Tuesday was one of those magnificent days when it seems each moment is the happy wrap up of a romantic comedy starring Jennifer Aniston. Order a small Pomegranate Blueberry Tea Latte and they unwittingly make you a large, drive around Hollywood Boulevard for only three seconds before finding a free spot, and spend prescious moments with Karis, 4 and sassy.

It has been raining like mad in Los Angeles and Tuesday was no exception. Drivers became unhinged and fearfully, often at fours mile per hour, crawled down the drenched freeways. However, nothing was going to bother me that day. I securely sat on cloud 9 awaiting my 4:15PM audition.

When I pulled into WB’s parking structure it seemed clear I’d be running a far way in the rain, completely diminishing my strategic waves from “sexy beach” to drenched rat. Instead it abruptly stopped while I walked to the building and promptly started back up when I was within. Heaven kissed, thank you.

I read for a great role on a successful crime drama and I’d even get to die, which is one of my dramatic dreams. The casting director brought me through the scene twice before inviting me for a callback the following day. “Felicity,” c’mon, she had to be mine. As I left the rain had stopped. It poured again when I nestled into my car. I told my mom, “Hey, can’t this be a sign? Look at all the nice things that happened today; maybe I have the part!”

It was a nice sentiment but today proved to be untrue as another girl scooped up the role while I remained “good, but not right for this one.”

Regardless, I’ll consider yesterday a part of my fairy tale. I may not get everything that I want, and especially not specifically when I want it, but as I stood with my husband, brother, best friend, and friends outside of IO West comedy club where I’d just performed I knew I had everything I needed. Dreams can come true tomorrow… or the next day.

* Both photos from I Love Wildfox.

by Stefania Paparelli

Only in LA could a trailer actually symbolize luxury and success, and that is exactly what I told my actor boss that I longed for as my face scrunched up and tears unwittingly trailed down my cheeks. I quickly wiped the very bottom of my eyes, attempted to catch the droplets before they arrived in his view. Inevitably he noticed as he spun from the mirror and furrowed his brows in sympathy. “Whatchu need? You need some food? Some dessert? You’re officially on break, so…” 

I shook my head and apologized, “I feel like you’ve seen me cry so many times!”

“But it’s for good stuff,” he countered, “You don’t cry over any bullshit. If you did I’d think, this girl’s crazy; it’s cool but she’s damn crazy.” 

I smiled sadly, “I just… I just really thought it was mine. I let myself really imagine it and…I don’t like fantasizing. It’s too painful…not worth feeling like this. Please don’t make me come on set when she’s here.”

“Feel that wrath! Feel that envy!” he joked, “I’ll have you here everyday she’s on set!” 

I shot him a look of mocked horror. “I know the shoot dates. I will call out sick.”

It all began two days prior to this conversation. My agent called me about an audition for a great role on my boss’ show. It sounded perfect for me and the major highlights including being in a shootout with my boss himself! I couldn’t help but endeavor the role was mine; after all, what could be more perfect than making my television debut on a set where I have so much support? I know the entire cast, most of the crew, and my boss “David” is an enormous supporter of my career. 

I dressed my best and drove to the studio with more than a hint of glee about my life. The day had finally come: after 2 years, I was driving onto the studio lot as an actress. I arrived at the casting office with ten minutes to spare and was so determined to remain focused I deflected any of my “competition’s” attempts at conversation. “Thank you, these boots were 5 dollars.” Smile. Eyes immediately back to my lines. 

by Solve Sundsbo

“Brenda?” the assistant called. 

I scooped up my belongings and entered the audition room with a skip in my step. “I’m here!” I kept thinking.

The casting director smiled, gave me the basic direction, and prompted me, “Whenever you’re ready.” I performed the scene with the reader and looked back to the CD when I was finished. “Great! Now more laid back; even sarcastic.”

“Ok. Cool,” I smiled and proceeded to do so.

