My brain is trying to say <bullshit!> without vocalizing it and I find myself, ridiculously, trying not to cry. I never cry.
Once I lost a part that would have been a career-launcher. I didn't know it at the time. The audition was embarrassing, I was so unprepared, and nobody told me that about ninety-seven percent of feature roles for women under 25 involve taking your top off, so you have to fight and scratch for the remaining one point five percent (the rest being roles where you take it all off and sit there with a modesty pad over your cooch while the axe murderer skins your corpse or whatever). They let me do my first reading in person, which was supposed to be an honor, and I had never even seen the script before. Then I went home and cried for an hour in my empty LA apartment that my commercial bought me because I was too stupid to find a way to make it right.
So now I don't cry anymore, and yet here I am stifling the impulse in a dorm room hallway over some boy I've never talked to before. Hmm, I wonder if there are other forces at work here? What a fucking stupid way to run a reproductive system.
In fairness, he may have been much more nervous than me. Maybe he was trying to work up the courage to talk to me, and finally did, and didn't want to overplay his hand and come off like one of the desperate nausea-inducing semi-fans trying to prove they're the most devoted, like look, I still have your sixth-grade ballet recital on DVD, isn't that great? Maybe. Still, though, fuck fairness and fuck him. I'm getting some pizza.
I go down to Kevin's.
<Whatup?>
<Uh - heads up everyone, cameras out- >
<Shut up, Kevin.>
< -celebrity on deck! Won't you join us, madame?>
Kevin didn't know who I was until halfway through orientation, whereupon he shouted <YOU'RE FAMOUS?> in the middle of a crowded auditorium and started laughing hysterically. He's one of those uber-rich kids who grew up between hotels in Geneva and Emirates and wherever, and has probably never felt insecure about anything in his life e
Once I lost a part that would have been a career-launcher. I didn't know it at the time. The audition was embarrassing, I was so unprepared, and nobody told me that about ninety-seven percent of feature roles for women under 25 involve taking your top off, so you have to fight and scratch for the remaining one point five percent (the rest being roles where you take it all off and sit there with a modesty pad over your cooch while the axe murderer skins your corpse or whatever). They let me do my first reading in person, which was supposed to be an honor, and I had never even seen the script before. Then I went home and cried for an hour in my empty LA apartment that my commercial bought me because I was too stupid to find a way to make it right.
So now I don't cry anymore, and yet here I am stifling the impulse in a dorm room hallway over some boy I've never talked to before. Hmm, I wonder if there are other forces at work here? What a fucking stupid way to run a reproductive system.
In fairness, he may have been much more nervous than me. Maybe he was trying to work up the courage to talk to me, and finally did, and didn't want to overplay his hand and come off like one of the desperate nausea-inducing semi-fans trying to prove they're the most devoted, like look, I still have your sixth-grade ballet recital on DVD, isn't that great? Maybe. Still, though, fuck fairness and fuck him. I'm getting some pizza.
I go down to Kevin's.
<Whatup?>
<Uh - heads up everyone, cameras out- >
<Shut up, Kevin.>
< -celebrity on deck! Won't you join us, madame?>
Kevin didn't know who I was until halfway through orientation, whereupon he shouted <YOU'RE FAMOUS?> in the middle of a crowded auditorium and started laughing hysterically. He's one of those uber-rich kids who grew up between hotels in Geneva and Emirates and wherever, and has probably never felt insecure about anything in his life e
