Archives for category: acting

Back in November, I was super excited to hear that I was being considered for a small part I had auditioned for on New Girl.

My character name was nothing less than “Newsboy Hat Lesbian”. Fuckin’ badass. And I auditioned the shit out of those two lines, in a real, true, newsboy hat. Take that, casting.

Needless to say, I didn’t get the part, although it was great to have my agent call and tell me they were considering me.

While I was away on my trip, my gf spent some time looking up the episode that Newsboy Hat Lesbian makes her appearance in, so that I could see who my competition was. They basically cut the entire scene I had auditioned with, which makes me think they picked a non-union actor (no lines + non-union = really cheap for them). When she showed me the clip online, I wasn’t totally surprised, except…

Someone shorter – check. Someone a bit thinner – check. I had half-expected that. The surprising and funny thing was that costuming gave the woman they cast the EXACT outfit I wore to my audition. Not that it’s crazy to see a lesbian in a newsboy cap with a vest and tie, but since I was the only one wearing such an outfit the day of the auditions, I can’t quite let go of the  idea that they cast my outfit and not me.

My industry is nuts.

Anyone who wants to view my competition (hi competition! nice to meet you! we should team up!) can check out the episode from season 2 called “Santa”. She’s got no lines, but you can’t miss her.

A few weeks ago I had a veritable golden week as a character actor – three auditions, two in the same day.

On the first audition of my double-day, I walked into a dark, couch-filled holding area to sign in, and casually looked around. There in the corner sat Julie Goldman, furiously engaged in her phone. When she was called into the audition room, the casting crew immediately cheered. I knew I was screwed. 🙂

I’ve been chasing the same parts as Julie since 2004 in Brooklyn when she threw her hat in for the L Word parody “The D Word” to play the Shane character (Drea), whom I had been seen three times for. (Actually, that one worked out well for me because the woman cast as the love interest of Drea ended up being my partners ex-gf, and we would have had some awkward makeout scenes to contend with. Too soon.)

So it’s both heartening and slightly painful to hear Julie speaking about existing in the same middle ground that I do – are we too butch, or not butch enough? Where is the room for comedy, as opposed to the butch always being a sexual predator? Why, in Julie’s case, does the role always go to the black woman, while in my case it always goes to the heaviest girl in the room, who may or may not be non-Caucasian? Apparently there’s only one kind of diversity in H’wood.

Read up on her thoughts here:

I’m back from a rather whirlwind trip to NYC. It’s the longest I’ve visited there since I moved away back in 2008, and as I poke my head up from under the covers of  the “no I’m not here don’t look at me” feelings I’ve been living the past few months, it feels good to have traveled and returned.

A few highlights from my trip include:

1. The main reason I went – to audition for the national tour of War Horse. The original play, not the movie. I went with the intention of showing them that I could be a 5’11” puppeteer and female-bodied and strong enough to manage the 120lb horse puppets unscathed. I was the only female-bodied puppeteer to show on the day I auditioned.

If you have only seen the movie, check this out, and imagine me as either the head or the hind of the beast:

2. One of my dearest friends from the Prestigious Women’s College recently ended her ten year relationship, and to show solidarity I went with her on her weekly sojourn to the latest gay lady bar in the city: The Dalloway.  And let me tell you something, folks – NYC needed a place like this. Good – no, great food, if a bit small on the plate and pricey, really good drinks – if only they had craft beers on tap. But the general attractiveness of the clientele made up for any shortcomings behind the bar. The cute bartender didn’t hurt either. Thank you, New York, for having a classy place to go to be with other queers.

3. And along the lines of cute bartenders, the bartender who complimented my new rockabilly haircut while I waited for friends my last night in Bushwick was also delightful. We lady-loving-ladies/etc should speak up more like this – it’s so nice to be seen and recognized and even flirted with a bit. I smiled all the way back to LA.






Hi folks. It’s been an interesting time out here in lala land.

