Audition Record

This is for me to try and keep track of the auditions I go to, as an effort to recognize patterns.

Type: Play, Showcase
Title: Luft Gangster
Company: Nylon Fusion
Casting Director: N/A
Source: Actors Access
Outfit: White dress with long navy sweater, brown boots, hair curled and half up.

Type: Play, SPT
Title: Last Train to Nibroc
Company: Hartford TW
Casting Director: N/A
Source: Actors Access
Outfit:White dress with long navy sweater, silver ballet flats, side braid.

Date: 2/18/2017
Type: Play
Title: Mary’s Wedding
Company: PCS – LORT D
Casting Director: n/a
Source: Agent
Outfit: Literal white slip, thin brown belt, navy long sweater, gold flats, zirconium studs and grandmas pearl ring

Date: 2/18/2017
Type: Play
Title: School for Lies
Company: STC -LORT B
Casting Director: Laura Stanczyk
Source: Agent
Outfit: Black flower dress with black wrap top, maroon heels, hair up in bun

Date: 2/20/2017
Type: Play
Title: Noises Off
Company: LDTC – SPT?
Casting Director: n/a
Source: Actor’s access
Outfit:Black flower dress with black wrap top, gold flats, hair down and curled.

Date: 2/28/2017
Type: Play, Guest Artist contract
Title: Romeo and Juliet
Company: WB
Casting Director: n/a
Source: Actors Access
Outfit: Skinny jeans, gold flats, hair down and curled, black Gap tank with white flowers.

Date: 4/3/2017
Type: Play, LORT
Title: Whole Season
Company: Asolo
Casting Director: Paul Hardt, SH
Source: EPA
Outfit: Chambray shirt, black and white striped skirt, brown skinny belt, brown woven shoes, braid

Date: 4/3/2017
Type: Play, Showcase
Title: New Plays
Company: Proj Y
Casting Director: N/A
Source: EPA
Outfit: Chambray shirt, black and white striped skirt, brown skinny belt, brown woven shoes, braid

Every Day, a Little Gratitude

Today, I found out I didn’t get something that I really wanted. Something that felt like it was mine from the moment I saw it. Something I worked HARD for. In this industry, you want to avoid wanting anything, because the not-getting, then, is so much worse. The not-getting opens a deep, deep hole inside you, where the next two months are suddenly clear to you: you will NOT be working. You will NOT be playing this (or any) part. You will be waiting and wanting and hating yourself for somehow now being able to “do it.” Those long, hot summer months that drag on, until October, when you’ll realize that THAT was the last time you booked a job. A year without booking a job. Is my life passing me by? I feel it rush forward but there is so much I want to be doing. Days stack on days and I wonder… when is the next yes? How do I make them see me?

So, reblogging this mostly for myself. To remember that something special happened to me– that I MADE it happen. That it meant something.

I wish it was helping more.


I am working. Not only that, but I am working at one of the top theatres in the country, making LORT B (second only to LORT A when it comes to regional theatre) pay, and playing two leading roles. It’s a three month contract which means I will get another six months of health insurance. I am housed. I have a car I share with two other actors. This is the DREAM.

Which means I want to remember this feeling when I go back to NYC. I’m already dreading it… that discomfort of not working, that pain of not auditioning, that hurt of wanting so hard you think you might break.

But right now?


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She wants to talk.

You may recall that in June of 2014, my best friend, L excised me from her life. Well, the excision happened earlier, in April, but she didn’t tell me that she wasn’t my friend anymore until June. Since then, we haven’t spoken. At all.

She was my BEST FRIEND.
She fought (and beat) cancer, and I was with her from day one to day 700.
She was my best friend.

I text her happy birthday on her birthday, because when I realized that she didn’t text me happy birthday in April 2014 (before I knew she was done with me), it was so heartbreaking I couldn’t bear to think about it. She never responds.

This year, she texted me happy birthday. I thanked her. She asked if I wanted to get coffee/tea when I come back.

I don’t know the answer to that question.

I look back on my writings about this– one of the greatest traumas of my life. For the first year, I was desperate for her forgiveness. I felt horrific guilt and shame. It was physically painful. Thinking about it still makes me cry.

But now I’m angry. I am not so desperate for friends that I need to go back to someone who hurt me. I don’t want to grovel for friendship. And yet.

