So, I’ve got about 3 separate blogs I need to write and post within the next day or so Here’s the first.

I came across an ad last week looking for writers/fashionistas to do an advice columnist competition. I believe they were specifically looking for “the Next Carrie Bradshaw”. OK, I have to admit, I’ve never seen a single episode of “Sex and the City”.  Yes, I’m a traitor to my gender.

*pauses and waits for female readers to start slinging Manolos at me*

In any case, I figured I’d send in a quick letter anyway with my story, and see what happened. I mean, I’m less of a writer than a blogger, but I do love writing, and I love fashion, especially vintage and retro clothing. I bet I could out-cute SJP and her super-overpaid stylist any day, haha. In any case, it was a shot in the dark and I was quite certain I’d never hear back from them.

…a certain chika was called in for a screen test this week. Guess who? (hint: me!!!!!)

Of course, I found out over the phone just who these people were.  What I thought might be a dinky little unknown show, that might present me with some small oppportunity… turned out to be by Fremantle Media.  The American Idol/America’s Got Talent/Etc. guys.  the guys with all the clout.  With millions of viewers.  And the prize?  An internship at Elle magazine, being mentored by a very funny, slightly crazy, super-awesome columnist whom I’ve read for years.

Holy shite.

I went into the Fremantle Media offices and there were a lot of random actors sitting in the lobby, waiting to try out for a different project (a TV sitcom or something).  I was wearing the most adorable, brightest vintage ’50s dress I could dig up and I got a lot of funny looks.  A tall, rail-skinny chick stood in the corner, gesticulating and mouthing lines.  I was the only one there for the advice columnist show, so I started filling out my application and waiting for the casting director to show up.

This scary actor lady came into the lobby and sat next to me.  She was a bit older, in her forties or fifties.  She was like Carol Brady on crack. It looked like her plastic surgeon had had a field day with her – her eyes were open too wide and her smile was frozen in place.  She talked WAY too loud.  In the quiet lobby, her voice reverberated and echoed and people started staring at her.

“OH AREN’T YOU ADORABLE!!!!! WHAT A PRETTY DRESS!!!!!  EVERYONE LIKES TO GO OVER THEIR LINES WHILE THEY’RE WAITING, BUT I’VE FOUND THAT IT’S BETTER TO JUST STAY MYSELF AND INTERACT WITH THE OTHER ACTORS!”

I mumbled that I wasn’t an actor, hoping she’d go away, or at least take the hint and talk at the room level, which was at about a whisper.  After interrogating me about what I was there trying out for, and making sure the entire room knew that I was a) a “reality girl” and b) not an actor, never acted in anything besides a high school play…  she grabbed my half-completed application and started reading the questions aloud.

“LET’S SEE… ‘WHEN WAS THE LAST TIME YOU CRIED?’”

She looked at me expectantly, and I realized she actually wanted my answer.  I drily informed her that I was crying on the inside, right now.  In a way, it was more true than she could have realized, but she laughed and took it as a joke.

“OK, HOW ABOUT THIS ONE: ‘WHAT ARE 3 THINGS ABOUT YOURSELF THAT YOU NEVER REVEAL TO SOMEONE YOU’VE JUST MET?!’”

Ehrm… right, like I’m going to tell you, lady?  You’re already announcing my life story to the entire room.

“‘NAME A TIME WHEN YOU GAVE BAD ADVICE?!’”

At this point, I was thoroughly psyched out and ready to either break down into tears or else kill this woman with a smile on my face.  Luckily, I was saved by Peter, the casting director, who came out and called me back.

“OH MY GOD, I LOVE HER!!!  SHE IS JUST SO CUTE!!!!!  SHE JUST TOLD ME SHE’S CRYING ON THE INSIDE RIGHT NOW!” she informed him as I walked through the door.

I could have died.

Of course, I totally bombed it.  I mean, how could I not, I was in such a state of panic and psyched-out-ed-ness, and overwhelmed, and tremendously nervous just realizing the magnitude of even getting called in to test with such a company.  Peter was very nice, sat me down in a chair, turned on a camera and a spotlight (!) – which was a tad intimidating and “tell me where you were on the eve of March 6″.  He asked me a few questions, which I was totally struggling to answer and my mind kept blanking because I was completely freaked out.  He was very sweet about trying to gently guide me into showing a tad more personality, but I think I just sort of shut down.  Later on I thought about all the better answers I could have given, or ways I could have let my personality out more, but in the moment I was just completely stone-petrified.  Poor dude.  He was probably regretting wasting his time calling the homeless chick in, haha.

