Pardon my French.

Alright...so I'm starting to believe I have a really bad knack for thinking that I'm going to know exactly what's going to happen...to then suddenly realizing I don't and I should stop.

I'm subscribed to Actor's Access, which if you're an actor in LA, is super handy and lovely (but sign up for showfax too, because then all your acting submissions are $2 each, which adds up if you submit for about 3-4 jobs per day). A lot of good stuff gets posted on here (commercials, specific parts in TV shows, feature films, etc). And a lot of weird shit goes up too. Like there's always a need for a sexy, fit, athletic girl (usually blonde, sometimes brunette, but usually never redhead...where's the love).

Personally, I'm just not into going into a room and showin' some titty. It's not my thing. I get awkward and end up finishing the audition with a distorted weird face and tiny movements. And, I don't know, that's not interesting to me.

Anyway, I browse the auditions postings, submitting myself for all the 16 year old parts...and low and behold: FRENCH PILOT CASTING FRENCH SPEAKING ACTORS.

THAT'S ME...I yelled in my head. I speak French! I act! Awesome.

My French is good. I'm fluent...except for the part where I don't speak it to anyone except my mom. So language and scenarios become limited. But shit, I speak it.

It ends up being this pilot for NRJ 12, a pretty big cable network in France. The premise is these French kids who go to Hollywood..and I guess things happen.

Things that go through my head: Well, they'll need Californians that speak French...like they run into a California girl who also speaks French and crazy shit happens! That could be me!

And then I saw the word that makes my heart beat a little faster.....IMPROVISATION.

I don't know why, but improv scares the shit out of me. Maybe it's because when it comes to acting, I like...well, not fucking up. I can write something, come back, and act it out? That I can totally do. But just shoot the shit and hope I don't say anything ridiculous...that's okay, I'll be over here...

So this is FRENCH improvisation. Which is worse than English because the fucking up ratio increases.

I signed up and submitted myself...and a day later I get a response. They want me to audition. The next day. With a warning that fluent french speakers need not apply if you can't do IMPROVISATION in French.

Well, fuck.

I wasn't going to do it...I just had this vision of me forgetting words, doing the awkward dance I normally do when I know I've fucked up, and them chewing me out for thinking that I was fluent ENOUGH to do this shit.

And then a lady calls from the auditions.

I pretend to be surprised that I got an audition, even though I was about to respond to the e-mail with a "Oh noooo, I'm bussyyyy"

And I say yes, sure, I'll see you tomorrow.

And it turned into one of those situations where you're like...well. I'm halfway there anyway...

She also asked for a bikini picture. Because I guess people just have professional shots of them in a bikini. That's cool, you get this one of me in a leotard and you'll just have to deal.

So I talk to my mom, get the French juices flowing...why does that sound inappropriate.

And I watch a couple of French movies.

I should really rewrite that other sentence...

And I really get as prepared as I possibly can, thinking of scenarios that "THE BEST FRIEND" could be in, and somehow make them funny. Literally, I think of a ton of different little paths to take anything they throw at me as this "BEST FRIEND" character.

And it's all I did that whole day. When I'm stressed about something possibly going wrong, I prepare my ass off for it so I feel a little less crazy. Which I guess make me seem more...crazy...crazier...

The call time was between 5:00 pm and 6. Google maps tells me it takes 11 minutes. I leave at 5:17. I get there at 6:00 on the dot. Hi, LA.

I find the building...and also realize I've totally been here before for another callback. But this time I'm on the 3rd floor. And I'm in heels.

So I clonk all the way up, realizing only after that there was an elevator. High five myself for that one.

I find the room, and there are literally only 2 other guys, with one girl who is the door monitor, check-in lady. There's a cute little couch with a TV playing some French movie on mute with subtitles...inspiration, I guess. I sign my name, and look at the board where all the characters are listed and what they want you to do, and the door monitor comes and explains everything:


"So they want you to improvise one of these two scenarios in French: One is you're cat calling a guy with your friend on the street. We have a girl in there who will be your friend so she'll cat call with you and stuff. The second scenario is you're at a bar and you're purposely making this guy blush because you're saying a lot of dirty things."

