Jean is my boyfriend. And I'm not sure I'll be going into stunts.

Before I start, shout out to Charlie's Web crew. You guys took care of us like we were your Tamagotchi pets that you didn't want to die, and it was lovely.

This statement was kind of inspired by my experience today at the France 2 shoot.

I mentioned earlier that I had gotten a commercial for France 2, which is simultaneously weird and exciting. Mostly because I got cast based on my picture and my walking abilities.

So today was the day: super early in Malibu, which was a bitch because it was prime traffic time and ended up taking me almost 2 hours to get there.

I get there, and I kind of awkwardly chill before a really friendly ginger-man (another proof that redheads are awesome) comes up to me and explains the day while handing me forms to fill out. He tells me that I'm playing "Jean's girlfriend" who, after a domino-effect of surfboards gets knocked down, one of the surfboards scares me into spilling my drink on my boyfriend. Cool beans.

I fill out the forms, go through make up and hair, and after grabbing some coffee it's time to head to the beach where the filming is.

And it's fucking freezing.

It's not helping that I'm basically wearing a bikini with a thin warmless tube top dress.

So boyfriend and I are on this beach, not really doing anything, shivering in 60 degree weather...and finally it's our turn.

I feel bad for the kid, cuz it's freezing and I'm about to throw two cups of chilly water on him. I mean, no one had a robe for him or a jacket thing or anything. That sucks.

So we go for a take, no rehearsal, and I kinda have to gage how fast the surfboards are falling vs how fast I walk towards him and spill my water.

The surfboards fall, and I walk towards him, and the last board falls while hitting my arm on the way down and the guy gets covered in this water.

The surfboard kinda stung, but it wasn't something I was going to die from.

So we cut, and boyfriend gets his shirt blow-dryed while we wait for further instruction.

The director comes over and tells us it was really good. So I'm thinking, awesome maybe we don't have to do it again.

Nope.

So we do it again. And again. And my arm keeps getting pummeled by this surfboard. I kinda mention something, like heeeeeey, it's starting to kinda sting and I'm not sure how many more takes I can do like that.

And they listen.

So instead of falling on my arm, they've decided I need to go completely in front of the surfboard and have it hit me from behind...basically landing on my head.

What. Seriously?

This is why I need to sign up for SAG.

The assistant director...or whoever the fuck he was...comes up to me, and is like, "Okay, so, it doesn't look as realistic as we want it to" (to which my mind is going...really? The surfboards actually pummeling me in the arm each take isn't realistic enough for you?)

"We're going to have you land in front of it"

To which I do the Alexia-uh-no-thank-you-this-concerns-me face.

And he actually replies with, "It's nothing. I mean, they're not going that fast. This is child's play."

Um, if this is child's play, I don't want to know how many brain injuries your children have.

My face morphs into a This-worries-me-and-you-sound-like-a-dick expression, and he kinda wafts away.

It's like..well shit, let's take the time to figure out what the fuck you want so my arm doesn't keep tingling.

So we do it again..and obviously, I'm like kinda bracing myself for this stupid surfboard..and it misses me. I guess my subconscious was like, FUCK THIS SHIT, and stepped somewhere where it would only tap me, and I threw my water.

And scene. Done. Thank god.

It was a weird experience. But still can't wait to have my relatives record that shit this summer.

Got a shoot this weeked for a comedy about a girl who "breaks up" with her computer to have a real relationship. It's cute, should be good times :)

Trying to study-up for a couple callbacks: one would be a shoot in Arizona, which I'd kinda be down for. Especially because they're putting us in a hotel and paying for travel...it's like a mini vacation where I still get to do shit I lurve. :)

Love that shit.

Caffeine isn't just in my blood, it IS my blood. And that's why I don't donate. And I pass out...

I wrote this at 2:00 in the morning, I apologize for any confusing/weird/nonsensical shit I throw out.

Alright, where to start.