After this we moved on to the second scene which included a frantic declaration that my best friend had been killed. I went to the corner of the room, chest to the wall, and took a moment to become alive with such a wild emotion. I ran to the reader pronouncing the news. “Again,” said the casting director, then, “Again.” 

The reader smiled and whispered, “Great job” as the casting director held out my picture.

“Give this to the receptionist. See you at 4 for your callback. It was excellent.”

I couldn’t help but jump (one understated jump) and grab my picture. “I will be there!”

The hours between that moment and my callback were one third parts agony and two third parts amazing. I remained focused and even refrained from telling mom and dad what was happening. When I went back to the studio it seemed they narrowed down the actresses to 15 or so. I popped on my headphones, and zoned out on this role. I couldn’t believe how badly I wanted it. Every now and again I glanced to the trailers in the alley, hoping to see David. After all, I wouldn’t be the least bit ashamed if favoritism got me the role: bring on the unfair privilege!

Finally I was called in and found the producer, director, and casting director seated on the other side of a huge conference table. “So, how is it you know [David]?” the casting director inquired.

“I’m his personal assistant.”

“Ah, ok when your picture came in I thought it looked familiar. I finally put that together.” Cool. It seemed I’d gotten in the room with no favoritism at all. 

I read, the producer gave me a new direction and I did the best I could. My one sore regret is that I haven’t studied up on how to replicate being on drugs. His note was “more drugged out” and I’m really not sure I pulled that off the best I could have. Regardless, I held onto quite a bit of faith that the part had to be mine. 

Unfortunately my agent called me the next afternoon to announce some other girl would be living out my fantasy. I really hated her. I wish she had stayed home sick. I wasn’t the least bit into considering she deserved it more than I, or that the timing was simply hers. I actually cried. This isn’t the usual because you gain and lose roles all the time; this opportunity was just closer to my heart due to the circumstances.

Anway, back in David’s trailer, moments after I got the news, I embarrassedly wiped tears from my face and stated, “I just want a trailer, ya know? Of my own.”

David leaned forward in his chair, “You think that’s all you want? You think you’d be happy in a trailer? You think I’m happy just because I’m in one?” I nodded with the knowing of what was coming next. “You have to remember to be grateful or you will never be. We always want the next thing. I star on a show but now I wanna be an action star; I want people to know my name. You need to celebrate this as a victory. You kicked ass. You got the callback. You are obviously a great actress. You kicked ass! You did great! You are never satisfied. I know you, I know you well.” He was completely right. 

I still went through the phases of light grief: sadness to envy to bitterness to acceptance. And today I feel really good. I am so blessed that I continually get callbacks, and I need to revel in each victory. If not, one day soon I will be sitting in a trailer with my name on it, pissed off that the brunette on the show has more lines than me. I’d much prefer walking the route of gratitude and peace in every moment of life, for better or worse, in someone else’s trailer or my own.

I have been in the devoted process of self-torture since last night. It takes a lot of will-power, a great ability to self-loath, and an amazing lack of self-esteem. I am really, really beating myself up the best I can, and it’s working. I was even dedicated enough to pop open my eyes at 5AM and only manage a light and angry sleep, making sure to be pissed at myself all the way ’til 9.

A week ago I went on an audition for a feature film and it went spectacularly. The director became so enthusiastic about my performance that he nearly cried when I announced my hour long meter was up and I had to go. He sighed in disappointment but added, “I will see you at the callbacks! Absolutely.” The producer’s eyes popped in surprise. This must not be his usual protocol, I imagined. We all shook happy hands and I left, floating on a cload of my own approval. 

When I received the callback notice I thought, welp, gotta wait ’til Wednesday to claim that role. It was so mine. The other two girls had no idea they were wasting their time. A whole summer on set; I could hardly wait.

