Sunday, May 13, 2012


This morning I woke up feeling fat and crabby.

Due on set at noon, I grudgingly took the dog out and then consumed my breakfast--Coke, cereal bar, 3 packs of fruit snacks.

It's no wonder I've gained 10 pounds.

I tugged my shirt over my head. This top fit me once. Now I am busting out of it. Given the choice, I'd wear something else, but this is what the director wanted for today.

It's raining, so my hair looks like shit. My face is broken out. Damn this tight shirt! I can't even fucking breathe!

Nothing on the radio pleases me, so I drive in silence to set, where I am to play one of the many doppalgangers of the lead character.

I go inside.

The other doppelgangers are all there.

And all blonde.

And beautiful.

Fuck. My. Life.

I sit quietly among the bombshells, listening as they discuss what projects they are working on, what roles they've played and "the challenges of the industry." I stifle my yawns. Generic chatter. Generic beauty. I've wantonly stumbled into the fucking Stepford Wives.

But one of the masses catches my interest.

She looks like the others, but she is not.

There is something in the way she moves. I can just tell.

This one has a timidness, a shyness.

She is tugging at her shirt. She is wearing stripes. (We all are.)

She complains that horizontal stripes make her look fat. (She doesn't). Another girl explains that the stripes are to represent imprisonment. (They do.)

Hours pass as hours do, and by this time I have spoken at length with, oh, let's call her Sarah. Sarah and I discuss our body image issues. Sarah and I discuss the aspects of herself she hates. Sarah and I discuss how shy she used to be, how she is really coming out of her shell, how she wants to dye her hair, or--better yet!--cut some bangs. Do I think it will look okay if she gets bangs?

Sarah and I are both anticipating lunchtime. Fox Bros. BBQ! Yum! She and I will have an eating contest. I am certain I can out eat this lovely damsel, but, to her credit, Sarah piles a hefty portion on her styrofoam plate. Diet and tight shirt be damned, I neither back down from a plate of barbecue nor a challenge!

While I scarf mine with a zeal usually reserved only for Coke, fruit snacks and Bejeweled, Sarah excuses herself to the bathroom.

Where she throws up.

I can hear her.


Sarah is wrapped, but stays on set. It is time for my scene. I am to be auditioning for a role that the lead covets. As I give my audition, the lead watches, peeking through a curtain in the waiting room. The monologue is long, poignant--about a painting of an angel that contemplates, in the moment, the prospect of having to turn away from humanity, leaving it to its own devices, to fight the greater war.

I ask the director how he wants my audition played.

He says "nervous."

I played Sarah.

It was flawless. Perfect.

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