I’m on a nice roll/groove right now. Remember that walking audition I mentioned? I ended up booking that, which is awesome, and even cooler because it’s a commercial for FRANCE 2. I clearly have never used my walking skillz to their ultimate potential.

I also finished filming an AFI film about the Wright brothers. That was pretty sweet.

The shoot was in this really old, yellow mansion, complete with it’s own mini-church (convenient) and no curtains. I discovered the latter when I was changing into my costume and realized the apartment complex  across the way was getting a free show. And there was a lot of awkward crouching while attempting to use the loo.

If I learned anything from that it was a) a film script is to putty as a theater script is to an ugly lamp your grandma loves. b) I’m still get some sort of performance anxiety while acting for the camera in front of lots of equipment and people.

Let’s start with ‘a’ cuz I go through my shit alphabetically.

So I didn’t have a whole lot of lines in this film, but it was a cool part and basically the only female role in the piece. When I rehearsed it, I basically tried to cram everything I could think of into those lines. Not excessively or anything: I didn’t turn them into facial-expression monologue. But you know.

I get on set and we start to rehearse the scene…and the lines have changed. Not because the writer changed them, but because the director told the other actor to basically change the lines to whatever felt comfortable.

The theater actor in me was very confused.

I still remember my first scene I ever did in college with one of my professors (Risa). She basically told me and my scene partner to get our shit together on our lines, because we were paraphrasing, and threatened to read the script AS we were doing it to make sure we got everything right.

You’re told the writer wrote those words for a reason, so say them that way. And then suddenly, moving to film, it’s like the script is a basic skeleton of the story where you flesh out the words. It’s like the actor suddenly becomes the second editor to the script.

Which felt, and still feels, fuckin’ weird.

And now to ‘b’.

So in this project, Wilbur (close employer) dies, and there’s a close up panning of the doctor who tried to heal him, and me, obviously distraught.

I’ve gotten myself there emotionally when we’re apparently ready to shoot, but then find out we’re still trying to set up camera equipment. So I’m stuck with this “oh shit someone I know just died” feeling in my stomach for what seemed like forever, and I start feeling sick. I let it go, because I feel like if I keep feeling like someone just died, I’m gonna keel over. And then, of course, it’s filming time. And the camera is like waaaaay close up. Like in mah face.  And it was this weird feeling of “Oh, people are filming it”. Which is obvious, but not really something you wanna think WHILE you’re being filmed.

 And the place I had vacationed to a mere 5 minutes ago was buried underwater forever.

I mean, I think it’s cool that I didn’t cry or whatever, but it was a weird moment of not being able to sink into a part and just kinda slide on top and hope the story still comes across. Which obviously, I wasn’t really cool with.

Oh! So. I did my first day shooting with the guy who played Oliver Wright. And guess who did my make-up/hair?

Muthafuckin’ Sweet Pea from Project Runway. What. That was awesome. She’s super nice…I’m not sure anyone ever thought otherwise, but I thought I’d throw that out there.

AND THEN. The second day…I meet the actor who played Wilbur. And I shake his hand, introduce myself…and he looks really familiar.

Like, really familiar.

And then I realize…

It’s Buster Bluthe. From Arrested Development. And I died.

I had to stop myself from going fan-crazy on him. Cuz that’s not cool.

And now for the horror-audition part of this blog.

So I got as audition to be the spokesperson/host for Zynga Poker. The description was this:

I was like, well, shit, I’m a redhead. Or enough of one. I can improv. Let’s do this.

I get there, and sit down with this girl who had gotten there a little before me. We’re sitting down in the lobby, and this other girl comes in, clearly not a redhead at all, and signs in.

She comes in, still talking to someone on her phone for everyone to enjoy.

The desk attendant tells her to sign a non-disclosure agreement, to which she responds with:

“Oh, yeah it’s a good thing I’m doing that, I have, like, the BIGGEST MOUTH, I blab all the time.”

To which the desk attendant kind of ignores and pretends she never said anything.

