warner Brothers Studios.

I love that I can write that sentence.

I had an audition at Warner Bros Studios!

For The Big Bang Theory on CBS!

CBS!

On a TV show my grandpa has actually heard of. Finally, he wouldn’t have to utter his famous line (after seeing another confusing piece of theater his granddaughter was in.) “Well, I didn’t understand it but I support you.”

So as I gunned my little Toyota Yaris into the parking garage of Warner Bros I was prepared.

I had thought of everything. My lines were memorized, my character was analyzed, even my dress was perfect.

Perfect, and sweat-stain free.

Let me explain.

Earlier that day, as I stood in my pre-planned outfit reciting my lines, I noticed my short-sleeved dress highlighted an unfortunate occurrence of my rising nerves:

Sweaty Arm Pits.

Well, that just wouldn’t do.

I had to think on my feet. My audition was two hours away and I still needed to rehearse at least five hundred more times! I couldn’t let an annoying body function ruin my chances at getting this role!

So I did what any self-respecting, eager, young actor would do.

I improvised.

I dug through my bathroom drawer and found the perfect tool to stop the sweating.

Maxi-Pads.

In the armpits of my dress.

Before you judge me, let’s remember that these things are advertised for their moisture-locking protection!

It was the perfect, fail-proof plan!

As I checked in, got a visitor’s badge (which I later had mounted and framed,) and ran onto the lot I was confident.

I was ready.

I had moisture-free armpits!

I smiled at maintenance crew, spoke to a security guard, and joked with a producer. Every person I saw was my new best friend. I was on top of the world!

A few minutes before my audition I stopped in the bathroom to do a final check.


Teeth – check!

Hair – check!

Make-up – check!

Armpits -

I stopped.

Armpits!

OH. LORD.

There, hanging out of a sleeve of my dress was a bright pink maxi-pad.

I just stood there, staring at myself in the mirror.

Not even at a big audition, on a glamorous movie lot, can I pull it together.

At these kinds of auditions you see a lot of different types of girls. There are the girls that always smell great. The girls that always have the perfect make-up. The girls that always have the perfect hair.

And then there’s me.

The girl who has feminine protection hanging out of her armpits.

I have stains on my dress, runs in my tights, and chips in my nail polish (who am I kidding, I don’t even wear nail polish.) I’m over-sensitive, too hard on myself, and I care too much what other people think.

But I’m here, dammit.

I’m here.

I’m in LA, doing what I promised myself I would do.


And it can suck. Hard.


But it can also be really great.

Like that one time I had maxi-pads hanging out of my dress but still got a callback.


In case you were wondering.

www.bookclubtheseries.com

Last weekend, in the span of 15 minutes, I saw a woman dressed completely in hot pink loading groceries into her hot pink corvette, a man in his underwear running and screaming down a residential street, and a bulldog wearing Ray-Bans.

You can rest easy knowing that, despite my lack of blog posts in the last few weeks, LA has not changed.

Thank goodness.

I don’t know what I would do if animals in Los Angeles stopped wearing accessories that cost more than my car payment.

The reason for my lack of posting is essentially because I’ve been so busy with this:

www.bookclubtheseries.com

Have you heard of it?

If not, you should really check out www.bookclubtheseries.com

What is that, you ask? Well, by all means learn more here:

www.bookclubtheseries.com

Is this joke getting old yet?

www.bookclubtheseries.com

Okay. Seriously, I’m done now.

Book Club took up A LOT of time. More time than I could ever have imagined.

So much time, in fact, that I realized – after not sleeping more than four hours a night and putting “eat” on my list of things to do if I have time- I needed a more flexible job.

Now, as you know it’s my policy not to speak about work on this blog.


HOWEVER.

I will say this one thing:

I quit my job.

And found a new one.

Waiting tables.

Okay…that was three things.

So, now I’m a server and my mission to become the most cliché woman in Hollywood is complete.

Move to the ‘big city’ from my small town….CHECK!

Dye my hair blonde…CHECK!

Hardly have enough income to buy food….CHECK!

Start waiting tables….CHECK!

I’m just waiting for someone to tell me I would be perfect in their “tastefully nude feature film.”

Don’t worry, Dad. I’ll decline.

But yesterday, as I had all the time in the world to write, work on acting, and watch copious amounts of Law and Order SVU, I realized I’m totally comfortable being that cliché.

Because it's time for me to be scared.

It's time to be brave and trust that I won’t be waiting tables forever.

It's time to believe in myself a little more.

At my old work place, I was comfortable enough to have been there for years. But that’s not why I'm in Los Angeles.

I’m here to write. And to act. And to make my dreams my first priority.

So keep the clichés coming! I don't mind. As long as I have time to do things like this:

www.bookclubtheseries.com

Rapids

Last weekend I escaped the Los Angeles jungle for a new kind of wilderness.

The mountains of Montana.

After two plane rides, one hour-long car ride, a two-mile hike, and a 450 foot free climb (okay, maybe I’m exaggerating) I was at Rainbow Ranch for my cousin’s wedding.

Along with a weekend filled with family, friends, and $1.50 draft beers, my getaway also included checking something off my “I Really Need To Do That To Feel Like I’ve Experienced Life” list.

Whitewater rafting.

On class four rapids, bitches.

(I might not be able to get away with putting “bitches” at the end of sentences…)

Anyway, it is probably in the top 10 coolest things I’ve ever done – right after finding an apartment in LA for less than a thousand dollars.

