Eve: Uncensored

Today I fell off the Vegan wagon.

Hard.

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.

McDonalds.

Yes! That’s exactly what I wanted.

No!

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.

Until…

Welcome to McDonalds what can I get for you?

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

NOOOOOOOOO!

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.

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.'

So...

I’m sexy.

And I don’t have strep throat

Gangbanger

-Quirky

-Cute

-Sweet

-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!

Maybe.

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:

-Innocent

-Chatty

-Bubbly

-Racist Gangster

CoreVeganSkinnyBitch

I’m hungry.

I’ve been hungry for about four days now.

Why?

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.

Blurg.

New Years Eve 1990

This is me.


New Years Eve, 1990.

It was the first time my parents had let me stay up to ring in the New Year.

Clearly, I’m pretty excited about it.

Note the adult-sized glasses and the bangs that don’t quit.

I had worked diligently to make the confetti. My mom had provided the party hats, and my parents had sacrificed one of the last adult holidays they had.

My father looks like he wishes it was New Year’s Eve 1981.

But all that aside, the thing that stands out most for me in this photo is my crazy joy. I mean, I look like I’m going to have a happiness seizure.

It was the excitement of staying up late and the promise that it was a new year. Who knew what would happen in 1991!

(Turns out, my first boyfriend would tell me he loved me and my mom would decide that a bowl-cut would really ‘bring out my eyes.’)

But all that was still unknown for me. The year had not yet begun and it could be anything I wanted it to be!

I miss that.

These days, I have a better haircut but a worse attitude. I’m cynical about resolutions and new beginnings. I just don’t have that hope like I used to.

But this year, I’m bringing it back.

Who knows! This could be the year I get the role that will change my life. This could be the year I
make more money as an actor than at all my other jobs combined.

This could be my year.

So here’s to the girl from 1990. To the girl who was convinced joy could be found in anything. To the girl who knew with all her heart that the future would be bright.

Twenty years later, I want to be that girl again.

Thanks!

I went back home for Thanksgiving.

It took me four planes and fifteen Dramamine but I finally made it to my grandparent’s farm in the middle of North Dakota.

It was 7 degrees. It was desolate. It was wonderful.

In between eating ‘salads’ made up of whipped cream and cookies, explaining to my grandpa that being unmarried in LA does not mean I’m a leper, and warming up the car for an hour before it’s warm enough to drive, I had time to think about all the things that I was really thankful for on this trip back home. (It was Thanksgiving, after all.)

And when I returned from all the peace of North Dakota to the bright, harsh light of Los Angeles the transition was a little rough.

My manager called and told me I did not get that role on Parks And Recreation and my health insurance company informed me they do not take IOUs. I needed a little pick-me-up and decided to pull out that list take a good hard look at it.

To remind myself of the clarity I seemed to have back home.

It was surprising home much better it made me feel.

So…with no further ado:

I Am Thankful For…

1. The flight attendant who high-fived me after I accidentally hit a button that turned on all the
flashing lights on the plane.

2. The snow.

3. My grandpa who still asks me to recite the nursery rhymes he taught me when I was four.

4. The fact that I rarely laugh as hard as I do when I’m with my family.

5. My direct flight back to LA from Fargo.

6. People from my hometown who always ask, “So – are you famous yet?”

7. Lots and lots and lots of wine.

8. Lots and lots and lots AND LOTS of food.

9. The fact that despite serious turbulence our plane did not crash.
10. The clarity I seem to have back home.

And even though it’s harder to make a list of simple, thankful thoughts in Los Angeles I am thankful for one big thing.

That I’m here.

Mean Reds

Yesterday I almost drop-kicked a morbidly obese meter man for giving me a ticket.

Which is very unlike me.

If you ask any of my friends they will tell you that I am unendingly cheerful.

Once, while working as a hostess in a restaurant, a guest filled out a comment card that said, “the hostess was too chipper.”

TOO CHIPPER.

I remember thinking at the time:

How can I possibly be too chipper?

And then I went on picking wildflowers and whistling.

I’m all about avoiding conflict. I think the worse thing I’ve ever said to someone was:

You make me feel angry.

After which I covered my mouth, horrified I could say something so cruel, burst into tears, and begged for forgiveness.

So I don’t just go around drop-kicking people.

Just so we’re clear on that.

I’m sure at this point you are wondering what the hell this has to do with acting in Los Angeles.

Well, I think I’ve traced all my anger and frustration back to my career.

There are times when I feel like things are moving forward. Things are happening and changing
in ways that I’m excited about.

But I’m tired.

Tired of hearing “no” disguised in passive aggressive compliments and wishes of luck.

In other words, can someone just give me a fucking break??

I have a bad case of the mean reds.

Classic movie reference, anyone?

Audrey Hepburn, in Breakfast at Tiffany’s says:

The blues are because you’re getting fat, and maybe it’s been raining too long. You’re just sad, that’s all. The mean reds are horrible. Suddenly you’re afraid, and you don’t know what you’re afraid of.

I am afraid.

Afraid this whole dream of mine, this life I’ve been pursuing for what seems like forever, is just too far out of my grasp. That I’ve wasted years of my life on something that won’t happen.

And that makes me angry.

Pissed, actually.

And what makes me even more upset is the fact I let myself think those things.

That’s not me. I’m not a “mean reds” kind of girl.

I’m a bright blue or sunny yellow!

And when I feel like the world is against me (or at least the Los Angeles Parking Enforcement) I need to remember who I am.

I am the girl who believes in herself.

I am the girl who is on the right path.

I am the girl who is too chipper, dammit!