They take all 3 of us to a quick briefing about what they want us to do: read some sides in cardboard with lines from a potential “shit poker girls say” video, and pretend we’re opening a poker event.

Alright, all good.

And then the director is like, “Alright, so whoever was in the door first, can be up first”.

So I’m like, alright, cool, I’ll be next.

But the first girl starts leaving. And it’s clear we’re all going out the door.

And I’m not stupid: there’s improvisation shit, she probably wants to prepare something.

The casting director is like, “Sooo…who was first?” and I look at the girl, to which she goes, “Who was in the door first?”

Like in the door to the room we were in vs first person who signed in.

Really?

Well, that wasn’t me either, so fuck.

Then, like she’s stepping up because the rest of us WEREN’T THE FIRST PERSON HERE, she says “I mean, I’ll go first, whatever.”

What a hero.

And then…I get stuck with confidentiality-agreement girl.

So we’re both waiting in the lobby, and she suddenly turns to me with a confused twinkle in her eye…

“Where are we?”

I kinda give her a blank stare and respond with, “What do you mean?”

Like someone had just teleported her from her house to here and she has no idea where the fuck she is. Or has severe amnesia.

“Like, what is this?”

And I was still too baffled by the question to tell her “This is a casting company. You’re at an audition”. So I think she’s probably still wondering where she is.

Then, to somehow book-end this enlightening conversation, she says, “I don’t know why they’re casting redheads…we’re both not really redheads.”

Alright, let’s not lump me in the wrong-hair-color category. At least I’m strawberry.

The casting director saves me and sends me into my audition.

It was weird, as all of these pseudo-seductive and partially-skanky castings go.

They had me slate my name, do the 360 pose-dance, and then I had to read the cardboard slides. Which. Was weird. Because it’s one thing to see how people do with cuecards…it’s another to just put the lines a cardboard piece and have people read it and then say it to the camera. I’d think just sending out the lines to everyone the day before would be cheaper.

I said them. Yay.

And then I pretended I was hosting an event. Hooray poker.

And then they had me pose. Which. I don’t know. Was weird. And all I could imagine was a bunch of 40 year old men playing poker while I had my tits out as extra entertainment in between hands…poker hands. But that was  very innuendo-y of me.

Ehhhh.

So I don’t think I got it…but I might be okay with that.

But shit, all in all, things are lookin’ up. I’m on day 2 of this film shoot: 6 PM to 6 AM. It’s for a Chapman film about this group of girls who roll and put this girl in a coffin to “initiate” her and shit gets real.

It’s a really cool part, kinda bad ass. And I now know exactly how to use a lighter. I’m a one-flick wonder now, so I’ll light all your lightables for you. I’m trying to figure out exactly how my sleep schedule is going to work, though. At one point, I have the filming til 6 AM, drive back to my place at 7:20…and then have a really good audition at 10:00 in Culver City, which is about 30 minutes away. So. I have about an hour and a half to sleep/get ready before having to be awake enough to be funny.

If I’m in delirious mode, this might turn out ‘aight.

Oh, I got a card for an agency today. While walking down a street in West Hollywood. Oh I wish it was that easy. I’m pretty sure it’s not super legit: it said somewhere they weren’t registered which is always bad news bears.

And so the search continues.

Not too sad about it, though. I mean, I’m submitting myself for shit and keeping 100% of my moneyz. Which isn’t bountiful.

But the harvest is not finished…

Okay, this is starting to not make sense which I think means I should drink another cup of coffee and get myself a case of the shakeys.

Holah.

French Onion Soup. Comfort in a bowl :)

French Onion soup. 

I have not met one person who has said to me, "You know what, fuck French Onion soup, I hate that shit." Which means it's pretty much a universal "hell yessss".

This and a good bean/beef/turkey chili are some of my two favorite comfort food. I mean, come on, what says "It's all going to be good, gurl." like caramelized onions and melted gruyere on pieces of baguette. And it's pretty fuckin' easy to make. And now that you have the recipe, there is no more excuse for you not to make a homemade French Onion soup.