The situation at the callback was to be, 3 potential leading men, 3 potential leading women. We would be interchanged to determine who proved the greatest sexual chemistry, as it is an intense film on love between a younger girl and an older man. So, last night I arrived and found myself to be the only chick on time. The 3 men waited and we all chatted until the director pulled me and the first man into the room. I was really not attracted to him and, although I should have pushed that aside, I did feel it hindered my audition. I shrugged it off knowing I had two more chances to make it right. However, when I entered the foyer again there sat a girl I would let ruin my whole night. 

We actually looked and dressed quite similarly. She was much more petite but we essentially wore the same outfit and a nearly identical desire to be the funniest in the room. She purposefully ignored the other girl and I, only making eye contact to ask me to hand over a bottle of water. The rest of the time she spent buttering up the guys and cultivated a flirtatious relationship with the most attractive guy of the three. I got the distinct impression she knew the role was hers and it was just a matter of deciding which guy she preferred.  

For some wretched reason her assurance slowly chipped away at mine. The greatest audition blunder is comparison and this one gave me three entire hours to ruin myself through her. She went second and when she reentered the room she was practically holding the guy’s hand; it was as though they decided it would be them. And unfortunately, I believed it.

From then on, I could not bring myself back to planet earth where I am fun, confident, and talented. My mind made the experience a competition for a role I cared about instead of an exhilarating opportunity to act. My greatest regret is that the director was on my side and I still couldn’t deliver. He kept saying, “Where’s your electricity? The real you I know? Give that to me this time. Action!” And instead I performed a half-assed rendition of, “God, why won’t that girl get sick and go home?” 

The man tried everything to bring me from my shell. At one point I was even straddling an actor on the floor, kissing, and trying to be intimate… but yes “trying.” “Acting,” not being present. I was on planet jealousy…or rather, insecurity.

Long story short, what hurts the most is that I thought I was so past being such an idiot. I keep thinking I know who I am and what I have to offer. I was so sure I knew better than to stoop down so low. I can’t even believe how badly the director wanted me to succeed… and I didn’t. 

All I can say to the benefit of myself, is that it was a great awakening to my heart. I am so grateful to become aware of this monstrous problem now, because I’ll be damned if I let myself be that way again. I need to work on this issue, starting this instant, to be sure my brain takes a 180 on this. Three cheers to that being the last time insecurity ruins me. Here’s to confidence! Hip. Hip. Hooray.

Rock of Love

VH1

A couple months ago I was driving in the Valley around 6PM and spotted this girl as I sat at a red light. She was headed towards this mini-mall type of place and there was one question I pondered: is that chick a hooker or an actress? Honest to the sweet heavens, I was not being judgmental; I was genuinely curious.  

As you know, I’m part of that sex industry non-profit so my heart went out to her, but it was still worth investigating. She wore a teeny-tiny black skirt, one of the those neon pink excuses for a shirt that swooped down to her belly button, and high wedge heels. Her hair was teased to the roof. My car remained idling at the red light as I watched her walking past the yogurt shop and into this mysterious door. The sign on the side of the building read “So and so’s Construction” so I resolved to her being the former assumption and continued on my way.

About a month later, I found out about this place where you can pay 30-60 bucks a session to meet a variety of Hollywood’s finest casting directors and I resolved to join. One joins the organization by audition only, so I headed out to do so. Low and behold, I pulled up to the same place where I had spotted the actooker/hooktress and found myself walking the same stairs she did. The casting place was next to the construction place. I laughed to myself and changed my verdict on the girl.

I bring this up to beg all you fellow actresses a favor. Please, please learn the true definition of sex appeal! I know we are all pining and begging to be noticed but consider a few points:

A) 90% of the casting directors I’ve met are either flamboyantly gay or female. The former group is known for their impeccable sense of style while the latter will just be inclined to judge you and the vagina they can see in clear view when you sit down. 

B) At least one poker straight CD begged the girls listening to keep the modesty up. “Believe me,” he noted, “if I can see the majority of your breast and your underwear, my eyes will split your audition time between the two and forget to hear a word you say.”