She was my best friend.

Can I be her friend again?

Do I WANT to be her friend again?

I don’t know what I want. I wish someone would tell me.


A story from the sidewalk

Walking with the patient and another escort.

Anti comes up behind
us, per usual, and starts talking to thepatient, who stops. She

mentions tothe 

anti that she’s been to one of the baby showers someof the

have. Anti jumps on it and starts babbling. I let her go on until it becomes clear that she won’t stop. I speak up and try to say, “just so you know–” and the anti tells me to “be quiet– we are having a conversation! I’m allowed to talk to her!” I keep trying to finish my one sentence, informing the patient that she has the right to say no thank you, over the anti’s yells. I’m frustrated at not being able to get a word in, and the anti sees my frustration and starts laying into me: “Look! She’s so angry that you’re talking to me because she wants to force you to do what SHE wants. She’s fuming! She’s about to break!”

I denied this, but realized the situation wasn’t going to get better, so I say, “okay, fine. I just want you to know that you are free to say no if you don’t want to continue the conversation. I’ll leave you guys [gesturing to the other escort] to it.” I smile at her, trying to show that I’m just trying to help, and walk away as the anti yells, “yes, DO leave us be! Stop trying to force this woman to kill her baby!”

I got back to my spot with another escort, almost in tears with frustration. I muttered quietly to the other escort “I hate this” as I rubbed my face and paced, trying to calm down. Another anti hears me and says, “Hate? You say you HATE? You need to have LOVE in your heart for Jesus Christ! No wonder you are a deathscort!”

Shortly after, the first anti returns and begins loudly talking to the other anti about me and my “temper,” — how I’m going to “explode,” how my temper is a result of my “conscience” showing me what’s right and wrong.

I refuse to let them break me, so I force a smile and look straight ahead, feeling their pointed words fly around me. 

I am angry because she called me out in front of a patient.

I am angry because she twisted the good I was doing into a bad thing.

I am angry because she makes me feel guilty for trying to be compassionate.

I am angry because of course I’m angry– and angry because she has spotted my anger and will use it against me.

WARNING: numbers

First: it is very odd to me that neither of the gyms I’ve gone to now in AL have scales in their locker rooms… only ONE scale for the whole gym that’s out in the main area. Plus, it’s an old-fashioned scale. In NYC, you have old fashioned scales, maybe, but there are going to be at least three in a locker room. C’mon. What is this nonsense?

At my wig fitting a couple of days ago my hair person said that I’d lost weight since being here. I felt like it might be true– I eat less when I don’t have a nice boy to ask for desserts. Plus, I’ve been working out pretty regularly. A part of me felt a bit nervous about it– but not TOO nervous. My depression is under control, and I know my triggers. I’m not going off the edge, and I know that, 100%, with a confidence that really makes me feel strong.

Today, as I changed back into my clothes after a costume fitting, I pulled the scale down off the shelf and weighed myself in my show slip and socks.

I weighed the low end of what I usually weigh.

Part of me was disappointed.


I don’t want to lose weight– at the VERY least, my costumes need to fit for the next two months.

I’m not anxious or freaked out. I’m just always amazed at how ingrained our reactions to numbers are. I think that, at least for me, it has less to do with my ED than the constantly ingrained notion in our society (and my biz in particular) that we should always be losing weight… even if we genuinely don’t need to.

Life is weird.

Starting tech tomorrow. Here. We. Go.

So much more to be done, but thanks, Roe v. Wade.

“I have a seven year old. I’m a single mom. I love my son, but I almost died having him– turns out I’m allergic to one of the pregnancy hormones. After, the doctor said I shouldn’t get pregnant again because it might kill me. I used birth control, but I got pregnant. I already have rashes and bumps. I didn’t believe in abortion before, but I want to be a good mom. I want to be able to take care of my son. Don’t these people think about that?”

“I told them I’m not here for an abortion. Why do they keep yelling at me?”
“They don’t care.”

“Can I go around the back way? I really don’t want to walk through that again.”

“Are these people out here every Saturday?”
“Yep. That’s why we’re here.”
“Don’t they have anything better to do?”

“Do you harass women like this who’ve been raped? You don’t know what people are going through. Leave them alone!”

And from an anti-choice protestor:12487093_1708398436064448_3130275108470859207_o.jpg