So here you go. 

French Onion Soup Recipe

WHAT YOU NEED (for about two dinner servings):

1 Onion (a chose a sweet yellow)

1 cup chicken stock

1 cup beef stock 

1 TBSP flour

1 pinch of thyme (more to taste, if you'd like)

Salt and Pepper to taste

1/4 C of red wine

1 clove of garlic (minced)

3 TBSP butter (about a third of the stick)

1 large/medium pot

Gruyere cheese

A few slices of French Baguette

 STEP 1: Slice up your onion in slivers. Cut off the ends and just start cutting it end to end, going back and slicing your 'circle' pieces in half.

STEP 2: In your large pot, melt down the piece of butter on a low-medium heat.

STEP 3: Throw in your onion, thyme, salt, pepper, and garlic and cover the onion pieces in the butter. Leave it on the low-medium heat, going back every few minutes to stir the onions around. This takes about 15-20 minutes.

After 25 minutes, your onion should be lovely and caramelized and look a little somthin' like this. And iz beautiful.













STEP 5: Add the cup of wine to the caramelized onions. Bring to a boil, and then reduce the heat to a simmer. Let it chill for about 5-10 minutes, or until all of the wine has boiled off.

STEP 6: Once the wine has boiled off, add the tablespoon of flour and then cook for another 5-10 minutes to cook the raw flour.

STEP 7: Once you've cooked the flour through, add the beef and chicken broth. I like Swanson. Mostly because this container reminds me of those single-serve wine juice boxes you find at 7-ll.

Let it cook on a simmer for 5-10 more minutes...and while you're doing that...

STEP 8: Slice about 3-4 baguette slices per serving and cut enough pieces of Gruyere cheese to make a nice thick layer of cheese. I have about 7 different types of cheese in my fridge and wasn't about to buy another one, so I just went with some Comte and Parmesan...but just Comte would've probably been better. Throw it on a pan and put it in the broiler: CHECK ON IT EVERY 2-3 MINUTES. Basically, just make sure nothing burns.

Once the pieces are crispy and the cheese has melted, ladle the soup into a bowl and put the croutons on top.

And there you go! Never order another bad French Onion soup  from a mediocre restaurant again, because you just made it for way less.

Holah.

Thank you, frenchtasticness. Also, I might be jumping on some balls.

These last two weeks have been hectic as fuck. In the best way, of course.

I don't know how anyone does this without a car.

So a few major things have happened since I last wrote. 

First, my mom is awesome. Although possibly not appreciating it as much when I was little, this whole fluent in French without a real accent has been one of the main factors in some of the auditions I've been on. Funny enough, LA actually had a lot more French shit going on than you would think. 

One of these projects could be really really really fuckin' awesome. It'd be for a TV series, which is baller. I auditioned Monday though...and the audition is driving me crazy. I mean, I guess all of it. When you have an audition like that, all you can think about is what you did wrong, what you could've done differently, and when they would make up their minds to tell you if you got it. And that's kinda what's haunting me right now. Which is shitty, because of course, it's distracting me from the other shit I have going on. And I'm good at stalking, as you know, so of course, I'm looking online for absolutely ANY piece of evidence that the role has been cast or when they would be shooting it.

Crazy, yeah, I realize that.

So I'm trying not to think about it.

It's not working, but at least I'm trying.

Also, I had the easiest audition of my life yesterday.

It was for a FRANCE 2 promo for their summertime line up. I mentioned in my audition submission that I spoke French, and got a meeting. In the audition description, they wanted everyone to come in dressed in summer clothes. I literally forgot how to dress myself for warm weather, it was weird. I just stared at a few shirts in my drawer for a while, wondering if they would be "summery" enough. The best part about it all, though, was that on the day of the audition....it was raining. So I pick out these shorts and a nice teal tank top with sandals, and throw my peacoat over it, and I literally looked like a misinformed tourist, who only brought shorts, sandals and tank tops, and a peacoat JUUUUUST for shits and giggles.

