It’s been a while. Sorry, team. As you know, I’m a blogger for myself more than anything. But I do love the community here, and I’m still reading. Not to fear 🙂
A and I went to my home in the West for Easter weekend– Thursday through Monday. We calculated that a solid 15% of our trip time was in traveling. Oof. But it was nice. The weather was beautiful, the food was good, the wine was better, and I didn’t have to do any of the things that exhaust me at home– doing dishes, making dinner, going to early morning auditions, going to work, saving money on food/alcohol/movies/etc.
Now, we’re home. I’ve had a early few mornings with auditions– Tuesday morning was the worst, with a 12:30am bedtime and a 7am wakeup, plus realizing I didn’t have my keys or and forgot my wallet before I got on the subway and had to go back, blah blah– and worked a solid week Tues-Fri. A has been back to work too– Tuesday was opening, off Wednesday, and then working as the main house manager on Thurs and Fri. I went again on Friday and stood in the back. We obviously saw the final dress, but because I can, I like to see the shows twice. I always like seeing him at work. That’s how we met, you know?
I’m not sure I’ve ever told the story here. It’s totally nerdy.
I volunteer usher a number of different off-Broadway theatres. It’s about a half hour of work for a free show. Not a bad deal. So anyway, I didn’t get a slot to usher the April show at this theatre. But they had a cancellation, and I filled in. A Saturday matinee. I was in an off-white silk shirt, my black skinny jeans, and sandals. Not the “perfect” usher outfit, but close. There were four of us. A had us stuff programs. He assigned slots– the two old people taking tickets, another at the aisle, and me, B, up top with him to seat the boxes. He did that on purpose. We chatted, silly, and I figured he was gay. About a week later, he Facebook-messaged me. And that was where it started. 🙂
Anyway, it’s tomorrow. I got up at 6:45am to go to an EPA for the tour of Peter and the Starcatcher. A part I’d nail. A part I’ve auditioned for before. And I part I can’t even get an appointment for.
The A train isn’t running to our stop this weekend, so I took a shuttle bus to the nearest A stop. Where, of course, the A wasn’t running. So. I took the 1. And walked. I finally got to the space at 8:15am. UGH. I waited till sign in at 9am, and got a 10:10 slot. Nailed it! So I go downstairs to a changing room to do my makeup and change into my skirt. And, of course, I forgot my mascara. Because of course. I try to go upstairs and find somewhere to sit, but the holding room and lobby are crammed full of non-eqs and EMCs waiting to see if they’ll even get seen (this is why I prefer to audition at AEA). So I go back downstairs and read till my check-in, 10 minutes before.
Except my check-in wasn’t 10 minutes before. They were LINING UP MY GROUP AND THE GROUP BEFORE TEN MINUTES EARLY. I missed my group. I missed my fucking group. The girl tried to make me feel better by saying– “oh, we already got one person off the alternate list– it won’t be too bad of a wait!” to which I responded, “Yes, that was MY spot.”
So I sat in a patch of sunlight in the middle of the room, because there was nowhere else to sit, and in that fucking moment I couldn’t care less if I was in someone’s way or that I was crying (good thing I had no mascara on) or that I should just breathe and wait and I WOULD get seen. Instead, I texted A, who let me vent. And finally, in the 11:10 group, I got seen. For 1 minute. By a casting assistant. I tweeted this:
Which is accurate.
Now I’m home, feeling very sorry for myself, full of kale and lentils and cheddar cheese and coffee. I emailed a company about getting new headshots taken. I just know it’s going to be over $900 and I really don’t feel good about that. But what am I going to do?
I do everything I’m supposed to do. I have an agent! She’s supposed to get me auditions!
But she doesn’t. I don’t get auditions. I do non-union short films and go to EPAs four times a week. EPAs which make my heart hurt and make me feel worthless. I blow out my hair, like I was trained, put on my pretty makeup, get up early, don’t gain weight, don’t fuck up, do everything right, send the follow-up, update my website….
But here I am. One whole year since I last booked a play.
And the place where that third, final callback was? Exactly the building I was in today.
The irony is suffocating.
(I only pull this out because A’s working on this show, so I’ve seen it twice recently. And this song hits very, very close to home.)
When you come home to me
I’ll wear a sweeter smile
And hope that, for a while, you’ll…
Okay, thank you
Thank you so much
I’m climbing uphill, Daddy
I’m up every morning at six
And standing in line
With two hundred girls
Who are younger and thinner than me
Who have already been to the gym
I’m waiting five hours in line
And watching the girls
Just coming and going
In dresses that look just like this
Till my number is finally called
When I walk in the room
There’s a table of men
Always men – usually gay
Who’ve been sitting like I have
And listening all day
To two hundred girls
Belting as high as they can!
I am a good person
I’m an attractive person
I am a talented person
Grant me Grace!
When you come home…
I should have told them I was sick last week
They’re gonna think this is the way I sing
Why is the pianist playing so loud?
Should I sing louder?
I’ll sing louder
Maybe I should stop and start over
I’m gonna stop and start over
Why is the director staring at his crotch?
Why is that man staring at my r©sum©?
Don’t stare at my r©sum©
I made up half of my r©sum©
Look at me
Stop looking at that, look at me
No, not at my shoes
Don’t look at my shoes
I hate these fucking shoes
Why did I pick these shoes?
Why did I pick this song?
Why did I pick this career?
Why does this pianist hate me?
If I don’t get a callback
I can go to Crate and Barrel with mom and buy a couch
Not that I want to spend a day with mom
But Jamie needs space to write
Since I’m obviously such a horrible, annoying distraction to him
What’s he gonna be like when we have kids?
And once again…
Why am I working so hard?
These are the people who cast Linda Blair in a musical
Jesus Christ, I suck, I suck, I suck, I suck
When fin’lly you come home to…
Okay, thank you
Thank you so much
I will not be the girl stuck at home in the ‘burbs
With the baby, the dog, and the garden of herbs
I will not be the girl in the sensible shoes
Pushing burgers and beer nuts and missing the clues
I will not be the girl who gets asked how it feels
To be trotting along at the genius’s heels
I will not be the girl who requires a man to get by
When you come home to me
I’ll wear a sweeter smile…