In any case, after it was over he told me if I heard anything from them in 2 weeks to 2 months, that would be good news, it all depends on the executives, etc. etc.  He told me that I did well (I think he has to say that, haha) and that he tends to look for interesting people over “models”, but that I am beautiful, and other very nice stuff.  Yay for nice casting directors.  Even if I bombed, I can still feel good about it now.  Thank God I wasn’t in a room with a nasty Simon Cowell wannabe or anything.  I think I would have completely crumbled.

I went into the lobby and pushed the “down” button to call the elevator.  Insane Carol Brady Doppelganger cornered me.  “DID YOU JUST GET DONE?!  I JUST GOT DONE!  I’LL TAKE THE ELEVATOR DOWN WITH YOU… YOU DIDN’T WEAR YOUR GLASSES FOR THE SCREEN TEST, DID YOU?  YOU TOOK THEM OFF, RIGHT?!?!?!?!?!”

*sadness*

(…I like my glasses.  They’re a part of me.)

* * * * *

In a clumsily-executed and only quasi-related transition:  Here’s the thing about a lot of actors, I think.  I’ve dated two of them, and it’s like they don’t know when to stop acting.  They’re so self-absorbed and wrapped up in their own head before they can care about anybody else, if they even can at all beyond that peripheral, crucial stage-like interaction.  If they’re interacting with you at all, it’s as if they’re visualizing the encounter on a stage, like trading dialogue.  They say what they feel would be the right thing to say, or would cause the most interesting conflict, rather than what’s real, because even they don’t know what part of them is real and what part is acting.  The vast majority of actors I’ve known are addicted to drama.  My last ex would deny this vehemently.  He always told me he was different, he prided himself on being able to separate his “craft” and his personal life.  And I have to say this about him, up front, he is a brilliant actor.  Fascinating to watch, and a Juilliard finalist.  For all I know, he’s packing his bags right now because he made it in to his dream school.

But again, the thing about actors – it’s so much harder to tell what’s real.  My ex did a fantastic job for two whole months of making me feel happy and secure, like we were having absolutely no problems… meanwhile, he was messing around on me with some floozy slut bitch man-stealing whore of a tart in one of his shows (lest you think I’m being too hard on her and too easy on him, don’t. I’m pretty sure I threw his Christmas present at his head when I found out.  True, it was a pair of tickets in a letter-sized envelope, but still.  Believe me, I know what a lousy, dickwad thing that was for him to do to me).  I can already tell you, if he found this blog and read it, the first thought to go through his head would not be concern at my circumstances.  If anything, it would irk him slightly that more media outlets – TV shows, radio networks, etc. – have expressed an interest in me in two months than ever have in him, so far.  He always seemed to like that romantic, “starving artist” conceptualization of himself.  Doing what he loved, screw practical concerns like food and housing and money.  Of course, it’s really easy to think that way when you still live with your mother (who was actually a truly kind and supportive woman), don’t pay a dime in rent, have a home-cooked meal ready for you every night, and have never been homeless in your life.

Maybe that sounds a little bitter.  And you know what, I’m going to fly in the face of 90% of the world and conventional wisdom and say it’s OK to be a little bitter sometimes.  If you loved and devoted yourself to someone, threw all of your effort and energy into making them happy, thought you were happy, they told you they could never leave you, would be an idiot to leave you… and then you found out it was all a sham, they had been cheating on you and completely negating everything they had ever said, every promise you had ever made to each other?  You know what?  It’s natural and OK to be bitter with that person.  It’s natural and a protection to dislike and mistrust them. Now, you shouldn’t let that bitterness monopolize your life, and you definitely shouldn’t take that mistrust and apply it to all future romantic interests, because that’s unfair.  I trust each and every man that I date until he gives me a reason not to.  That’s only right and fair, that I shouldn’t impose past disappointments on new relationships.  But yes, I am a tad bitter about being cheated on by someone who claimed they didn’t have it in them.  I am wary around actors because my experience dating two of them was so similar.

So, Steven Lords, if you ever stumble across this blog and recognize me… you’re a dirty welcher.  Oh, and if you google phoenixforged47 (your e-mail address) you show up as a member on Actual Incest porn forums.  I’m just saying.  You might want to look into some therapy for that.  That’s a pretty unhealthy fixation and it makes me look back at things in a whole new light.  I mean, that’s really, really sick, actually.  Yuck.

I really should thank Steve, though.  I mean, when it comes down to it, he cleared out of my life and opened up the way for the best possible thing that ever could have happened to me, the love of my life, a real honest-to-god good and upstanding man, the man whom I adore and treasure.  And no, I can’t talk about it any more than that.  Not just yet.  I wish I could, believe me, I’ve been bursting at the seams to for ages, but very soon, I promise.  Sorry to leave you guys dangling.