I hate you, Gertrude. And how do you say "WHAT THE FUCK" in French, again?

I have always had a horrible sense of direction.

Not if you give me a map, because then I can kinda visualize it and figure out my shit.

But throw me in a town I don't know, drive from point A to point B and then have me drive there the next day, and there's absolutely no way unless I can google map it first.

My parents are very aware of this. Especially since I still ask them how to get to places in my own hometown.

Which is why they gave me Gertrude.

Gertrude is the GPS that's hooked up to my car.

It used to be Gladys...Gladys was a portable TomTom GPS, but my parents didn't feel comfortable with the notion that I'd be holding Gladys in one hand, and driving with the other, and sharing my eyes between the two.

Gertrude is very different from Gladys.

Gertrude enjoys long walks on the beach...long, overly complex, not well indicated walks on the beach. 

Gertrude is also voice activated. I have yelled profanity at Gertrude, to which Gertrude responds with  "SIRIUS 34" and tries to drown out my complaints with bad country music.

So I had this audition at Culver City High School. Long story, short: I had an audition for a high school project. I realized the director that had e-mailed me also happened to be finishing up his Senior year in highscool. 

I'm extremely good at stalking researching. 

I weighed the pros and cons of this situation, and ultimately decided...fuck it. Maybe the film teacher or someone's parent will see it and something happens. At the very least, it gives me on camera experience...in front of 17 year olds. 

Culver City is hella far. It's about 30 minutes away with no traffic. And it seemed even further away since this was a non-paying, high school project. But it was my only audition that day, so what the heck.

I put in the address I find on google maps for Culver City Highschool into Gertrude...and she's not having it. Apparently that doesn't exist. Lovely. So I look on google maps, and turns out, it's at a different address. 

Okay. Cool. Well, let's go.

I get there, park the car, with only 4 minutes to spare. 

I park the car, and fast walk to the front of the school, where apparently someone is supposed to meet me. 

And no one's there.

Fuck.

So I go back to the car and try to figure my shit out. I google map it again...and there's another Culver City high school. I skip Gertrude because she has officially failed me and follow the route on my iphone.

I park, run out, get to the front of the school...

And there's no one.

Absolutely no one.

I just got stood up by a 17 year old boy.

I take my walk of shame back to my car, and get stuck in traffic for a lovely 45 minute drive. Nice.

When I get home, I immediately get on my computer and write him a note so full of anger, I can't even retype it because the revisitation of frustration will be too great:

Click to read: 

Yeah. He'll remember that. Especially the 'best' part.

After I send him my words of fury...I notice I've received a **CMAIL MESSAGE**.

**CMAIL MESSAGE**s are from the Actor's Access website, and they basically indicate that you have an audition for something, which always make me all tingly inside.

I click it, and as it loads, I wonder who it could be from...maybe that film where they need a girl with sad eyes...or another 16 year old part...

And the next thing that happens, my friends, I could have never believed if it wasn't staring at me from my tiny iphone screen...

I got a callback for the French shit.

And I litterally yell, "WHAT THE SHIT" to this message, because there has to be some kind of mistake. Or the casting people were like, "Hey...tomorrow's going to be a long day...let's splice in something funny..."

I get a callback for the french shit. It's tomorrow. And the producers from NRJ have apparently flown to LA especially to meet all the potential cast. 

Part of me freaks out. And the other part is like, "Fuck, whatever." Not because it doesn't seem like a great opportunity, but I had so totally dismissed the project after spending too much energy on it the first time around, I just didn't have enough left to care. 

As soon as I confirm my appointment, the lady from the casting calls me to...double confirm it, I guess. And insists I get a bikini shot. Like, really this time. Even if it's a 4 x 6 picture...which was exactly what she was going to get.

This time, though, I knew what to expect. I tried to practice some clever, witty, yet sexually intriguing phrases...in my head. So no one could ever hear them. 

This was my plan: wake up, have Sam take the picture for me, bring it to Walgreens, and have it printed out.

This is what actually happened:

I thought since Sam and I were planning on making/eating breakfast, we would just take the picture really quick before and he'd go off to work.

Breakfast got cancelled though, and Sam just went to work.

But I thought I could just put the camera somewhere, take a picture, and ta-da, good to go.

I end up having to tape Trader Joes bags to the window to block the sun, while stacking stools to make a tripod, and put Sam's camera on top with a timer. After setting things up, I took a couple pictures and I thought I was goood toooo goooo.