So I go in. And a pair of twins are already there. Dammit, I can't beat a pair of identical people. They ask if they should go in together...GAWD can't you audition by yourselves?! (No, I get it...look, there's two of them.)

Finally, it's my turn, and I go in the room to find it's just a guy behind a camera. He asked me to slate. And literally, any French heritage or speaking ability just went out the door.

"Okay smile...give me your profile...other side...360 turn...walk to the left...walk to the right...smile while you're walking...walk to the back...walk the front...and smile"

It was like one of those bad group songs that tells you when to move and how. It was like...you really couldn't just cast this based on pictures and maybe some video footage?

Also, I promise this is the last time I even mention it, but fuck, my youtube video has like 55,000 views, which is fuckin' ridiculous. Yeah, I get a few people who are like, "Poor attempt at a copy" (wasn't trying to copy...) or "Juliard doesn't have a theater program!" (<- fail.) But for the most part, the response has been pretty positive. Thanks for, on the whole, not hating me, youtube viewers. 

Alright. So now to the balls.

I always said I would never ever ever do reality TV. Because it's fake, and I just didn't want to be categorized as a weird psuedo-real character. 

But I always said: if there was one TV show I would do...

It would be Wipeout.

That's right, friends. 

I auditioned for Wipeout.

Of course, the first thing my mom says is, "You're going to hurt yourself!"

Seeing as I injured myself going off a ski lift...I can see her reasoning behind that statement. 

But I did it anyway. Actually, I just filled out the "name, photo, basic info" section, and then really didn't think anything of it...

And then I got a phone call Tuesday morning.

The worst part about that was because I couldn't really hear exactly what the guy was saying and I had to call him back because I was on my way to a rehearsal...I totally thought it was for the TV show thing I was obsessing over. 

So when I finally called back and realized it was for Wipeout, it was a bittersweet moment. 

But mostly sweet. Just at first disappointing, but then like, "OH SHIT."

So the guy asks me questions like, "What's unique about you?", "What would you do with $50,000?" (which apparently, they don't actually give out?? Whatever, I'm not really doing this because I think my athletic competence will get me to the finale). Finally, he tells me he wants me to come in and audition, and sends over everything via e-mail.

It says I can dress up in a costume.

You know I did that shit.

I got my red pants, my striped shirt, my little neck scarf, my beret, and a baguette from Ralph's and I Frenched myself out. Why does that sound so bad. Oh, I see what I did there.

So I show up, and in the e-mail, it sounds like you're going in in groups...but there was only one girl in my group, and she was in a boobtastic gym top and booty shorts, so we were clearly not competing for the same role. 

Once you get called in, they ask you things like, "What's your most embarassing moment?"...which, honestly, all kinda blurred for me. I feel like as an actor, I end up "embarassing" myself and not really giving a shit anymore. So for some reason, that was the hardest question to really think of a good answer to.  And of course, a victory dance, which obviously had to have a robot move in it. And a french victory chant.

I finish the audition, and the woman in charge lets me through to the second round! Huzzah! 

And there is a shit ton of paper work. 

Like, most of the "audition" process was me filling out all of it.

And there was some weird questions...

"Have you used recreational drugs? What were the names and telephone numbers of the men you were previously in a relationship with and where did they take place? What were your last traffic tickets?"

It was oddly hyper-specific and personal, which made part of me go "ehhhh", but I've never heard of any information leaked from Wipeout players, so I felt like it was cool...ish.

So I filled out all the paperwork, and they sent me on my way. I'd be kinda stoked to be on the show, I'm not gonna lie. 

I mean, Wipeout is less reality show and more gametastic, so I didn't really feel like it was going to ruin anything for me or anything. "Oh shit it's the french girl on Wipeout, fuck that shit" 

Also, quick sidenote...so I googled myself. Mostly because I was like, oh shit, if someone googles me for a part, what comes up?