C) Sex appeal can be achieved WITH CLOTHES! I know this may be quite a revelation, but it’s oh so true. First, follow the simple rule: chose to show leg OR cleavage, NOT BOTH. Second, please use this picture as a blueprint:

There is not even a sliver of skin let alone a straying nipple and yet, would you not gawk at this girl’s hottness if you saw her leaning on your local mailbox? Her being a model aside, look at the length of leg you can show a casting director with all the modesty that would make even the most strict momma proud. That’s right ladies, you can even wear a sweater.

In short I’m begging you to use a little common sense and an overall feeling of self-esteem when dressing. It is essentially a business meeting of sorts, after all. If you wanna wear a crotchless unitard to the club be my guest, but pair your auditions with the thought and faith that your talent will carry you through.

Just had to get that off my chest. Thank you. 

As many know by now, I like having complete transparency in my writing. When I’m up, it’s known, when I’m down, it’s clear. That being said, I’ve been struggling with the idea of “success” for a while…uh, I mean forever. And lately, it’s rearing its ugly six headed being in a more full force. It would seem that, as honored as I may be to work for successful people, my supposed lack of accomplishment keeps nawing at my feet, begging the question, “Brenda, are you really on the right path? Are you actually walking in the right direction?” For some clarity, here is my story.

In elementary school I was exceedingly quiet. I don’t recall being shy, but more so, observant. I used to sing, loudly and proudly, in the privacy of my bedroom constantly so when the teacher announced auditions for the “head ringmaster” of our circus concert, it seemed natural that I audition. It never occurred to me how astonished Mrs. Dash and her class would be when I opened my mouth and allowed that loud, belty voice to escape. All my classmates’ teeny mouths lay agape as Mrs. Dash uttered several surprised adjectives, staccato.

I remember just how I felt to this day. There was a flush in my cheeks and a gentle roll butterflies breaking through their cocoons in my tummy. I gazed out into the bleachers ahead and knew I had stumbled upon something incredible. The passion I uncovered that day has never left.

In the beginning, I did all I could to move forward. I auditioned for plays in middle school and in between seasons I sought opportunities in the paper for community theater. Not long after I educated myself on local talent agencies and decided to meet with the only “bigwig” I could find: Edie Rob of Talentworks, renown for discovering the 3 Lawrence brothers.

My rejection letter from Edie Robb.

As you can see, it was a disaster. Well, she didn’t type “humiliating failure” in the letter but, believe, it was! My lack of confidence held me back worse than a bouncer would in a bar fight. I couldn’t deliver amidst my fear. Thankfully, local theater kept up my resolve and an understanding that I was talented, just lacking a strong sense of self with the New York or Philadelphia types of industry folk.

However, I never ceased to dream. I spent countless hours in my room creating monologues, rearranging my furniture to resemble a set, teaching myself to cry in the mirror, and staring in awe at the huge screens in local movie theaters. I imagined my life as a pint-sized starlett and even cried in misery over Anna Chlumsky’s role in My Girl. “Why wasn’t I in that movie,” I begged my mom, “Why didn’t I audition?” After I wiped my tears I just imagined myself as her instead, with pretend cameras capturing my Oscar-worthy reaction to Macaulay’s bee death in the back yard.

by Bruce Weber

Fast-forward to today and it’s hard to figure out who I’m “supposed” to be. I have friends my age with Oscar nods, others with starring roles in motion pictures, more who audition constantly, and a few who appear on TV now and again. If I had a dollar every time I heard, “Oh geez, I just was modeling and thought acting would maybe be kinda fun, ya know? And boom! Haha, isn’t that so funny?!” … Yeah. Hilarious. Plainly, it has been confusing, and sometimes disheartening or lonely, to be in a category all my own. I hardly feel like delving into all my supposed woes and instead would prefer to highlight my many blessings.

