2003-05-23

I'm not a corpse So, it's 1:00 and the Dragnet people haven't called. I'm not a corpse. I comfort myself with the fact that they have my headshot. They say that after you audition, you should just put it out of your mind like it never happened. That's what I'm doing. It never happened... except how it totally DID!

Well, at least I get to see Faydrah and Di on Wednesday. That makes me happy. Very rare to see people where I live. I mean, I'm sure there are other living things here. Once in a while, people can be seen jogging with their pure-breds around here. But it feels like no-man's land. So... Hey and I even got paid just for interviewing for Dragnet. And now nothing can interfere with my future as a waitress. And I've got my health and some crap. I'm twisting in a maelstrom of despair. I'm kidding. I'm fine. I just wanted to be a corpse. I swear this! Someday, I will be (that's actually true- unless I die in a really messy explosion, then I'd be here and there and over there and wouldn't be autopsy material).

Okay. Can I get serious for a sec, here? I am so fed up with physical appearance right now. I was reading the casting notices on backstage and every single one says crap like "beautiful, sexy, hot, bikini-type, ethereal beauty, cheerleader." What about the other 60% of women out there? What about me? I have oblivious friends who say, "So? You're beautiful and sexy." Well, they haven't called an extras casting service and got the shit I did.

Funny story, here. See, there's this one evil lady on the work lines at Central Casting always asking for "beautiful, hot women" for stupid Fastlane. Let's call her Victoria (that's true except I don't know her last name). Well, I decided one day to call. She must need a normal, everyday person sometime, right? Right? Isn't there times when a show wants to show the grim realities of life by, say putting someone who's twenty pounds overweight into the back-ground.

The answer is a gigantic, booming, evil, black-hearted NO! As a matter of fact, when I called, she put my data in and looked at my picture, which they had in their computer system. When it came up she, sounding a little angry, said, "Did you even listen to my message? I said hot women, not average and chunky ones." All I could do was stammer out an "okay, thanks anyway" and hang up.

And I hate that about me! I wish I'd ripped her a new one. I wish I'd verbally slammed her back to wherever her Euro-trash accent seems to indicate she's from. But I never do that. I never motuh off. I just write about how I wish I could.

I need some sort of anger-expression class. People seem to think I'm so wimpy and non-threatening. And I want to think I'm strong and independent and able to stand up for myself. But I come off like Debbie Reynolds as Shirley Temple in the Doris Day Story (without the booze or ex-ex-husbands). I hate that about me. People are always telling me I'm this way and I'm always a little floored by it. Once I dyed my hair black and gave myself short bangs. I thought it was really rebeliious, but it only made me pasty. I'm not sure what I'm trying to say, here. Maybe it's "screw beauty" or "down with cheerleaders" or "Why can't I be that girl with the razor-sharp wit?" I don't know. Pick one.