And I found a couple things. One is called Dirty Telephone Book, which oddly enough has my phone number and facebook site, which is kinda creepy. But also found this shit:

So apparently I am "highly influential". I'd like to know what stalker-y factors are included into this conclusion, and who decides how socially influential I am. I mean, I guess it's not like "not important AT ALLLLLLL" haha still. That's creepy.

OH I FORGOT. The Music Video audition...oh my.

So I submitted myself for this music video girl. Not the shake-my-ass-dollah-bills-yall kind, but the girlfriend/coffee girl type. You know. 

I get a message to go to Tarzana to audition for it. No sides, no real anything. So I drive down, wait in the waiting room, and there's already one girl ahead of me, and no one else in the room. The walls were paper thin, so even if I didn't want to listen, I didn't really have a choice.

The guy/singer opened with the conversation with, "Oh man, I'm so hungover. Do you drink?"

And immediately I was like...heeeeere weee goooo. And the producer and director were both there, too.

The girl responds with, "OH ME TOO! No I drink all the tiiiiime, I love going out"

So obviously, they hit it off. I guess. Yay, they're both hungover.

And I'm pretty sure that's all they talked about.

At one point, the guy just left the casting and came out to the waiting room. He introduced himself...and made sure to tell me where the bathrooms were. That's nice. He then offers me candy, which I turned down...I don't know, I just ate breakfast, and I wasn't hungover.

The girl comes out of the casting room, take a chocolate, opens it and literally like flirts with him while slowly putting the piece of chocolate in her mouth, and I knew the only thing on his mind was CAST THIS GIRL=BLOWJOB. 

Lovely, my turn.

I go in. And they basically say they don't have anything for me to do, just to gage my personality. Okay.

We listen to his song. Which was awkward, because it was a balance of not liking it TOO much that they knew you were faking it, but not totally pokerfacing it. So. I bobbed my head. And smiled. And everyone just avoided each other's eye contact. 

And then the singer sits next to me. And of course, the line that gets the conversation started: "I am so hungover. I, like, just woke up from a nap."

Hot. Lovely. Where do I go with this...

It didn't really go anywhere. Because then he asked if I was hungover...no, not really. Do you drink? Yeah, like...a glass  of wine a night. Craaaay-zy, I know. Look, we're so alike. 

And then he asked me a weird question like, "Would you believe that that music came from me?"

Um, I guess? It's not too extreme of an idea so I said, "Yeah, sure."

And somehow that was a weird answer because he responded with, "Really? What?"

Oops wrong answer (?).

They asked if I wanted to do a monologue.  I didn't think my monologue about being a lady who thought she had dying micro people in her coffee was appropriate for this job, so I said I didn't have one totally prepared.

They had me act out a mini scene where  I was sleeping, woke up and thought my boyfriend/singer man was there, and then realized noooo we're broken up. 

Did it. The producer seemed to actually like me. He asked better questions, too. But clearly singer man and I had very little to talk about. And I don't think he got Blowjob vibes from me. Oops. 

So music video probably wont pan out. But I had an audition for this part that would film in Mammoth, which would be pretty fuckin' cool if I ended up getting it. We shall seeeeee. I actually kinda like the prospect of going somewhere out of LA to film something. Like a cool little field trip.

Til next time, my friends. And go to breakfast at Blu Jam Cafe. 

That was off topic, but seriously, it's delicious.

Haywire. Oh noz. PS: I made up a word for Paul Mitchell.

So crazy shit everywhere. Literally, I feel like everything's happening at once, and I'm trying to hold onto it all. 
But let's start this out with a mini-review of Haywire.

(I can see you.)

So going into it, I was kinda stoked. Gina Carano kicks butt in real life, which is baller. And that's kinda what they used to promote the movie. And now I know why.


For anyone who's like, "Oh acting is easy, anyone can do it."...you shall watch this movie and you shall sign up for acting classes. 