I've never cat called someone in French, let alone in English. And I've never said dirty things to some random guy at a bar because that's slutty and I don't roll like that.

All this comedic french shit I've rehearsed and practiced can exit stage left now, thanks.

So I try googling French cat calls on my iphone. Yes. I googled it. That is how lost and frantic I was.

I decide to go with the first one because I don't even think I could think of enough dirty things in English to fill up a whole minute (that would be a long ass minute.)

In I go into a small room with three people: The woman in charge, some random guy in the back taking notes, and my "friend".

The lady in charge tells me to look at the camera and say my name and what role I'm doing in French. I guess that's the first test. So I do it...

And suddenly I see this camera tilt all the way down to my shoes...and then slooooowly back up.

Uh-oh, things are about to get skanky. I can feel it.

So I...start. I guess. You know, cat calling guys, which I do all the time...in French.

And while I'm shouting things like "Come here! Woooooo! Where are you going?" (because that's what I imagined this guy to be doing if I cat called him...running away), I think: "....why am I...a French person in Hollywood...cat calling someone in Hollywood who I don't know...in French. Because most of everyone wouldn't understand me, so if I really wanted results, I'd do it in broken English hoping the guy thought my accent was cute or feel bad for me or something."

I turn to my trusty "friend" to bounce off cat calls.

She gives me a "woo..".

Thanks, "friend".

And then this is where things get weird.

Suddenly, my "friend" asks me in French: "Do you have any friends (male)?"

And I'm like...what? "Friend", your catcalling skills are worse than mine, and that scares me.

So I'm like..."what?"

And she repeats it.

"...No." I answer.

WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON.

And then as she's asking me questions that slowly start to have sexual innuendos attached to them, I realize my "friend" is no longer my "friend", but apparently has transformed into the guy I was catcalling.

Oh good, he didn't run away.

So I ask sexy questions like "Where are you from?"...and of course, "he" is from Paris. So original...I also become from Paris.

And then my "friend"/catcall victim is like "You've got sexy legs...those are some dancing legs...do you dance?"

Oh "friend"/victim, you make me blush. I say I do...Salsa. Because I think I danced it for 15 seconds when I played a Puerto Rican my Sophomore year.

"Show me."

No, that's cool.

"I dance better when someone's dancing with me..." Good one.

And then this grueling two mintues ends with my "friend"/creep asking me and my "friends" to a club, but really he just wants to bang me and invite my friends so it's not creepy, and maybe get some actions for his friends...or "friends".

And I end it with, "That would make me happy...very (SEXUALLY) happy..."

AND SCENE.

They say thank you, they say thank you, I awkwardly wait 5 seconds too long and then leave. No cigarette after, no talking about our feelings?

I start walking back down the stairs (fuck the elevator), and as I walk back to my car...I just start laughing. Because that was single handedly one of THE most ridiculous thing I've ever done.

I don't think I got the role...sorry, $250 and 10%. Probably the two seconds of me looking extremely unsexy while wondering why my "friend" is suddenly hitting on me. Or maybe I was supposed to do a strip tease and lost the memo.

Of course the roles I try to avoid come sneaking in disguised as potentially something I'd totally want to do. And that's the thing I've realized in Los Angeles (my whole 3 weeks living here): theater's fucking awesome. Because there really are seldom any stupid slutty parts. They're slutty for a reason, not to just be eye candy and get some people to watch a little longer. They have a purpose, and they stand for something, or their overt sexuality is a device that character uses to cover up something awful that's happened to him/her.

I was really lucky to get a chance to do interesting work at UCSB, and I want to continue doing cool shit. Stuff I can dig into. And there are definitely projects out there that are like that, it's just finding them.

Or just do your own shit, which I'll probably end up doing anyway.

I'm still going to look for French projects. Scripted, hopefully.

And that don't ask for a bikini shot.

That would make me happy...very (SEXUALLY) happy.

Not really. I mean, unless it was THAT AWESOME. Then, why not.