My cousins and I were all in the same raft and we would be sailing down the calm river, enjoying the beautiful scenery until suddenly, our raft guide would yell “paddle!!”

And just like that, we would be flying through rapids that seemed to have some sort of personal vendetta against the Runck/Bollingberg/Haugen clan.

That is how Los Angeles can be. One minute, you are cruising peacefully along, thinking that life is really beautiful and then BAM – you are in over your head and think the waves are definitely going to consume you.

My friend (who asked to remain nameless) told me the perfect story, upon my return to LA, which really confirmed my rapids theory.

This friend (who is an actor) was going to therapy. He had always told me how much he loved his therapist, how he was really getting along with her, and how she was really getting to the bottom of some of his issues.

He was riding smoothly along in his therapy life raft and didn’t even notice class four rapids ahead.

One day, he was drinking wine and innocently searching the web, watching different TV shows and web series programs.

He saw a title that caught his eye and was intrigued. He told me later that he kept thinking there was something very familiar about the show. Something calming and almost….therapeutic….


And then he realized it.

His therapist was the lead actor.

Let me say that again.

HIS THERAPIST WAS AN ACTOR.

Now, we’ve all heard of actors working as servers, nannies, and even tax preparers.

But never, in my entire life, have I heard someone say they are getting their PhD in psychology “just in case the acting thing doesn’t pan out.”

Whose “fall back” career is therapy???

My friend said he felt totally violated and exposed. I mean, can you imagine?

You are telling your deepest darkest secrets and she’s thinking about what time her next audition is.

You’re explaining how hard it is as an actor to face rejection every day and she has to resist fist bumping you and saying, “been there, brother.”

Only in Los Angeles do you have to worry about seeing your therapist on the cover of OK Magazine.

Now that is a class four rapid.

Needless to say, my friend stopped going to therapy.

And now needs it more than ever.

When I think about that story, the following image from my rafting experience comes to mind.

Now that is a rapid.

Bitches.

In Case Of Emergency

A few weeks ago I woke up in the middle of the night looking like a cross between Angelina Jolie and the Elephant Man.

I was having an allergic reaction.

My eyes were swollen almost completely shut, my lips were huge, and my stomach and legs were covered in hives.

I know what you’re thinking – What are you allergic to?

My answer, dear reader, is this:

WHO THE HELL KNOWS.

Seriously, to this day, I have no idea what it was. And yes, DAD, I’m getting an allergy test.

After I woke up and got a glimpse of myself in the mirror, I called Noah in a panic and let him know that he needed to immediately get in his car, pick me up, and take me to the Emergency Room.

Somehow, Noah was able to understand me through my swollen lips. You know you are good friends with someone when they can decipher the words “allergic reaction” from what must have sounded like “amphergeek eashon.”

We got in the car and (thanks to Google maps) headed to what we thought was the closest ER. The “ER” turned out to be located between a Taco Bell and a Used Car Lot in a building that “used to be a church.”

Let me just say, when you think your throat is closing the LAST thing you want to be able to say is that you sought medical attention next to a fast food chain in a building that was once used to pray for the dead.

We finally made it to a legitimate Emergency Room (in a real hospital!!) and I checked myself in. As I was hastily filling out the required forms I came to the “Contact In Case Of Emergency” box.

I looked through the narrow slits that were my eyes at Noah who was supportively sitting there trying not to fall asleep. He just looked so tried, so worried, and so totally there for me.

So I wrote down his name.

It then asked me what my relationship to him was. I thought about that for a second. Neighbor? Writing partner? Producing partner? Acting Partner? Friend? Person Who Will Drive You To The ER At 3am?

They didn’t seem quite good enough.

So in my haze, with my fingers barely able to hold the pen I scribbled:

BFF.

I’m sure the nurses are still laughing about that one.

The night ended with lots of Prednisone and a hefty charge to my credit card.

Oh, and I lived…in case you were wondering.

And the very next week, my BFF and I filmed the pilot episode of Book Club. (Hive free.)

And it was amazing.


Partly because of Noah.

Partly because of the incredible direction by Ms. Katey Wheelhouse.

Whom I met because my car died outside my apartment one day and she offered to jump it. The rest is history. We became great friends (despite the fact I am her noisy neighbor who lives above her.)

When Noah and I asked her to direct this project she threw herself in headfirst and hasn’t yet come up for air.

And I think that’s the reason the filming of Book Club was such a success.

Because the people who I’ve surrounded myself with are the kind of people who jump your car without knowing you and forgive you for wearing heels and walking on your wood floor at 1am.

They are the kind of people who take you to the emergency room at 3am even though they have to get up for work early the next morning.

They are your “In Case Of Emergency” people.

And in a way, Book Club was an emergency.

For a while I’d been feeling like if I didn’t make something happen for myself here in Los Angeles, nothing ever would. That I would end up always regretting not living the life I had dreamed. Worried that I was on the verge of giving up, and moving on to something else.

And I can’t think of any greater emergency than that.

Unless maybe your throat is closing.

So thank you – to all my “In Case Of Emergency” people (you know who you are.)

Without you, this dream of mine (and Noah’s and Katey’s) could have never happened.

If I could put you all down in that little box on the hospital form – I would.

These two are great if you need to go to the ER or have your car jumped. They are also wonderful people to call if you want your dreams to come true.