On the flip side, if you're a writer, I hope this gives you the push to write a good movie.


Because in this film, you will find lines like this beauty:


BILL PAXTON: She texted me and said she was going to Spain. 
EWAN MACGREGOR: What'd she say? 
BILL PAXTON: I'm going to Spain. I'll call you when i get back. 


Lovely.


Oh, spoilers. By the way. I guess. Are you really going to watch this movie?


And then there's the score...which I'm not sure we're ever really supposed to notice. The scoring of this film made me feel like I was getting timewarped into a 60's cheesy spy movie. But then, it would go weirdly silent. Like the scene at the end, where in complete silence, Gina (out of absolutely NOWHERE) runs and tackles Ewan on the beach. 


Okay, I wont touch on everything because then it wouldn't be a mini review; but the blocking of the scene where she's in the airport hatch place is just her going around in a circle around the bad guy. And it's just like...seriously, that's what you came up with? Just going to be her weirdly circling the bad guy?


To be fair, Gina's fight scenes are pretty cool. But what's funny is, compared to Gina, all the other guys who are fighting with her clearly have never had fight training. 


There were way too many weird segways in this movie...like how she gets really upset when they guy who beat the crap out of her that she had sex with once dies. And she needs to be comforted. And how she had to put on camo on her face to beat up two guys (which ends up only being one). 


On the whole, it just felt like there was whole lot of extra film they smushed in there to make it 1h 30.


So just to cut this before it becomes a full on rant, I think this is a prime example of why actors do movies and not MMA fighters, but I do appreciate the kick-ass she brought to the film. 


On to real life!


A lot of things are kind of in a weird limbo right now,  and I don't know how to handle it all except to take one of  the calendars Sam's company was giving out for holidays gifts and organize everything.

Thank you, John E. Swallow for your calming nature pictures.


I think if I've learned anything these past two weeks, it's to follow my gut. 


I ended up getting a meeting and offer with this boutique agency who I had been referred to by someone who knew the people running it. It was a three-person agency, with a commercial, theatrical, voice over, and youth section. I had kept trying to call them after I got an e-mail saying to get in contact with the guy running it, and it was basically phone tag for almost 3 weeks. Finally, I set up a meeting with them. 




I go in pretty prepared: I have my book, resume, headshot, questions...I'm good to go. 


They're based out of their house. Which is fine, that actually didn't bother me. But they were located in Tarzania, which is waaaaay far from where everything's happening in Los Angeles. 


The meeting starts, and it's almost as if after the month or so of trying to meet him, he hasn't really taken a look at my resume, website, or anything. Which felt weird. He got my name wrong when I shook his hand. Off the bat, I'm feeling something's off.


He starts talking about how he and his wife started the agency because they felt like their agents weren't really taking care of them, that I guess after  the wife told her agency that she was going to be gone for 2 months, her agency dropped her. Which was shitty...but 2 months is kind of a lot, isn't it? Maybe not.


He continues talking, saying that if there's a job that says something like "$2,000 + 10%", they'll only take the 10% and not 10% of the $2,000...which I find out later, no one does that. No one will take any of the money that's designated to you: the +10% is already for the agency.


I ask him questions of how many people are in the agency, and he says that there are about 250 clients, and only 5 of "my type". That's cool, I guess. 


But there was one selling point that just kinda killed it for me. He said something to the tune of "Not everyone can be a movie star, so we take people who aren't and try to help them out"


Woah. I just started, sir. Thanks for your optimism. 


He didn't mention what he thought he could cast me in or send me out on. 


And suddenly, I got this vibe of, "Um, I guess we'll take you." Like he wasn't really sure what to do with me, but he'd take me in anyways and see what he could do.


I'm most definitely not saying that I am somehow too awesome for a small agency. Fuck, I just started, I'm not stupid. But I got this feeling in my gut that told me if I decided to sign with this agency, I was going to get stuck. I wasn't going to move anywhere. I'd be on a list, and get thrown into some auditions, but if I signed a contract for 1 or 2 years...that's a lot of time to be stuck. 