Honestly, everything I’ve accomplished came so naturally, it just flowed like sweet honey. Those blessings are uncomplicated and lovely. I moved to Los Angeles in short notice after being encouraged by an acting coach. From there every home in which I resided flowed from one to the next. My relationship with Drew was easy from the start and the way we met was never forced. I fell into celebrity styling without even trying, then into PA extraordinaire from there, and have written for magazines simply thanks to word of mouth. None of that is glamorous, but the moments within it all have been cinematic and beautiful; a huge adventure, for sure. But, those were the things I never pined over and exhausted myself towards. It’s all been more like eating a piece of cake I was simply offered- then kicking butt at gobbling it all up.

So, perhaps the lesson is: relax… I am creating- with my Creator- everything I desire. I need to just enjoy the ride.

Enjoy life!!

by Kalle Gustafsson

I puckered my lips in frustration as I pulled away from CBS’ side entrance. “I was just here yesterday, don’t they remember” I mumbled aloud while I made the, apparently painstaking, drive all the way down the block to the main gate. “Hi, Brenda King. I have a drive on?”

“Oh, yeah,” the young guard answered as he threw a parking pass into my beaten-up Honda.

I continued down into the parking structure with a huffy, “This is gonna be such a long walk! What a day to wear heels.” I slammed the car door, fixed my wrinkled shirt, and loudly clomped through the echoed structure.

When I walked into the sunlit streets, past star trailers and lunch buffets, I couldn’t help but notice the gawking similarity between crew members and construction workers. I squinted my eyes into the best Philly snarl I could muster; I was not in the mood. I bitterly wondered if they would dare undress a leading lady like that.

I climbed the stairs of my boss’ trailer to find it empty. This was only my third time at CBS, but I knew how to get to his set. I waited for the symbolic “do not enter; we are shooting” red light to turn off before pushing open the door. The director’s assistant remembered me and instructed me to wait where I was. “How is your day?” I inquired.

He shrugged, “I’d rather be writing.”

My eyebrows sunk into his pain, “I’d rather be acting.” We quietly laughed at our exchange until he grabbed his earpiece and ran away, “Quiet on set, people!”

I scanned the fake city backdrop and considered the walls that made this fantasy FBI office appear alive. I smiled in recollection of my mom painting my middle school plays’ sets year-by-year. My God I love her, I smiled.

“Brenda!” my boss waved, forcing me back into 2008. He walked me through the maze of extras, professionally dressed desks, interrogation areas, and into a coffee break room. I considered grabbing a cup until I remembered the jug would only be an empty prop. My boss, who I completely adore, explained my tasks for the day as I took notes. But, part of me thought, “Please, not so loud. Everyone will think I’m an assistant!” Of course, that is exactly what I happen to be, but I didn’t want to be one that day or ever again. I just wanted to quit and have a hotel tycoon father. I didn’t want to take notes in a fake coffee break room. I wanted a real live latte and a camera in my face!

by Ruven Afanador

Fast-forward one week and, on my way to yoga with Teresa, my agent rung. “Brenda! God, you will love this role worlds more than the porn star one. It’s for a young, beautiful girl that believes she can make the world a better place. A sitcom. Casting liked your look but demanded you be a strong actress or you’d waste their time,” I smiled knowing my agent doesn’t even know if I am, “Be at Barham in one hour. I’ve emailed you the sides.”

I hung up in utter excitement and complete panic. I would have to go home, change, read the script, and be at the audition in an hour. This combination of tasks would usually take a good hour and a half but this was for a lead in a pilot. (Meaning a new show a network wants to test out. If they like it, it airs on TV and the cast’s lives change forever, ect.) At the risks of maimed pedestrians and traffic tickets, I was determined to make it…

 Perhaps only by God’s grace, I stepped through the door of the appropriate room at Universal 1:30pm on the dot. I didn’t even know it was at Universal! “Brenda?” the assistant called as my stomach sank to the floor, “Robin will see you now.”

