I parked illegally in a restaurant lot. I was already exhausted of my change for meters due to neglected dirty laundry and the extensive street parking I’d done the past two weeks.

I felt my cheap bikini sliding down my shoulder under my oversized, Mary Kate Olson-inspired sweater. I messed up my hair and flipped it over my head in a single swoop and strewn more gloss across my lips. My pink Razor plummeted to the ground, for the hundredth time, and therefore exposed myself to whistling construction workers as I picked it up.

I rolled my eyes and entered the respective building according to the sloppily written address in my notebook. Having found the place, I tore out the page and spit my gum in it.

“Here I go again.”

There were auditions taking place in nearly every room of the long hallway. Passing attractive, sloppy brunette men, then 1940’s inspired dancers, then a group of black business women, I reached my apparent destination: tall, hot girls signed their names on a paper and stood nervously with their headshots. “Tag commercial?” a casually dressed woman inquired.

“Yes,” I answered.

“Sign your name, give me your resume, and read the sides to prep. It will be a moment.”

I did all of the above and wondered why-oh-why on God’s green earth did this commercial audition require a resume? The sides, which are chosen scenes, including lines from the project, were tacked onto the wall. I was mortified and wondered why I showed up to this crap.

Commercial one: girls wear whip cream bikinis. Perverted idiot male says: If I want to stay awake all night long, I eat plenty of sugar!

Commercial two: girl plays guitar naked. Perverted idiot males look on and one says: I love late-night music sessions!

Commercial three: girl lies naked on a bar. Perverted idiot males pour ice cream, whip cream and sprinkles all over her body. One says: I love ice cream bars!

I cringed and readjusted my bikini strap again. Gorgeous brunettes, buxom blondes, fiery red heads, all tall and striking, came here to compete for the coveted 4 female roles in these moronic commercial spots. Suddenly I realized, “Oh, no. So did I.”

All I could think of was the guts it takes to come to L.A. and join the audition circuit. I was willing to bet that every girl there was the biggest fish in her small hometown pond, having starred in many-a-musical, as I had, now encouraged to “follow [her] dreams.” I doubted any of us dreamt of this…

Am I a bra-burning, anti-establishment, anti-makeup, Bible-slanging feminist longing for a female president and the shooting of all things male?

Hell, no.

Do I believe in and live and breathe for every woman’s understanding of her beauty, respect for oneself (male or female), and entertainment as a medium to change the world for the absolute better?

Yes.

As a Christian woman auditioning, my rules are hardly strict: No Satanic films, no roles that glorify violence or promiscuity, and no nudity.

Will I curse in a role, worship Satan, do violent acts, or be promiscuous? Yes. It all depends upon the overall story. An actor, in my belief, should never shy away from the gritty, terrible roles that are offered; to do so would be to ignore the world as it truly is. How can one write or act a story that will affect people’s lives if one ignores the pain and torment people go through in the world? It goes back to the age-old argument, someone has to play Judas in the Jesus play.

However, here I stood, called into a room with four other beauties. Two men and one woman sat at the judging table as one announced, “Ok, bikinis everyone.”

I laid my clothes onto the floor and kept asking myself, “Bren, why are you doing this?” These spots definitely broke one of my few, very simple rules- that glorifying promiscuity one, of course.

I went last. “Slate your name.”

“Brenda Marie.”

“Brenda, do you play the guitar.”

“No.”

“How do you stay awake all night?” I recalled the other girls’ answers: “lots of drugs” and “red bull.”

“Dancing like an idiot.”

“What’s the craziest thing you’ve ever done?”

“Probably live in a frat house with 30 guys.” The producer’s face lit up as they waited for some details. I only shrugged. I desperately wished I had the guts to say, “Walk out of this retarded audition,” and done so. However, I felt obligated to not make a fool of my agent, which is fair.

Silence.

“Uh, ok. Thanks girls.”

Several of the girls stayed behind to kiss some butt as I threw my clothes on and left. My sweater was halfway on as I passed the aforementioned handsome brunettes. One whistled and I felt gross.

Although I’ve been auditioning nearly every other day this week, this was the first time I realized my “type cast”: tall, pretty, and potentially (hopefully) willing to degrade herself in the name of men’s body spray.

I called my mom, dad, brother, and boyfriend in a frenzy. I realized that as much as I long to be Cate Blancett, Kate Winslet, or Kate Hudson, until I am an amazing actress, I am exposing myself to potential degradation. I may know I am better than this; think of it, what agent in their right mind would send those three Kates to an audition like that? None! However, until I prove myself at that level I am Brenda Marie- tall, pretty girl.

I long to be so much more.

So, off I go, today auditioning to die of a heroin overdose; frankly, that sounds a lot more like it.