He got my name wrong at the end of  the meeting. And I knew it just wasn't going to happen.


So I passed. The one thing I've been striving to find, and I passed on it.


I might have fucked up. In 3 months, I might be like, "Fuck, why didn't I sign?"


But my gut was the thing that led me to move to Los Angeles and not apply for grad school. My gut was the thing telling me to go to UCSB. And my gut led me to ditch marine biology for acting.


And a lot of other shit non-career related. Seriously, I have premonition dreams that are scarily accurate.


So I may be really mad at myself in a few months, but hopefully I didn't screw myself over.


I'll let ya know how that one goes.




On to the made-up word that might get me in a Paul Mitchell campaign.


So I get this notification that they want me to audition. And I'm pretty fuckin' stoked.


I drive to the audition office on Sunset for my appointment at 4:00. It's 4:00, and I go into a parking lot next to the building. A man comes up to me to tell me the parking fee is $10. Aaaand back into the car, I go.


I drive around, searching for street parking, and finally find a spot a block and a half down, pay for my hour parking with ONE DOLLAR, THANK YOU. Does that make me cheap or responsible and realistic...


I walk to the office, and get there around 4:25. Finally, I get to the third floor where the auditions are...and the room is FILLED with curly haired girls. 


Guess I found it.


Then a girl, who I THOUGHT was in charge of everything, was like, "The sign up sheet is downstairs, could you grab it and bring it up?" 


Sure, cool, no problem. 


I get it, and come back up the stairs...


"Oh, wait, you didn't get the paper? There's paper we need to write what are curls are."


Okay, sure. Exercise in heels is cool.


Turns out, this girl wasn't even a door monitor or anything, she was just fucking lazy.


And she called some girl "honey" or "sweetie" while she was trying to see if she could go into the audition (which always felt like a "hello lower beings!" term of "endearment"). And she didn't have curly hair. What are you doing here.


One girl just straihgt out (pun-tastic) came in with straight hair, which was awkward. I guess her agent didn't send her the memo...yay for owning your own actor's access account!


So basically, the campaign "slogan" thing was to say what your curly hair was with an adjective of your choice that you wrote down on a piece of computer paper. Which was already a minus 10 points for me because of my horrendous handwriting. 


It's...me. So "pretty" and "beautiful" just weren't going to cut it.


And I got flashes of Uncle Vanya and Disney movies. And I knew what my word had to be.


Mermaidtastic.


Is it a word? No. There's a bright red squiggly line under it as I continue typing this entry.


But whatever, it fits, and if they were looking for something else, no big deal, I'm still mermaidtastic. 


A side note: I actually ended up seeing Jessie Sherman, who had graduated from the BFA a few years before me. That was awesome! Especially because we were literally there for an hour and a half just waiting to audition, so tons of time to catch up and kind of talk about LA and shiz. Totally gave me some good advice about finding a hobby...that's not acting. Because it's true! Literally, all I do now is focused on scripts, auditions, and filming shit. So. I don't know, someone take a cooking class with me or yoga or something.


So I finally get called, close to 6:00 pm. But who is following after me but an actual model. Well, shit. I still have my personality...right? Right...exactly. 


 I slate my name and my word, and they just start asking me questions about the word I chose and my curly hair...and they actually really dug it. Points for the creature who made up a word. 


And I thought I was going to find a ticket on my car, because clearly I was there almost 30 minutes after my ticket expired. But there wasn't one. So I gave the dollar I would've spent on parking to a homeless woman. It's karma, people, and it's real. 


Who knows if I'll get a call back...but shit, loves me some Paul Mitchell products. 


Not sure how they would make that print ad...but if they made me into a mermaid-...okay too much forward thinking. 


I leave you with this lovely gem from actor's access. 

Honestly, sometimes I wonder if some of these are secretly low-budget soft-core porn movies.