Not having finished reading the script I joked with the casting director, “You threw me for a whirlwind! I thought I was going to yoga.”

“I know,” she apologized, “I’m sorry but it was very last-minute. Are you ready?”

“Sure,” I smiled.

Girls were to perform one out of the 4 scenes but after each one Robin asked me to read another. In the end, she quietly stood, gracefully walked to a nearby shelve, and pulled out a full script. “Can you read this and be back in one hour to meet the producers?”

Butterflies exploded in my tummy, “Yes!”

I ran to elevator, called mom, Drew, and my agent with screaming, sat in my car, and read the script. Quickly the hour passed and I went back in. Unfortunately a black girl, a short brunette, and a smattering of blondes sat on the couches, as well. At that point I realized this one wouldn’t come down to the girl they like best, but whether they choose to go black, white, or Asian. “Brenda,” the assistant called again, skipping me in front of the other notably angry girls.

This time Robin, 2 producers, and a camera looked on. I read the first scene and to my joy, the producers laughed and laughed. They asked me to read a second and they heartily laughed again. “So, so nice to meet you,” they smiled.

I floated out on a cloud.

Last night I shared the saga with my acting teacher and 2 other male students. My coach Peter unfortunately noted I would most likely have known if I got it by that evening. Then Jeff chimed in. “Listen Brenda, if I may, I’ve been in a ton of classes,” he rolled his eyes, “I mean a hell of a lot of classes and you are the best actress I’ve ever seen in person, by far.” I blushed in shock and disbelief as I looked to a smiling Peter nodding in agreement.

So, I was a complete brat the other day at CBS. I get there sometimes. I mean, often I feel like a kitten with a vibrant ball of yarn dangling before my paws, just out of my reach. However, I feel awakened to what an absurd and ungrateful view that happens to be. I see walking on set as a curse and not a blessing. Why? If I had a view into this life when I was 15 I would have peed my pants with joy and desire.

Instead of hearing a dream career call out only to beg, “When? When will it be? Can I have it now? How soon in now?” I need to see that it is now, indeed. Life truly is about the journey and I am intensely blessed. “Trucking” along is not easy, but living in the now is.

By nothing short of “meant to be” I stumbled upon one line from an old journal. It read, “All I want in life is to make a living completely off of writing and acting.” How soon is now? That is now!

Keep on believing and seeing the truth in life: when one desires the lovely and honorable things in life, dreams surround them in every moment of everyday. Don’t miss the moments, don’t miss the journey…, Brenda.

still from Little Miss Sunshine

Last Friday I sat on my bed before my roommates and our friend, Tara. My stomach constantly flip-flopped, replicating a hundred thousand butterflies. It was three o’clock and I had to consider, “Either I will wake up on Monday, and life will continue as usual…or it will completely change.” It was like buying a lottery ticket and finding out there were only three other people in the running. By the time Tanya and I sat in a fashion show around 8 o’clock, I knew I would have to wait an entire weekend to hear the news.

It all began last Monday. My agent called me for a Wednesday audition. “Dress 70’s, wear bootie shorts, and make your legs shimmer!” he demanded.

“I can do all of those things well,” I promised. He explained that the wonderful people of Nair were remaking the 1970’s version of the “we wear short shorts” commercial and my presence was requested.

I drug my darling friend Hayden to a dance studio in Silverlake and entered a lobby full of tall lovelies, legs glistening, in short shorts. As usual, this gig was anyone’s game. Up on the screens was the original 70’s commercial, on repeat. We hundred-plus girls were asked to watch and replicate it for the audition.

Dancing is not, at all, my number one area of confidence so, all I could do was pray that God would remind my legs to move the way they used to in all my days of musical theater. The audition took place in a large mirrored room and the choreographer split us like so: dancers on the right, models on the left. A fellow model whispered into my ear, “Do you realize who that is? The choreographer is Fatima Robinson! She’s done the dancing for every music video on the planet and Dreamgirls!”