And then the cable to link up the camera was missing.

Sam doesn't know where it is, but it's probably in the pile of boxes and shit he has yet to go through that fill up the other room...

And I don't have time to sort through it all to find it.

Plan B: Use my camera.

Oh it's out of batteries. And the charger is in Saratoga.

Plan C: My iphone camera.

Wait there's no timer on it.

So I go to plan D, which was an option I was hoping to avoid: my macbook.

That's right. I took pictures of me in a bikini for a French cable show...with my macbook.

After I choose some okay-looking ones, I run to my trusty Walgreens.

And the photo section is closed.

In hindsight, it was probably for the best: I want to keep going to that Walgreens, and asking them to print out low quality pictures of me in a bikini makes me feel bad for them. And I'd want to reasure them that I wasn't a hooker. Or trying to be. And that chat would just get awkward, because he'd try to tell me it was cool, but would still be wondering why the fuck I'm getting these done...

So I went to another Walgreens, where I would never have to see the photo developer again.

Grabbed the photos, and I had about an hour to get to the audition, which was right near this Walgreens.

I was ready to go...when my eye started bothering me again. All morning my right contact had felt awkward, like there was a hair trapped under it or something...

So I think, I'll just put some water in a bottle cap and rinse it off...

Worst. Idea. Ever.

Never put your contacts in bottled water. Because they start doing that three-leaf clover tongue trick by the time you take it out and will totally dissolve.

This probably wouldn't be a problem with anyone else...but I am fucking blind. Anyone who has ever put on my glasses knows...I can't see for shit.

And now I have to drive back to my house to grab another contact. Which means driving with one eye.

Before I leave I take a look at the pictures I just made someone develop..and they look okay. That'll do.

So I pirate-it. I squint my right eye as I make my way back home, and try to avoid looking too deranged. Someone made eye contact with me, and immediately felt like they should try not to stare.

I get home, pop one of those suckers in, and off I go again.

As I collect all my audition items, I look at the bikini picture again...

It looked great when I was blind, but now it kind of looked like one of those dot paintings that only look good when you look at it from 3 feet away. Hopefully someone is also missing a contact when looking at it. 

I barely make it ontime. Why does this keep happening to me. 

And the whole room is just filled with French dudes.

It's like my mom decided to find her version of the perfect dream guy for me and place them in this audition (sorry mom, I went British).

I meet this one French dude who's actually really chill, and I get to practice my French on him...minus the cat calls.

And while we're talking, I ask him about if he knows anything about this show...

...and I find out it's for a French reality program.

And they're basing it off The Hills.

What a lovely inspiration.

I always said I would never do reality TV. Ever. Because although some people know that you'd just be playing a character...there's 3/4 of the people who would think you really are a psycho bitch. And that's not really my goal.

As he tells me this, a girl with huge fake boobs, fake blonde hair, and tons of make up comes in. She doesn't really seem to speak French, but my guess is that's not really why they called her back. Looks like they found their Heidi. 

Finally it's my turn to go upstairs and meet the producers. I go in, and as I say hello to everyone, one of the producers looks at me and gives me a creepy wink-smile. I feel so much better knowing my bikini picture is being looked at by this professional. 

I look and see that...oh hey, my "best friend" is here. Now I feel comfy.

They had me say my name into a camera...and then slowly turn to the left....and then to the right...this is a cable show pilot, right?

And they had me audition with the same thing they had everyone else do: Talk to your "best friend" with love and express how much you love her, and then go ahead and say how much you hate her.

I had heard everyone else yelling and shouting curse words for their "hate" auditions from when I was downstairs...and the words of the wise Risa Brainin came to me: "Sometimes the reactions that are the least expected are the most interesting".

So I get mad...but like, disappointed mad. Like the worst anger you could get from someone you loved.

But I forgot it was reality TV, and no one gives a shit. Oops.

I end it, and leave, and talk to French man about how he did. He offers to walk me to my car. Aw, that's nice and frenchtastic of you. And then, asks if I have an agent. I say no, but I'm meeting with one on Thursday...and he basically says if I send him my shit, he'll forward it to his agent. Which was really super nice of him, he clearly didn't have to do that. 

So good shit did come out of this weird-ass audition process. The LA karma gods that I thought didn't exist, decided to peer their heads through the cloud of pollution and smile their freshly whitened teeth down at me.

I'm pretty sure they wont call me. 

Although that's what I said last time...

So my first TV exposure might be in France. On a reality show. 

Awesome.