Drowning my sorrow with comiedy- or at least trying
Last month I went on an audition my agent sent me on. It was for the role of a stripper- but no nudity. Cool. Alright. I wore my most stripperish looking outfit (black hot shorts, knee high boots and a red shirt my boobs hang out wonderfully from). I finally get there (anyone who knows me knows I suck with direction. Beverly Hills is the worst place for me to drive...Beverly Glenn, Beverly Dr, Beverly Blvd, Beverly Ave- I swear every street in the hills start off with Beverly!) and sign in. It's for a music video or short film- I'm still not quite sure. But the director tells all the "strippers" that basically we will be dancing- pole dancing experience a plus but not a requirement- when a harlot with come up and give us the kiss of death which steels our soul. So when I finally get in the audition room there is the female director and a male camera man. She tells me I will start to lose my soul from my right foot and when it's gone my body will be painted with gray body paint and I will be a zombie. But she doesn't want this to be over the top- she wants it realistic. Right. "You've just been kissed by the harlot- go." Okay then. So I do my thing. I lose my soul starting from the right foot while not being over the top yet realistic- cause I've had so much experience losing my soul and all. Fantastic then. Now that that's done they want to see me dance. "I know it will be a little hard with no music- and no pole, but lets see you dance." Right. I did my best pole dance with no pole and no music, thanked them for the audition and left. Needless to say I didn't get the part. I guess they didn't believe that I was losing my soul.