I smiled, “I’m gonna pretend I didn’t hear that.”

“I know, right!” she exclaimed nervously.

Fatima, a petite and freakin’ foxy black woman with amazing style, turned to the mirror. “OK, models. Do this,” she said, following with a little dance. I faked all the confidence that I could muster and she pointed at two girls, then at me, then at ten others. To the remaining ladies: “Thanks for your time. You can go.”

I sighed heavily; I made the first cut.

 In a different room, they put us each on tape doing the dance and sent us home. In the car I complained to Hayden, “I always mess up the last moment! I’m such a loser. I did great, then on tape I blew it.” Apparently I didn’t, however, as I received a callback (simply another audition with less girls up for the role).

I was surprised to arrive on Friday and realize there were only 6 or 7 girls of each “look” called back. Seven blondes, six brunettes, and six black girls arrived. Fatima showed us more of the dance and called the blondes up first. Right away she chose four of us and sent the remaining three home. I stifled my shock and joy as I stood against the wall watching the other girls dance. “You can do this, Bren. God, help me do this,” I whispered to myself.

Fatima ended up with a total of 11 girls she and the producers were interested in and sent us in the other room to be taped. I practicing the cute little moves as many times as I could before the camera rolled and I did the best I could.

I ran to my car, dialed my mom, and screamed all the news. One week earlier I’d sobbed my eyes out to her in frustration and sorrow that no matter how hard I work I only ever have forty dollars in my account and we’d prayed that needed to change. So, this time we cried again and begged God that His will be done but, that please-oh-please may this be His will! Haha.

My agent called me around three and said I was “on hold”, meaning another cut was made and I was still in the running for the Wednesday shoot. However, they hadn’t decided by Friday, so I was in for a potentially excruciating weekend of anticipation.

Thankfully, my best friend Tony, my brother, and my Drew acknowledged that God has me waiting for a reason and that maybe, just maybe this was a time to reflect on how far I’d come. So, that I did.

I recalled Mom and my road-trip from Jersey to CA, my time at USC, Courtney and I scrounging for change to buy Del Taco, all the complete jerk “industry” people I’d met these 4 years, all the broken promises, all the jobs I’ve taken to make ends meet, all the friends I’ve made, being homeless for a painful stint, all the journals I’ve filled, all the prayers I’ve prayed, all the mistakes I’ve made, all the times I’d believed despite the terrible situations, all the tears I’ve cried, and how much I’ve grown. I realized I wasn’t ready for money or acting during those times; it just wasn’t the timing and I wasn’t mature. I’m not perfect now, by any means, but I know more now than I did then. I felt ready.

Monday was terrible. I couldn’t sleep or eat. My stomach turned all day and I called my mom and Drew when I hadn’t heard by 3pm. “These people are evil,” I whined, “Pure, pure evil at its worst! This is torture! Total torture!”

4pm: my agent called. In total monotone voice, “Hey, Brenda.” I was silent. “So, you booked it.” I screamed in his poor ear. He gave me the details as I wrote them on a notepad with trembling hands. “Shave and sleep,” he ended. The former I could do, the latter I doubted. 

When I hung up I instantly collapsed on the floor in tears. I know it sounds silly to be so dramatic over a hair removal commercial, but it is so much more than that. It means financial freedom, greater opportunity, and exposure. It means being in the Screen Actors Guild. And, absolutely best of all, it means that my fabulous father and beautiful mother finally get a glimmer of all our sacrifice paid off. My mom cried, which was beautiful, but my dad, oh my dad. He teared up and laughed and laughed and laughed. “I told you, Brenny,” he said, “Didn’t I tell you that you are beautiful?” There are few things I’ve dreamt of more that but to make him proud, and to hear it in his voice made everything so worthwhile.

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.