15 minutes of fame

it's always when i'm stuck in traffic, trying to head out of town to get to an audition three hours away for a part that i'm probably not gonna get anyway that i question what the hell i'm doing with my life.

and yesterday was no different.

i'm always early. always. it's an annoying trait and the reason i always have work or a book to read to help pass the time. so, when i do head down to music city usa, i usually get there about an hour before anyone is expecting me, so i wander. and because of this, i've been able to get to know the streets of nashville a bit.

and thank god because yesterday went all to hell.

because of my trend of being early, i decided to push my departure time a bit. i headed out the door at 3:30 to arrive in nashville for the audition at 5:45 (they're an hour behind us). but as i left town, my brain decided to nap and i a) forgot how to get on the interstate, b) changed my mind three times as to how to find the interstate, and c) wound up in traffic all three times and didn't actually get out of town and on the highway until 4.

but somehow, i still managed to make pretty good time. i went about 80 and except for a semi's tire flying off and hitting the front of my car and giving me severe anxiety that it had done major damage, there were no problems on the drive down.

the problems arose when i got to town at 5:20 and couldn't read my directions. that's right, my directions. my printer is not speaking to me, so i wrote out the directions by hand and of course the address is on a street that has two different names and when i put each name into google maps, yes, two different addresses showed up. but, even with this lovely red flag hovering above me before i left home, i decided not to worry about it until i was stuck in a 'turn only' lane headed away from town and towards open fields to think there might be a problem.

that was when i called my agent. who didn't answer. and i left a message saying that all was all right and i'm sure i would be there on time and not to worry. (he didn't call back).

as i sped and yelled and screeched to a halt and changed lanes in front of screaming folks, i breathed in the good and let out the bad. i took care of what i could when i could. i changed from my flipflops to my boots at stop lights. i put on lipstick while waiting for the traffic cop to wave me through. and i was ready - except for the one boot that was out of reach on the floor of the passenger side.

and then somehow, by the grace of all things holy, i found the address...kind of. i saw what would have been the neighboring building, so i swerved around and drove around the block, searching for the building i was to go to.

i screamed a few times and took deep breaths and found a space in a city parking lot. i parked, put on my other boot, and paid a lovely SIX BUCKS. frustrating. i ran to the door of the building and my hand touched the door handle at precisely 5:45.

i had arrived. and i could clearly see my reflection in the glass door.

um, funny thing. when i'm nervous or bored or talking to someone or not talking, i play with my hair. i flop it around and there it is. and because of the audition, for some reason, i decided to put a little product in my hair to make it look like it was in some way on purpose. well...looking at my reflection, moments before i would surely knock their socks off with my brilliant line reading, i realized that i had 'sex' hair (you know what i'm talking about). i looked crazy. my hair stood up in some parts, was matted down in others, and stuck out in a fan behind my left ear.

i looked at myself in absolute horror.

and then walked inside.

i rushed to the top of the stairs and went in the meeting room and signed my name while breathing like a dying lama. the actresses (ugh, i'm one of them) sat on the leather sofas and eyed me up and down as i lumbered over, sweat dripping and pooling around me. i collapsed on a sofa and looked back at the door to see a hand-written sign that read:

you are not allowed to park in the lot next door

well, crappity crap crap. yes, of course, my car was parked in the lot next door. but i paid, so they could kiss my ass, said my tough inner self. (my meek self was concerned with towing.)

a woman came out and called in the actors in the order they'd signed up. i was the last of the group of 'medical examiners.' they all had long, brushed hair and pigment in their skin. eh.

finally, she called my name.

i went into an office where the woman introduced herself as tillie and the man as simon, the director. (for those of you who don't know, people who work in film always have names like this). i plopped down in a chair, but tillie said that i would actually be standing for the audition...'or crouching, if you want.'

'i do want to crouch, thank you,' i said. and i said it in a way where it was clear that i thought i was being witty, even though it wasn't at all witty and i just sounded really dumb.

but, i wanted to crouch, so crouch i did.

tillie read my cue line and then i crouched and pulled back the flannel shirt of the imaginary dead man on the carpeted floor and said, 'one pistol shot to the chest. large collabor - cal-."

yep, i effed up the line.

'we need to change that line because everyone has messed it up today,' tillie said and laughed a little and simon pretended to say the line with marbles in his mouth, 'large col-la-bubububu.' and i laughed because that's what you do at an audition. you laugh at shit that isn't funny.

we did it again and again i crouched over the body and said the line (this time correct).

'hmm, you don't have to be emotional. this is your job. you were asked what you found and you're simply stating it. let's go again.' --for the record, i wasn't being emotional. it wasn't like i was saying the line like i had just discovered a loved one shot through the heart (and you're to blame). i thought i just said it.

so, again, i crouched and said, 'one pistol shot to the chest. large caliber bullet.'

'you're not announcing it to the world. you're just saying it,' tillie said, which sounded a lot like, 'no, you're not mad at him, you're just pointing. hey you. i know you. i know you.'

okay. giving information. not announcing. no emotion. just the facts.

i crouched, peeled back the imaginary shirt off the imaginary corpse, saw the imaginary bullet hole, 'one pistol shot to the chest. large caliber bullet.' and i think i gave a 'that's all i got' look to tillie, which could have been taken as a character choice or, what it really was, a 'please don't ask me to do this again because i really don't give a shit' look.

and they didn't ask me to do it again. they thanked me and i headed out and got back in my car (yes, it was still there) at 6:00.

fifteen minutes.

so i drove home.

again, don't think i'll be hearing from my agent regarding the role of the medical examiner.