Thanks to those of you who wrote me over the past month, the words of encouragement were a great boon when I was grasping to pull myself up from the downest of down places I’ve been since 2008.

Have I talked at all about 2008? No? I’ll leave it be then. Let’s just say it was the worst time of my adult life, as in post-college-living-for-real life.  And yet, I easily/painfully learned more that year than in the previous ten combined. I am grateful for it. I am not yet grateful for this year so far – although I’ve well-chronicled my troubles with gratitude.

These past few months have rivaled that year, to be sure. I wish I could say hey, thanks guys, you were totally right and my last post about being in over my head was just my fear talking and nothing more – everything turned out fine and dandy. Which, I guess on one level, it did if only because the show happened and is generally fine, but not without doing me some heavy emotional damage. That musical basically broke me. Broke my spirit. Broke my confidence. Broke my health. Somehow it even broke my queerness – which was the weirdest thing. I wasn’t gay enough for the stupid gay musical.  I kept/keep waiting for the time when the satisfaction of seeing it through to completion would wash over me, when I could step back and heave a well-deserved sigh of relief and say, “Wow. I’m glad I did that.”

Not gonna happen. I wish I had these three months back. Hell, I wish I had these three years I’ve been attached to this project back. I’ve never been so beaten by something with no return to show for it. Even my wise, wise lady, ever the voice of reason and diplomacy in my turbulent life, can’t figure out what I was supposed to learn from this one. Don’t do projects you don’t feel passionately about? I guess, maybe. Although that’s already a tenet I live by fairly successfully.

I think – I have just the barest glimmer – that maybe this lesson has something to do with my tendency to make decisions seeking glory instead of truth. Apparently I have just violently informed myself that I’m (cough) too old for that shit.

The best thing is that I never have to do it again. So I’m going to try and sleep it off – my exhaustion has reached new-found depths. And I do realize the extreme first-world nature of this crisis – boo hoo, I directed a musical and it didn’t go well, yikes. I have food and love and shelter and abundance. I just seem to have misplaced my spirit – I’m sure I left it lying around here somewhere.

It’s times like these I wish I had a good gay buddy to hang out with. Someone who would buy me a beer (or four) and take me accessories shopping and compliment my hair. Because damn if my hair doesn’t do well in a crisis.

First preview showing tonight, opening night tomorrow:


I’m in over my head with this one. I’m directing this new musical, this project that I’ve been working on for three years – half-heartedly, I admit, for at least the last year.

And somehow the self-fulfilling prophecy, the prophecy that I’m not good enough, not creative enough, not strong enough to do this is playing out as planned.

We’re a month into rehearsals. We just got a stage manager this week – something unheard of in the world of professional performing – the stage manager is usually the first hire, before even the actors. And this stage manager’s brilliant assessment of the way things are going: “The cast totally doesn’t respect you.”

Thanks, thanks for your support. As if I didn’t know that.

I keep waiting for the time in my life when I get to do the things I KNOW how to do already. The time when I’m not constantly racing to keep up with what’s going on. I mean, sure, learning is always awesome. I love it, I love reading, I love classes, I love improvement. I’m kind of an improvement junkie, my gf says.

But this kind of running, this kind of expectation from others that I can handle it all, that I’ll “just figure it out”, that I know already what I’m doing is exhausting. It’s unsustainable.

Yesterday was my partner and my 1st anniversary of our domestic partnership. I forgot entirely. I ended the night sitting alone on the front porch, eating fast food and crying, because my cast doesn’t respect me. My lady brought me tulips. She’s a good one. She knows I’m in over my head, and she’s the only one who doesn’t say “Oh, you’re just saying that” when I state my fears aloud. Because she knows I’m right. I’m nothing if not observant, and I can call people’s energy and emotions from 50 feet.

I keep waiting for this endless free-fall to be over, so the oblivion of the crash can overtake me. Three weeks.